Thus, my life in Scat must be lived vicariously, usually in the company of one of you lot who are generous enough to let me tag along and generally make a nuisance of myself whilst pretending to read directions, etc. So when Mr. G. Cox invited me along on an all-expenses paid luxury trip to collect his new purchase, I leapt at the chance. Unfortunately, said car was about 140 miles away in sunny Dudley, jewel of the West Midlands. Train tickets were booked, a route back was planned and a rendezvous with mega-helpful Midlands-based Autoshiter The Organist was organised. The whole operation was meticulously planned and nothing was left to chance, as you would expect from the highly professional tat-collecting team of Cox & Barrett...
....After waking up only 55 minutes late, I hastily made my way to the station to meet Gary and hopped (literally, there was a 3 foot gap 'tween platform and carriage) onto a train bound for our nation's glorious capital. On Jubilee weekend. Actually, the journey was surprisingly hassle-free and despite the public holiday our fears about OMG JUBILEE CHAOS seemed unfounded. A couple of tube trips and we were at Euston station, where we bagged some seats on our second train, destination: Dudley & Sandwell.
The Organist had promised to pick us up from the station and run us over to the vendor's house, so after we'd alighted there was a brief moment of panic when we realised we had no idea what he looked like. Fortunately, it's usually easy to spot an Autoshiter in a crowd... Yep, he'll be the chap with the battered LHD Renault 14 then...
Handshakes and introductions exchanged in the customary fashion, we piled into the off-white poire and sped off towards deepest Dudley. I've never been in an R14 before, in fact I don't even remember seeing one in the metal, but I'm now happy to report that they have THE most comfortable seats of any car I have ever sat in. Some seriously squidgy foamy excellence in the French tradition; Why don't British buyers insists on such luxury?
Soon enough, we reached the vendor's house and got the first glimpse of our quarry, which allowed for a photo opportunity capturing a sight that hasn't been seen on these shores for many, many years. Can you tell what it is yet?
A rather typical car-buying scenario ensued. I'm sure you're all relatively familiar with this bit. We had a poke around, asked the seller some questions, he answered them. Our rather cursory look around the car served to back up what we'd already gathered from the advert and The Organist's helpful pre-sale inspection; It's a solid, original car that's clearly been well looked after for most of its life, a couple of spots of cosmetic rust - both back doors have started to rot though - but absolutely no serious rot to be seen anywhere that it matters. The car had been laid up from 2005-11 when the current seller bought it and gave it a thorough recommissioning to get it roadworthy, and it's been used regularly since then. Turns out the previous owner lived just down the road from us, in Portslade. A brief test drive, some paperwork being signed and a wad of cash handed over and the deal was done! Mr. G. Cox was now the proud (?) owner of a 1967 Simca 1301 saloon in a rather fetching shade of burgundy.
We set off for the homeward journey, initially following The Organist who led us out of the backwaters and put us on the right track direction-wise. Time for another quick photo of 'R14 seen through window of Simca' before we waved goodbye and went our separate ways...
Even from my position in the passenger seat, I could tell things weren't exactly going smoothly at this point. Every gear change was accompanied by a rather alarming CRUNCH! and a faint cry of desperation from G.C. It turns out that the gear linkage on this LHD, column-shifted barge perhaps wasn't its strongest point.... Other than that, first impressions were good. Sitting up front I was quietly impressed by the amount of leg and headroom in the car, the ultra-slim pillars giving a light, airy feel and the super-comfy brown vinyl bench seats make the cabin really nice place to be. Those seats and the column shift mean you can fit 3 up front - at a pinch - so with just the two of us on board it felt seriously roomy. G.C. reports that the driving position is "pretty good". The dash itself isn't the most inspiring thing to look at, a flat expanse of fake wood veneer held together by exposed phillips-head screws, but the strip speedo - a feature of only the very early 1501s - is a great touch and the minimal switchgear has a nice feel to it, even if the ergonomics are pretty frightful. Most impressive though is the total lack of squeeks and rattles and general air of solidity, a testament to the fact that this is more or less a totally original unmessed with car that has never been in bits.
I'd planned a vague route home sticking mostly to A-roads and passing through some potentially pleasant areas, and after a while -CRUNCH! still not quite got the hang of those gears? ok- we arrived at the rather lovely Stratford-upon-Avon, where we pulled over to get some better photos and have a spot of lunch.
This is a thing that was there that might serve as proof that we were actually were I say we were.
Fuel filler is hidden behind the rear number plate, which makes this car SUPA KEWL
In these rather idyllic surroundings, we really had a chance to take in the car's styling and have a close look at some of the neat little details we'd missed before. It does rather have the look of an 'anycar', there is nothing in particular that points to it being French even, and depending on what angle you look at from it brings to mind Triumph 2000 (around the c-pillar), BMW Neue-Klasse or some forgotten Russian barge - even the SIMCA font on the bonnet and boot lid has a faintly Cyrillic edge to it. From the front end it looks like an enlarged Simca 1100, but I'm sure to most people it is a totally confusing shape; Equal parts familiar and unknown, even (whisper it) somewhat bland, but clearly well-designed with a refreshing lightness of touch. A tall glasshouse on a '60s car usually results in everything below the waistline looking a little shallow, but here it's all perfectly proportioned; Simple, clean lines that easily disguise the rather humble power plant.
Anyway, all that appreciation of form had made us hungry so we wandered through Straford-u-A looking for a suitable eatery. For some reason we elected not to visit this place, despite the fact that it was advertising my two favourite things...
...instead settling for some fish 'n chips. Verdict: mediocre at best, served by a rude man. Luckily I made a proper mess of their toilet though, ha!
We also managed a couple of not particularly exciting spots...
...And got back on our merry way. From this point on the journey was pretty smooth, we headed towards Oxford and joined the M40 heading towards the M25. A quick toilet/ fuel stop and a chance to see the car's best feature in action
At this point it had started to rain pretty heavily, and by the time we hit Sussex the wipers decided they'd had enough and packed up on a helpfully unlit stretch of road... Luckily just before the exit for yet another set of motorway services, so we pulled in and set about fixing* the problem by stopping, having a piss and a fag and hoping it would be all right in a minute. Here we are hard at work really getting to the route of the problem. In fairness, we did actually open the bonnet (front hinged! Excellent!) and start to poke around, but they instantly started working again which was good enough for us.
And that was it! Hardly any drama at all, and we'd just driven a totally unknown 45 year old French car 140-odd miles with only one very minor fault (and several hundred crunchy gear changes) and we had arrived home warm, dry and comfortable, at midnight... So, a 12-hour round trip, then. I honestly can't think of a better way to spend a grey Saturday... And the best part is, I don't have to worry where I'm going to find a replacement brake master cylinder for a 1967 Simca 1301 that I need to get me to work on Monday....
Massive shout-out to The Organist for going and having a poke around the Simca, picking us up from the station and standing around in the cold chatting about shit cars with me whilst Gary was off on his test drive/ driving lesson. Cheers!
