A fond farewell

SO that's it then. After almost two years and a string of anecdotal incidents, the Mini is gone.

Even now, more than two days after I finally sold my very first motor, I'm still getting calls from Champion readers, who I'm having to disappoint because they're now among the hoardes of hopefuls who haven't just bought a bargain starter classic. In the end, the first person who saw the 1983 Mayfair offered me the right price - in cash - for it, and as you read this it'll be sat solemnly somewhere in Skelmersdale.

Why did I do it? Because the Mini - well, that particular Mini - is a very hands-on kind of car, which rewards fastidious sorts of people who like to fiddle and fettle with it constantly. I'm a petrolhead not because I enjoy messing and mending with motors but because I enjoy driving, and I struggle to see the point of a car, even one as good as a Mini, if it spends more time with its tyres in the air than tearing up the tarmac.

Naturally, I've been told by my mates at Mini Southport and Ormskirk District that I've got to get another example of the 51-year-old design classic, and I will...eventually. But to fill the oil-stained space the Mayfair's left it'll have to be a Cooper in Britpop spec (red, white stripes, Union Flag roof) and much, much better condition.

My own Mini was like Friends - endlessly entertaining, but littered with unfortunate incidents everyone laughs at it but aren't funny for the people involved. I'll never forget The One With The Ten Hour Breakdown Recovery, The One With The Annoyed North Wales Police Officers, The One With The Overheated Engine or even the one Mini adventure I still get asked about more than any other... The One Where The Wheel Fell Off.

The Renault 5 which usually comes to my rescue, conversely, cost a quarter what I paid for the Mini originally and has never broken down. So rather than face the battle of trying to repair a car that's rusting away faster than my long-suffering friends can repair it, I decided to sell it to a proper classic car fan, someone who enjoys that sort of suffering because they call it "a project".

Naturally, the sensible thing to do now would be save the money up, spend it on something like a Honda Jazz and enthuse endlessly about how much more reliable the Japanese machine is compared to the Mini, but that'd be the boring option.

What I've opted to do instead is to invest in an another British-made motor with a slightly suspect reliability record, because it's my classic car project.

Damn...