One Picture, One Story

[Bear]

Gather round, children. It's time for a tale.

 

 

Today's picture.

 

 

Two things that go together. Sisters of Mercy, and MGs. When I was 17, my first (road legal) car was a red Vauxhall Chevette that I wish I had pictures of. It was really good - low miles, super-clean, smooth and reliable. Except the brake pads wore out and for some reason, the ‘trusted friend mechanic’ pretty much convinced us that my Chevette was somehow lethal. Oh, if I could go back in time and sort that out. Anyway, a couple of test drives for a replacement car ensued. David (dad) thought I should have a C-registered, pale blue MG Metro as it was a small, sporty car but quite simple. I wanted a red F-registered BX 19 TRi estate - smooth, fuel injected and really clean and practical. I’d come close to getting a BX before these test drives, a pale blue metallic series one 19TRS, but when the dealer MOTd it it failed on subframe rot.

 

Anyway, we decided to take a test drive from Kelso to just outside Coldstream and swap cars at the junction. David took the MG first, I took the BX. I found the BX utterly wonderful - smooth, predictable with great brakes. David reported that the MG was a hoot to drive and cornered brilliantly.

 

For the return drive, I found the MG harsh, crashy, bouncy and thoroughly unpleasant with a horrid driving position. David’s verdict on the BX was that it was dangerously fast for a 17 year old to be driving, floaty and unpleasant. As it was his money paying for the car, and as I really knew very little about cars then despite appearances, we got the MG - wrinkly paint and cracked windscreen hidden by a sticker & all.

 

Occasionally, I stopped hating the MG and enjoyed it, and it is utterly associated with Christmas in my mind - always with a Sisters of Mercy tape playing, either taking Shirley​ (mum) to The Metro Centre for Christmas shopping, or giving Lorna a lift to collect a bike for her daughter, or going to parties with college friends. For some reason, listening to Sisters of Mercy felt right in the MG F today - with rain pattering on the roof, and that so alien, yet so familiar feel of the steering and layout (the F is way better than an A-series Metro, like the R6 Metro and 114), the 50mph tedium of the M1 was spent partly just thinking about that year.

 

The MG ultimately devoured two engines in the space of 2 months, during which time I drove a £75 Citroën Dyane 6, and the final straw was that same mechanic telling me - you’ve guessed it - the MG was dangerous. This time, the radius arm. I drove it to the next dealer with the mirror angled so I could make sure the negative camber didn’t turn into a wheel falling off, as I’d been assured was about to happen.

 

My new car that day? A red Citroën BX. F22 RSX. And I loved it - at least, until I found something new, mid engined and pointy!