You have arrived at the vinceunlimited where I can show I have a better than average experience of driving a wide number of cars. As an enthusiast bordering on petrol-head status I have taken every opportunity I can to try out many cars. And the ones that I've owned have often drawn amusing stories. Just don't tell my insurance company! This page will eventually be fully populated with all the writing and accompanying photos of the cars that I have owned or road tested. It will start as soon as the keys to the garage are found so please be patient and check back in due course.
Please note that just for now, while I complete the remastering of my site some links will take you nowhere but the listed vehicles are the first that I intend to write about and should grow in future to encompass all that I have tried but getting all that exciting information onto my site is just too much to bear at this stage.
If however you have a favourite vehicle that you would like my opinion on then email me to ask. If it's a particularly exotic model [I don't mean a Fiesta Splash] I might have to borrow yours just to check my facts! And if you are the editor of a motoring magazine wanting an exciting new journalistic talent then I may, just may, think about helping you out. Please.
Author: Vince Poynter Version 5.275 27 Sep 2019
The idea for a Road Tests page on the vinceunlimited website was first published in Version 1.00 in Oct 2003
Please note that most of the following links are not yet functioning and will be updated in due course...
Although not an owner of one of these magnificent beasts I am fortunate enough to have driven one, in comparison with its bigger and older brother the Continental Series, no less.
Pick a car. Any car. As long as it's a brand new shiny behemoth
I had always been a fan of the Continental; its raw powerful looks and sheer road presence always allured me.
I was always so impressed by the way that whenever you see one on the road, it seems to be going past at great speed yet appearing totally unruffled, a task mimicked well by the 'smaller' Arnage.
So, when a Cardiff dealer offered me the chance to take part in a test drive day in the grounds of a luxurious hotel, lining up the whole Bentley range next to a chartered helicopter and sumptuous servings of quality food, I couldn't resist.
It would be ungentlemanly to refuse, wouldn't it?
Driving a quarter million pound car. The author with a Bentley Continental
So I got my chance in a Continental.
The keys, a full tank and a stunning twenty-mile route to savour. And I did.
The car was very special, as you might expect for a quarter of a million pounds.
Forget the opulent interior - it was the engine that impressed.
Bentley (and Rolls-Royce) didn't formerly tell anyone about the engine size, merely pointing out that it was 'adequate'. They should have added 'for towing a 5 bedroom house.'
The torque was storming.
Try to imagine someone pushing the back of your chair right now. Into the next room. Through the wall. Then into the next room, without hesitation, even quicker. All more speedily than you could read this.
Yes, forget horsepower. From now on, I buy my cars based on torque, whatever a Newton Metre might be.
My wife, Lynda, tries out the Arnage. Later I explained she could actually get in
There was one caveat to the Continental though - the Arnage.
At nearly half the price the Arnage wipes the floor with the Continental.
When I tested it, it came in two flavours. I'm talking engines again, by the way.
The traditional V8 lump and the newer BMW-sourced straight 8.
Bentley helpfully made it easier by labelling them Red and Green, quite literally.
Go for the Red one. I'm a new fan of all things BMW but this car needs the V8. I just wish it wasn't named after the cheapest tea in Tesco.
The Arnage shares all the grunt of the bigger car and sets it all to a modern theme.
From the outside, the car does resemble a weather-worn brick but inside, you realise this can compete with the best-finished modern cars.
Some comment that it can't match a Mercedes-Benz's build quality and to an extent, they would be right.
When the floor carpet is pulled back around the accelerator, you do not expect to see the trimming work of a six year old. But when the carpet is reinstalled the thick pile helps to remind you that you are in a special place.
The drive is modern, easy and relaxing, even when applying that torque.
The interior ambience is impressive although the modern devices we all need in cars today are not as well accommodated as they might be.
Designed before the satellite navigation era, you will have to suffer the indignation of a pop-up screen spoiling the sweep of the dash, but I suspect you will be more likely looking at the array of dials and switches, many designed and styled to feel good, solid and traditional.
The only gripe is that because customers can select from a huge range of colours and trims (The 'brochure' was a hand-finished solid wood briefcase), getting a used one to suit you perfectly may be a problem. Burgundy leather seats trimmed with cream piping and mixed with a black dash don't quite do it for me.
My new favourite car. A beautiful, dark blue Bentley Arnage
The drive is solid and reassuring and belies the car's two ton size.
Forget you are in a limousine and treat it the way Bentley intended. It is a sports model after all. If you want to float everywhere, get one with a small silver statue at the front.
The Arnage will flick through corners and holds the road like the tarmac's melted. You don't even get to hear the rubber ripping. Very strange. Very addictive.
But the best bit is sitting deep in those accommodating hide armchairs and looking down at people next to you, even those in four by fours.
In both ways!
Gripes? Well there are always some.
On the pre-2005 model I drove, I don't think the headlamps suit the nose, the fuel consumption is for those who never care about it, and it costs £150k.
At least it's better than that Continental I always wanted. Thanks Bentley, you have saved me £100k. Now save me another £30k by making the new baby Bentley even better.
Author: Vince Poynter Version 5.075 23 Feb 2018
First Published: Version 2.00 in May 2005
Also published by Channel 4 Car Road Tests around 2005 (but now no longer available)
The first image shows part of the Bentley line up presented by a generous Cardiff Bentley Dealership in the grounds of Miskin Manor in 2000 and was added in Version 5.075 23 Feb 2018.
The second image shows the author parked up during a road test of the fabulously expensive Bentley Continental in 2000 and was added in Version 5.075 23 Feb 2018.
The third image shows the Author's wife, Lynda, with the Bentley Arnage in 2000 and was added in Version 5.075 23 Feb 2018.
The fourth and final image shows a Bentley Arnage, parked in a service station car park, photographed in Jan 2012 and was added in Version 5.075 23 Feb 2018.
The vinceunlimited Hillman Avenger Story
The First Car Is The Cheapest
How do you define your first car?
The question can actually be read in many different ways. Let me explain.
The earliest photograph of me holding a car so it must be mine
Take a look at the adjacent photograph. Here you will see a very young me sat in black and white next to my mother on our front door step. In my hands you will see a small toy. A fifties style car the make and model of which I cannot recall, nor determine from the picture.
I don't remember that car but by the look of my tight grip it looks very much like mine. Is this my first car?
The first toy car that I definitely remember owning and which became my favourite one was a red Volkswagen Karmann Ghia Corgi toy. So was this my first car?
But toy cars don't count as a first car, do they? One needs to be able to get in and drive. Well, I could do that in the go-kart that my brother and I were given. I may only have been around four or five years old but it was me doing the driving, providing all the self-propelled forward motion, steering and braking. In doing so I learnt width judgement, the consequences of speed, under and over steer and when ignoring all the above what happens when the corner is tighter than the grip. So surely my first car.
Then motorised transport came into my life. You can read about the origins of this journey in my Bikes section because like many others in those days I started on two wheels. On the road since my sixteenth birthday on a borrowed moped, then at seventeen my own trail bike, followed by a small road bike then mid sized tourer. You will also have noted that I finished this section of my life with a crash, a girlfriend, thoughts of future passengers and a story involving a bicycle and a Hillman Avenger. My first actual car. Or was it?
It was certainly not the first I drove as I had been driving for about three years by then. I started as soon as I was legally allowed at seventeen.
The first I got behind the wheel of was a Vauxhall Viva. Not the latest, rebadged 2016 Chevrolet Spark, but the much earlier HC version that Vauxhall produced during the 1970s. It was red and new and light to drive through its enormous steering wheel. I had already garnered a good sense of road craft from my year on mopeds and a trip or three on my Yamaha Trail bike. And crucially I couldn’t fall off it. Driving a car should have been so easy.
The trouble was that it was owned by a gross, un-sympathetic, interfering Driving Instructor and I couldn’t afford many or even regular lessons.
I hated every moment of the driving not because of the car but because of the instructor. He would arrive late, squish down in the passenger seat with his plump thighs overhanging both sides of the wide seat usually with his used handkerchief dripping out of his side pocket hanging over the handbrake.
He would then fuss and panic about someone driving his car and constantly grab at the steering wheel and gearstick then pump his feet up and down on his new toy, his dual pedal set up.
I already knew how to meander through traffic from my year and some of biking, I was aware of my surroundings, familiar with junctions and traffic signs. I just needed some practice at the bits of a car that were different such as clutch changing using my foot and steering with a big circular wheel. But I was not free to plot my own course without unnecessary intervention, or pull to a gentle stop without my passenger stabbing the brakes.
I was just seventeen and didn’t have the life experiences or confidence to change instructors or the funds to do back to back lessons and as a result every two months it felt like another brand new start. Just let go of the controls you gross, pig-headed bastard.
Overall I had just six lessons, one every two months or so during the year before I was advised by Mr. Slob to take my driving test and inevitably failed it. I can’t remember exactly why but do recall it was only a couple of minor issues. The main thing I needed was regular, unhindered practice.
I was also under pressure from work. My job required me to visit various construction sites around the local counties and my white collar image was being smeared by the arrival in motorbike clothing and helmet. Plus I was unable to transport the required oddments and official documents that my role dictated. The boss wanted me driving and I had colleagues' cars awaiting my piloting.
I finally got my chance when my mother persuaded my dad that I could be added onto her car’s insurance. With the assistance of my older brother in the passenger seat and a couple of L plates I could get all the practice I needed.
It was a first generation white Triumph Herald 1200 with bright red seats and I took it out as often as money, my brother and time allowed. I even took my friends, Jeff and Spike, in the back a couple of times. Although regretted it when they gesticulated at a passing police car which got me a lecture about how I, as the driver, should be in control of my unruly passengers.
But it did the job, I got the regular practice needed and re-hired the Viva to pass my car driving test.
Not that I swapped my exciting twin wheeled vehicles for a car immediately. Why should I? I already had 120mph travel potential and a 0-60mph time of around three and a half seconds. Cars were dull, slow things that in my budget were rusty and unreliable with excessive insurance premiums. And besides that I had started driving anyway. Virtually every day. In nearly new cars, fuelled by a large on-site petrol tank.
I worked in a small to mid sized building services company. Our task was to design and build the intricate pipe work and associated plant that courses its way around commercial and industrial buildings and my role was to manage or assist in the supervision of these projects. The company needed me to deliver tender offers, visit the sites for meetings and help with previously forgotten small deliveries. And so leant me the company cars for this purpose.
I particularly took advantage of tearing around the place in John's blue facelift model Vauxhall Chevette 1.3 L as he was generous enough to let me have the keys, thanks John. Malcolm was less forthcoming with his near identical green model. In fact I was more often offered the mid-size executive 1.6 Vauxhall Cavalier Mark 1 LS of Senior Engineer Jeffery. And once had to deliver our MD Peter's BMW 525 E12 post facelift model to Salisbury. I saw 125mph on the speedo. Err, it was just under the 130mph on the dial, officer.
However time was moving on, I had done all that I needed to at that moment on two wheels and as explained in my Honda CX500 article the market for potential new female friends would be increased exponentially by having my own four wheels so I advertised my bike for sale and included a thought that I would consider a swap for a car.
I had a reply. Some chap had a car and wanted a bike. We agreed that any difference in value would be included in cash and he duly arrived in his Hillman. I can't recall who got some dosh with their vehicle but he took away my shiny 'as new apart from the frame reshaped' bike and left me the keys to his slightly tatty Avenger.
My Hillman Avenger in all its glory when first purchased by me
I had received not only the keys but also the car. A Hillman Avenger GLS with vinyl roof. This pleased me immensely as for a start it exceeded the company cars I had use of in virtually every aspect. It was a GLS model, not a mere L, or LS and as anyone around this time knew this was important.
It had four headlamps, velour seats, Rostyle wheels and its black vinyl roof. Plus an enormous 1.6 engine as big as Jeff's one.
It also had some extras not normally on these models. A bit of surface rust and a distinct lean towards the front right hand side. But let's not forget, it was a GLS.
Driving the car felt good. It's soft, probably knackered, suspension wallowed it around to suit it's big comfortable presence. There was a dashboard full of dials and accommodation to easily fit five adults. The multi headlamp set up lit up the darkest of night lanes and the powerful engine provided prompt passage to wherever you chose to travel. Everything worked and I was a happy owner that summer.
I loved having the car and was the first of my gang to have one. Yes, Spike had occasional use of a huge four wheel barge that had Vauxhall VX 4/90 written on the back. It was an FD series and actually his Dad's car. All the others were still tootling around on just two wheels. I became the go to guy for transporting numbers greater than two.
In fairness the others didn't have cars because they were still at school, or sixth form college as they put it. I was the only working one with a wage, although a fairly meagre one as I was doing an office based apprenticeship. But at least I could run the thing.
Jeff, not the Senior Engineer version, Vince, Theresa and Jackie, pictured at another time completely. The Pot Noodle is irrelevant to the story. But in the interests of complete disclosure was a Chicken and Mushroom version.
The most memorable of these journeys happened at the beginning of August that year. My good mate Jeff had been dating Jackie for a few years by now and a suggestion was made that I could get together with Jackie's friend Theresa. A plan was hatched for us all to go to the British Biking Grand Prix together, ostensibly to help with the marshalling but mainly to snuggle up in handy pairs in a tiny overnight tent.
Jeff had just been signed up for his Polytechnic, err University, course and was already there sorting out his new accommodation so I was tasked with collecting the girls, passing by the big school to pick up Jeff and then for all four of us to travel towards Silverstone.
The problem was that it was fresher's week so Jeff was therefore torn between his long planned trip to the races and getting in on the first social events with all his new poly buddies. He felt he had no choice but to choose his new social contacts meaning I had to take a very tearful girlfriend and her sympathetic bestie onwards to the racing circuit where the only racing certainty was that the threesome in the tent would end up as a sad, sob fest.
Our weekend duties were also squarely curtailed. Without Jeff we could hardly form a reliable marshalling team for a major Grands Prix event so we were asked to 'assist around the pits area'. A euphemism for don't get in anyone's way. We didn't have much to do and sat around watching things happen. At one point I had popped to the loo and Barry Sheene was told off by the girls for 'sitting in Vince's seat'. In the Yamaha pit area.
But I should be reporting on the car. Well it was near perfect. Plenty big enough for three adults and all the camping equipment that we could muster and very comfortable on the long trip. The only issue being the windscreen wipers that decided to stop working just as the rain started to. Oh, and the fact that Jackie threw open the passenger door too hard when the car was parked facing downhill resulting in a slightly bent front door where it met the hinge and a bit of a gap where it now couldn't meet the back door. A judicious slam and a bit of securing rope and it closed providing access wasn't needed any more on that side of the car.
It wasn't quite the end of the car. That would happen later that year as autumn, winter and my circumstances started to take its toll. The ownership coincided with a dramatic time of my life. I decided I had made an error in joining a company in the construction industry. I wasn't planning to stay beyond my apprenticeship so immediately junked the job. It was the week before news headlines reported the first time unemployment had reached the milestone of one million. I was out of work, likely to be staying that way, poor and had only just left home to stay in a shared house with some of my old school buddies.
The car was parked, unused, at my parents house and when the tax ran out I popped it up on the front lawn. Not as dramatic as it might seem at first because the lawn had become a regular spot for many of my brother's many broken down vehicles.
However, my car wasn't welcomed. Possibly in fairness because I wasn't living there any more. I was asked to move it.
As usual it fired up first time but then immediately became sick and started to wet itself all over the floor. That day I learnt three important things. Firstly why antifreeze is a critical component in a coolant system. Secondly that you cannot trust a previous owner to know about the first thing. And thirdly that if you are oblivious to points one and two the ordinarily very durable metal crankcase can be split in two.
I had no funds to repair the car and had to come up with a solution. And it looked like I found one in my new friend Stuart. He offered to take the car off my hands and give me a bicycle. This pleased me because I had never had a bike, could actually afford to run one and there was more talk of a cash value to make up the difference. And I desperately need cash at that point in my life on the simple grounds that I had precisely none of it.
Sadly the deal didn't go down too well. Newly discovered ex-friend Stuart arranged to take the car promptly then procrastinated about the bike. It appeared he didn't have one to give me, or didn't want to part with any he did have and spoke about building one for me. I had previously envisaged a shiny brand new racing bike but was now looking down the barrel of a rusty frame fished from a canal, bent spokes and a soggy seat. The bike, when it was finally delivered wasn't that much better. It was a recycled frame with a lovely hand crafted paint job with a unique paint run effect. None of the components were of any quality or purchased recently from a store. And when the cash differential was raised Stuart disappeared and so became someone I never saw again. Shame really, he seemed like quite a nice guy.
So, in summary I had started with a fairly new motorcycle and ended up with a crappy bicycle. But in between loads of fond memories of my first car. Because that was what it was.
And that's how it should be because, as anyone knows, the first car is the cheapest. Queue the song Rod.
Author: Vince Poynter Version 5.274 20 Sep 2019
The header image shows the author sat on the bonnet of his Hillman Avenger 1.6 GLS, taken by a member of the author's family in 1981
The second image shows the author aged around three to four sat with his mother, Lilian on their doorstep and must be dated around 1964/5
The third image shows the front view of the Hillman Avenger, also from 1981
The final image shows the author and his friends Jeff, Theresa and Jackie, also from 1981 but a bit later
A to Zoom
I was talking to a friend of mine about cars that people drive.
We all have preconceived ideas about their thoughts and lives.
And when I thought back on my life and cars I used to own,
I fitted all the types there were. And I was not alone.
I started with an Austin. A10 I think it was.
I loved that little car you know, with its paint a thick black gloss.
But when I was in the country and doing thirty-five,
All I got was horns and lights and people shouting "You can't drive!"
So I got myself a new car. I felt just like a king,
Even if the handling was like a prayer upon a wing.
But my Beetle days still haunt me. In spirit anyway,
I still want love not war you know ... and at any time of day.
Those days with my old Beetle made me think environment,
My mind was getting greener about the energy we spent.
So I went down to the High Street and got my fivers out,
And bought the latest fashion one couldn't do without.
I purchased one of those things Sinclair called a C5.
I even bought the pole and flag so I'd be seen and kept alive.
I thought I was a hero and pollution was no longer,
But everyone who saw me in the street thought me a plonker.
I had to go upmarket so I became a Gent.
My Daimler was a class act, everywhere it went.
With tables in the rear and leather lined throughout.
The shiny paint was gleaming, I never had a doubt.
Until someone with a switchblade, ran it down the side.
I couldn't keep the car no more, so sold it then I cried.
I had to get a basic car, something not so new,
An ubiquitous vehicle, an old Escort would do.
Although it was a simple thing I liked that little car,
And when the MOT ran out I didn’t look too far.
The company helped my choosing, I wasn’t at a loss,
They brought out a modern version. I brought a new Focus.
I had the modern family car but with styling like a shark,
But I couldn’t find the damn thing when in a big car park.
So I changed it for another. A car that looked much harder.
The Sweeney gave me the idea, I brought a black Granada.
I raced it here and raced it there all around the town,
But when the local bank was done they nearly sent me down.
I had to trade it in for something not so big and black.
So brought a Hillman next. An Imp, with its engine at the back.
I tottered round the roads nearby but never went too mad.
The handling was, lets put it this way, pretty flipping bad.
One day I took a corner, I was only doing twenty-eight,
The skinny tyres gave me no grip, the car just went on straight.
Over pavement, through the hedge, half way up a leap.
I thought, this was fun I’ll go again but this time in a Jeep.
My off-roader was a total hoot. I went round with muddy feet,
And everyone got out the way when I drove down the street.
But the Jeep was far too thirsty and I’m a sometimes frugal man,
I still needed all the cargo space so I brought a Kangoo van.
Economy and load lugging - they were second to none.
But nought to sixty in eighteen secs meant I didn’t pull anyone.
And a man has needs above the needs of his economy,
So I splashed my cash and traded up for a new Lamborghini.
Ray–bans specs, laying rubber lines and acting just like Rambo,
I terrorised the neighbourhood driving in my Lambo.
It had to go when I got caught going more than fifty-five.
Not much you think, but then again, it was in my front drive.
And when I tried to fit it past all the cars in my small street,
It wouldn’t fit as it was about as wide as seven feet.
I changed the car for something that I could drive most anywhere,
A shopping trip, an opera, a classless car without a care.
My little Mini would park up outside a flash boutique,
Or fit in with chavs at markets collecting their cheap meat.
So I lavished love and bits on it at every opportunity,
So much that it resembled last year’s Christmas tree.
And when the thing was laden down with all the bits from near and far,
I decided to trade it in for a proper custom car.
I looked around the free-ads and asked around the meets,
But most were overpriced and under funded junk-yard heaps.
Finding one seemed just like hunting out a four-leaf clover,
So I bought the latest ‘in-thing’ a custom Vauxhall Nova.
The bonnet bulge and paintwork made it stand out alright,
And the turbo-charged conversion set the big fat tyres alight.
Even the huge spoiler, which did nothing for my front wheel drive,
Seemed to shout I’m here - I’m now - I’m definitely alive.
But then I got my hair cut in the shape of cheddar cheese,
And wore my jeans hung down so low the crotch was near my knees.
And when I got the beanie hat, worn facing back to front,
It fell across my eyes and resulted in a shunt.
The Nova was a write off (all I salvaged was the dice),
So I had to start again from scratch and look for something nice.
The fancy car mags were the first place that I kept my eye on,
So, how is it I ended up with a mangy Ford Orion?
I guess they call it growing up and finally settling down.
The car was Mr. Sensible - for motorway or town.
I only had it two months, but it really seemed an age,
I guess that's what happens when you drive something beige.
And in those two months living with the dreadful booted Ford,
Invisibly travelling round the place, getting me quite bored.
I had to get a car that shouted out until it’s hoarse.
Yes, you’re there before me. A turbo-charged black Porsche.
I was the Mr. P-Man. Seeing cars off at every light.
I’d give the single finger but I never stayed to fight.
They just couldn’t catch me when I laid my horses down.
The kids would grow up thinking I'm King without a crown.
I attained a God like status, pulling all the skirt,
I saw so much good loving that things started to hurt.
But when I faced up to a car and saluted in my way,
I didn’t realise his little Caterham could blow me away.
And when he got my number and threatened life and limb,
I chose to ditch the Porsche and get a hiding thing.
Something that had no-one thinking - he is up for S.E.X.
And Nissan came to my rescue with its big QX.
Now Q-cars look quite normal but are faster underneath,
With acceleration giving goose bumps and speed to clench your teeth.
It was big and strong and manly but this was not enough,
The stylist had a day off when this car was signed off.
And with performance comes the cost, fuel soaked up like a sponge,
But the styling didn’t get the looks despite being painted orange.
It finally put paid to all fast living and days out clubbing.
I had more luck when I changed it for a new Reliant Robin.
A new Reliant Robin buyer - I must have been a mug,
The salesman saw me coming and sold me a three-pin plug.
If you missed a hole with the front wheel the back would surely find.
Speed-humps eventually wrecked the car and rattled up my mind.
So I changed again and this time I went out all the way,
I brought a big red car with wings – a Chevrolet Stingray.
I posed about the town again driving like a lout,
But as it was American it didn’t make the roundabout.
A British car would make more sense than a big Yankee car,
And nothing seemed better than one named after a girl's bra.
The Triumph was a perfect car made in steel for Purdy's Steele,
But rust took away the pleasure along with the nearside cill.
I needed a rainproof vehicle 'cause I parked it near the shore,
Where savage rains and sea-salt oxidised metal to the core.
I had to get some transport built for this environment,
And invested in a U-boat from the German government.
Now, as you can imagine, this idea was not plain sailing.
At over fifty years old I spent too much time a'bailing.
And when I visited relatives or went down to the mall,
Torpedo tubes and periscopes couldn’t make up the shortfall.
I sold the boat to a contact in a complex and shady deal,
He would let me know his name, but Prince H was on the bill.
I had to get a some normal wheels and settled on a car,
You can’t get more normal than a (yawn) Vauxhall Vectra.
The lanes of Britain’s motorways opened up for me.
I say the lanes, actually it was only the one we all call three.
I finally had a way to do ninety mph city-to-city hacks,
And as a bonus somewhere to hang my coat up in the back.
But doing this for nine months solid without missing out one beat,
I put too many miles on and had a rapid over-heat.
I needed a new engine and wanted something cool.
I went for a different way of things and brought a new Wankle.
The rotary engine was a talking point in shops and at the Pub,
But when I loudly said its name I got fired from the country club.
They wouldn’t let me back in until I apologised and show,
I could get a classic British car to sit in the member's row.
But I had followed alphabet choice, so was a good trendsetter,
And classic steeds did not start with requisite next letter,
But Jaguar they saved the day and followed up the hype,
With a brand new four-wheel drive, shiny new X-type.
With all my wheels in motion I could climb the highest peak,
But spent all day in traffic jams, cars tucked cheek to cheek.
The daily grind was wasteful as the fuel gauge dropped so far,
But that was nothing next to depreciation that fell off the radar.
I had to ditch the cruise control and my leather seats all had to go,
I swapped it at a dealers for a few grand and a nearly new Yugo.
And that is why I’m writing this to recall my memories.
I’ve been from A to Y in cars and motoring was a wheeze.
But I have yet to finish - It's the way that I behave,
And I’ve settled on the last one that shall take me to the grave.
When I’ve saved enough to get me a fast zed for a few bob.
A classic Kawasaki or a Zonda Paganini should do the job.
Author: Vince Poynter Version 5.073 21 Feb 2018
First Published: Version 2.00 in May 2005
Performed as part of the vinceunlimited Podcast entitled Alphacar on the vinceunlimited WordPress site dated 29 Oct 2014 [vinceunlimited.wordpress.com]. Also available via Apple iTunes.
The image depicts the rear of a Ferrari 360 with a photoshopped registration number plate. It was taken from a cherished number plate site, source now unknown, around 2002. Please advise if you know of the source material and I will duly give credit. It was added, along with the links in Version 5.073 21 Feb 2018
Birth of a Car
A remarkable thing happened two days ago. I saw a TV advert for a car I had not previously seen.
No, not an unforeseen TV advert. They happen frequently. Not frequently enough to make the programme intermissions tolerable but frequently enough to make my opening gambit a little more interesting. No, it was the car I couldn't recall seeing before.
Now this may be relatively common to many of you. After all that is one of the three key objectives of advertisements, to introduce new things and you are forgiven for not being as interested in new cars as I am. Few are.
In case you were wondering what the other two main advertising objectives are, the second is the necessity to ingrain concepts, products and trademarks into our subconscious. After all we all know beans, hamburgers and replacement glazing products exist. But just as importantly you are already subconsciously thinking Cross & Blackwell, Wendy's and that annoying, shouty man who knocks over the window panes. Weren't you?
The third key element in advertising is the attempt to make you purchase that which you had no intention to do so. Chocolate, trips to the Isle of Wight and the unnecessary replacement of perfectly good settees fall into this category.
I too am subjected to many new things in advertising, be they two for ones, money squirrelling or feminine hygiene products only an engineering graduate could master. Although I think I've acquired all knowledge a man ever needs to know about comparing insurance rates. However it is rare that I ever see a TV advert for a car that I had not seen before.
I am a confirmed petrol head. In the past I have confessed more to worshipping at the feet of Clarkson than showing any affinity for God, Buddha, Ganesh or any of the other normal deities. And I use a diverse method of feeding my brain so consume much news, commentary and opinion from a wide range of sources. I really should have it all covered before an expensive TV advert is launched.
After all a car is not cracked out of an egg suddenly. It does not emerge from a birth canal. It isn't dropped from an alien spacecraft. No, it is conceived, presented in an wildly, exaggerated form, discussed and touted long before spanner meets galvanised panel. And at each process the media is fed snippets and prose to both build the tension and test the theory. And my collated media covers all this with animated glory.
Yet yesterday I saw a vehicle I had never set eyes on before. And it wasn't even one of those dreary, soulless, forgetful Korean products either. This was a curvaceous sports coupe. And not even from a tinpot niche maker. This was from one of Japan's mega machine suppliers.
In truth the car was already in my radar scope. It was on the front page of TopGear magazine which was given to me the day before. I had not yet had a chance to read this so it had languished in the magazine rack. I suspect it was also in the car blog I follow but work has prevented much blog reading lately. So it got through my net.
By now you may be wondering what this magical beast was. That is if you're not wondering when this diatribe will eventually end. But I have chosen not to do the final reveal as it isn't really the point. The denouement should not weaken the preceding opinions and in this case the mystery will be more tantalising. Whether your head is made of petrol or not.
Apart from that I saw another one today.
Author: Vince Poynter Version 5.194 13 Sep 2018
First published: Blog within WordPress 27 Aug 2012
The vinceunlimited Top Ten Vehicles
21st Century Travelling [In 2005]
You have probably landed on this page from my list of bike or car road tests.
Or maybe you were transported here by a strange new time machine, or even from another manufacturer's computer. Any how you came you are welcome to read why I have chosen the next ten vehicles as my favourite of all time.
It is an eclectic mix of transport that I have either used or lusted after with envy.
Cyclists will note that I have not included a bicycle in the list. After all cycle technology is now futuristic and sexy so I could forgive a lack of motorised power. However I refuse to forgive saddle technology until I can actually ride a bicycle further than ten metres.
Of course, when compiling a list like this the rejected ones are nearly as interesting.
For instance you may wonder how I could have a list like this and not include a Ferrari. Easy really, there's none there.
A few may qualify on the grounds of looking fantastic but underneath is just a lightweight Fiat.
I'm not fooled, nor are many of the owners. Check out the Owner's Documents on any used Ferrari and you will be surprised to see so many names. The hype doesn't live up to the reality.
Great red though but this isn't a favourite list of colours.
Keeping on the subject of cars, in the past I've swooned over the fantastically brutish Aston Martin Vantage and may still get one yet but how could I include a car that if a generous benefactor offered me a swap for any Aston from any time I'd really have no second thoughts about choosing the brand new, phenomally quick and beautiful DB9.
Some of the DB9's details are cheaper than a crate of canaries although I've never been one to turn down a beauty because of a few small imperfections. Mole on Demi Moore? So what.
Another plus would be: "Blonde, James Blonde". What a great introduction.
As you will be able to tell generally I'm not into classic vehicles. I'd rather own a modern Bentley Arnarge than a 4½ litre supercharged model from the 1920s. Unless I can sell it of course.
Plus, impressive that the 4½ litre Bentley behemoth is the most attractive classic car has to be the Jaguar SS100. But still not as good as a couple of dozen modern vehicles.
I love bikes, it's in my genes, whether I currently have a bike or not. It's all to do with the lack of a cycle when I was young and the freedom that my first moped rides brought me.
So I need to include bikes in this ultimate vehicles list and the Ducati 900 Monster was one of the first that I thought of. The reason why this strange naked retro was considered is that it re-vitalised my interest in bikes in the nineteen nineties.
I hadn't had a bike for a while and the squared-off eighties styling never persuaded me to renew my interest. The Monster 900 was a breath of fresh air. It seemed so stylish and raw with an exposed engine and trellis frame it made me want two wheels again.
Thinking back, I can't think why I brought a Yamaha Diversion 900 instead.
Oh yes. Italian electrics, Ducati clutches and a saving of about two grand. And when you are able to make a choice based on such trivial reasons the original option doesn't really deserve to be in a top ten.
And second best is why I cannot include a First Class dining experience aboard a ferry.
As you can tell from other entries I do like being spoilt. So many cannot handle an obsequious waiter or fawning Maitre-d but I'm willing to be waited on hand and foot. It's not a case of being better than those who serve but the fact that it makes a pleasant change. I'll happily have a beer with the waiter afterwards.
A First Class dining experience on board a ferry, such as the cross channel version is a thoroughly pleasant way of passing the time. But two reasons keep it off the top ten. Firstly, the QE2 is infinitely better and secondly the QE2 doesn't end up in France!
My final rejection is an oxymoron. No, not the Ford 2-litre Oxymoron, but a genuine oxymoron from an age where such a beast could exist. A cute war-plane.
Nowadays war planes are stunning, agile weapons of mass destruction but back in the 1920s at the dawn of flight the planes were not overly effective. However, one stands out above the others, including the Red Baron's exciting Fokker Tri-plane.
The Sopwith Camel first came into my life as a child. If you were born a male in the late fifties or early sixties you would be familiar with Airfix kits. Plastic self-build models that filled many a wet weekday after school. They are still available but this tactile hobby, along with most other hands-on experiences, have become side-lined by the ubiquitous electronic games. This is a shame as building a model is a very satisfying skill and I still fondly remember the first one I built - a Sopwith Camel.
This little bi-plane had all the ingredients of a favoured vehicle. The styling was right with the curved leading edge to the wings, dual forward gun synchronised with the propeller and rounded tail plane.
A cute war plane, such an oxymoron.
So, onto the actual vehicles making my top-ten.
1969 Cooper F1 car
My toy racing car. The wing was raised too high in this version, based on a late season entry. So now looks rubbish
Formula 1 racing has always held a certain appeal. The fast cars, obscene money and glamorous locations keep the sport in my mind even if the last few years Schmedious results have kept it off my TV. So it is natural that I should include a car from this pinnacle of motor sports.
I suppose it is a symptom of age that despite the obvious appeal of modern cars there is an era of racing that seems more glorious and it dates around the time I first got an interest in the sport. I have chosen the Cooper F1 from the 1969 season as it was this car that, to me, epitomises open wheel racing.
The rear tyres look properly wide, the engine is exposed and the newly added wings were just right. I like the front spoiler jutting from the actual nose and the rear spoiler was better looking mounted low on the engine.
I've never driven one, nor am I likely to as the price of classic F1 racers nearly match their modern counterparts but I can dream.
An Ariel Atom with my Jaguar XJ8 in the background. I might need to take a moment
My next choice is not so far away from the car above and is probably chosen because of the similarities.
But instead of a having to be Ray Parlour's wife to afford a classic F1 motor this blatant facsimile costs a more reasonable £30-40k.
Still a lot of money for a weekend car with no panels but well comparable with its natural opposition.
I love the Atom's Meccano build and raw energy and can personally testify to its ability to deliver the goods that the look promises.
Short on comfort but very long on desire, the Atom deserves its place in this illustrious crowd.
Nearly as quick as the Aston but with seats like a Business Class jet and the torque to match.
I have never experienced power like the Bentley Arnage delivers and in back to back tests with its bigger brother the Continental it wins on every count, including saving £100k.
The Continental may have the classic looks but I'm sure I can find an Arnage to beat it.
The best car in the world.
Note that a full appraisal of my time with a Bentley Arnage will eventually be available in the Cars section of the website.
My first aeronautical choice is probably in the list of everyone who has ever seen the Concorde.
Breathtakingly beautiful, stunningly quick and well out of the reach of the hoi-poli. Marvellous.
The only problems are it's cramped interior and that it has disappeared from our skies.
Worth every bit of pollution.
In the top ten? No doubt at all.
A Douglas DC-3 hanging in the Smithsonian Museum
The second most beautiful plane in the world [see above] hails from the time just before the second world war but its lines are just so perfect.
I love the fat fuselage, strong wing arrangements, classic twin prop design and sturdy tail.
Still operating in many places around the world today the McDonnell Douglas DC-3, known as a Dakota in the UK, is living proof that if it looks right then it probably is right.
I've yet to catch a flight in one of these beauties but guess that the reality doesn't quite live up to the glamour.
Particularly as I'll probably be in South America when I get a go in one.
Eurostar Best Class
I'm not much of a train buff.
For many years I rarely travelled on one thinking they were too expensive and inconvenient.
Also, with 8 miles between my home and the nearest station, thanks to Beecham's cuts in the 60s, I never had cause to use them.
Not that I had no contact, my wife spent most of her career with a railway company and we took advantage of the odd subsidised trip.
Things have changed recently though as I now work mainly in London and the train is the only viable option. I now estimate that I have travelled over one hundred and fifty thousand miles sat on a train.
This experience, in all its sordid glory is why a trip on the Eurostar in the best carriages is such a delight.
I have travelled three times in First Class and on every occasion I have thought it most pleasant. The large seats, at seat service and quiet comfort is reminiscent of travel tales of old.
Just don't think that the modern version of First Class is the same.
For some peculiar reason, probably to do with the French translation, Business Class is the new premier travelling style and 'mere' First Class is a poor relation.
Now, how do I say 'contravenes the Trade's Description Act' in French?
Honda CBX Moto Martin
A Moto Martin CBX. In Brown. Brilliant as brilliant can be
The first bike in my top ten list is a hybrid vehicle and I'm not talking dual fuel.
In the late seventies Honda produced the stunning CBX with its fantastic transverse six cylinder engine. Wider than a Cockney car salesman with a penchant for iced buns this behemoth was a dream machine.
Except two problems.
One, was the name. Now Honda is a make to be respected for its engineering excellence and reliability but much like my Miele washing machine I don't exactly look at the product with love.
The other problem with the CBX was the handling - the stock Japanese flexi-frames could never harness the engine outputs at the time.
Moto Martin, a small French custom builder came to the rescue by taking the engine and putting it in a stylish trick frame mounted with swoopy body parts with twin-headlamps.
All par for the course today but 30 years ago this was enough to make me tear out the advert and hang it on my wall.
I own one.
Need I say more?
Note that a full appraisal of my Jaguar XJ8 4.0 will eventually be available in the Cars section of the website.
Who wouldn't be impressed with one of the traditional Queens of the sea?
I have travelled the Atlantic on the QE2 and can confirm it is all that you would expect, then more.
One trip and I'm a confirmed cruise fan. A tall order for the QM2 replacement to beat.
For more details about my experience on this most magnificent of vehicles see my separate story.
The two Vincents. Technically the one on the right is a Rapide. The Black Shadow had a black enamelled engine. Both were the same speed when parked
Last, but not least, this list would be incomplete without the vehicle I was actually named after.
My father told me this, whilst saying I should have been grateful that he didn't like Francis Barnetts.
Although this bike now looks a little quirky I am actually quite proud to be named after such a phenomenal bike from the nineteen-fifties, with a great reputation amongst those that know such things.
If only I could afford one now.
Think multiple grands. And then some.
Fantastic name though.
Author: Vince Poynter Version 5.072 16 Feb 2018
First Published: Version 1.03 in Feb 2005
Images added, along with minor text updates for setting out purposes, in Version 5.060 23 Jan 2018. All photographs taken by the Author, except the one he is in [Obvs].