Your First Car

By Philip (The Rascal) | JKTalla.com

Everyone remembers their first car. Everyone loved their first car. Everyone still loves their first car. I'm no different.

Mine, like many, was the Mini.

In 1959, the British Motor Corporation (BMC) introduced us to the Mini, designed by Sir Alec Issigonis, a man who famously sketched the original concept on a napkin. The design was revolutionary for its size, with the engine mounted transversely and the wheels pushed to each corner, giving it handling that belied its tiny footprint. It was massively popular with everyone, from housewives to celebrities. The likes of Lulu, the Beatles, and Peter Sellers all drove one. It sold in the millions and was seen on every street.

Then John Cooper got hold of one. He saw something in that cheeky little car that others had missed, and the Cooper S went on to win the Monte Carlo Rally in 1964, 1965, and 1967. The 1966 win was actually disqualified on a technicality involving headlights, which still rankles Mini enthusiasts to this day. All of this happened before my time, as did the gold bullion heist in the classic movie, The Italian Job.

I was a huge fan of the 1969 film. Michael Caine, Benny Hill, Noël Coward, and an all-star cast at the top of their game. The three Minis, red, white, and blue, escaping through the streets of Turin is a masterpiece of cinema. Three Cooper S models dancing, skidding, and jumping while being pursued by the Italian police and the Mafia. What most people don't know is that several of the iconic chase sequences were actually filmed in Coventry and the Ardingly Reservoir in Sussex, with Turin providing the glamorous establishing shots.

Accompanying it all was one of the most recognisable pieces of music in film history. The Self Preservation Society was written by Don Black and produced by Quincy Jones, and it will keep the Mini in my heart forever.

I became quite obsessed with the film.

In 1991, I bought a painting by artist Tony Smith, who specialised in scenes from the movie. It led to years of collecting anything film-related, from postcards and models to art, posters, and signatures. My walls are covered in Tony Smith's work, and I now have so much of it that I simply store it away, which is a shame.

If you ever get the chance to view his art, look carefully for a hidden character. It appears in all of his Italian Job paintings bar the first, a small tribute to his dear friend Terence Cuneo, the celebrated railway artist who was himself famous for hiding a tiny mouse somewhere in every painting he produced.

So the Mini was my choice. Practical, affordable, charming.

My wife had a Mini too, though she wasn't my wife then. She was just a fantasy. As luck would have it, my fantasy became my wife some years later, but that is a different blog altogether. I recall she added oil more often than petrol, and had a homemade cover behind the grille so that rain didn't get into the ignition points. Minis of that era were notoriously susceptible to damp electrics, a quirk their owners wore as a badge of honour.

Now, promise me you won't laugh when you see my first Mini at the bottom of the page.

Wait. Promise me first.

You have to understand, I was young. I couldn't even drive yet. I was a little wild in my dreams and imagination. This was what a young lad dreamed of for his first car. It was my personality, a way of standing out as a car enthusiast even back then. Plus, it was all I could afford, if I'm honest.

I came across the car by chance a few streets away. It had limited appeal, certainly, but it suited my needs. The name Andy Saunders was mentioned at the time, an upcoming custom car builder already making a name for himself with some wonderfully outrageous ideas. I was led to believe he may have worked on this Mini.

I purchased the car with my grandparents' love and money, a loan I paid back faithfully each month. I got it home, got it off the road to avoid taxing it, and began learning basic mechanics. Real basic stuff, but you have to start somewhere.

(After reaching out to Andy Saunders about my Mini, he kindly informed me it was not one of his projects. His work is extraordinary, and his website is well worth a visit.)

I've had many, many Minis since.

Years later, I was lucky enough to be given space in a workshop at CHF Classics in the mid-nineties. Mick, the owner, gave me the run of his tools and the spray booth for repainting. He was a great character and a complete car lunatic, which is the finest compliment you can pay a man in this world. The other side of his workshop housed his MK III Zephyr drag car, which deserves a blog all of its own.

My Minis had many guises over the years.

I don't think my driving days with the Mini are over yet.

So, hands up. Who wants their first car back?

Written by Philip (The Rascal) Editor and Content Creator

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