Press the start button in a new Mini Cooper, select Sport mode and the touchscreen cheerily promises ‘Maximum go-kart feel’. Not so in the original. Here, you’ll find no drive modes, no touchscreen, no cringeworthy marketing speak. Oh, and no start button. The classic Cooper simply delivers maximum go-kart feel all the time.
The Mini was never supposed to be a sports car, of course. To quote legendary CAR magazine scribe LJK Setright: ‘It was an essentially humanistic concept… not a car for engineers, nor for motoring enthusiasts, but for the people, a car in which 80 percent was theirs to occupy as they liked’.
The people clearly agreed, buying nearly 5.4 million Minis over its 41-year production life. It remains the best-selling British car of all time.
Asuper Cooper
Perfect packaging and clever rubber cone suspension also endowed the Mini with alert, inertia-free handling. And when the more powerful Cooper arrived in 1961, even ‘motoring enthusiasts’ took note. It proved a giant-killer on the road and racetrack, famously vanquishing the V8-engined Ford Falcons in the Monte Carlo Rally.
The Cooper was replaced by the square-fronted 1275 GT in 1971, but made a comeback in 1990 – staying on sale until the last Mini left Longbridge in 2000.
This 1998 Rover Cooper Sport represents the final evolution of the Mini Cooper. Its bonnet stripes, spotlamps, walnut dashboard and glinting chrome evoke a storied past, but wide wheelarches, 13-inch alloys and fuel injection are modest stabs at modernity.
Today, only around 650 Cooper Sports are registered on UK roads and even a dog-eared example will cost you five figures (the cheapest I found was £14,000). This Mini is available to hire from RNG Classics in Surrey, along with numerous other classic cars.
Don’t slow down…
My first and second cars were both Minis, so climbing aboard the Cooper rouses memories of teenage road-trips, getting lost in the days before sat-nav and fruitless pleas for petrol money.
The steering wheel, angled like a London bus, feels instantly familiar, but I’d forgotten just how skinny the doors are. Compared to this, any modern car feels like a fortress.
The Mini coughs into life with a gruff rasp, followed by the quirky whine of its four-speed gearbox. The 62hp 1,275cc A-Series engine is eager and tractable, helping this 686kg flyweight scamper through city traffic. Even so, 0-60mph in 11.8 seconds and 92mph flat-out won’t worry many hot hatchbacks.
Venture beyond city limits and preserving momentum – i.e. not slowing down – is key to what my driving instructor called ‘making progress’. Happily, that’s something the Cooper Sport does uncommonly well. You simply take corners at the same speed as the straights.
Still a giant-killer
On the writhing, capillary lanes that fan outwards from RNG’s Reigate base, the Mini is an absolute riot. Its darty steering jostles with incessant feedback, it grips tenaciously and its skateboard ride amplifies every ripple in the road.
I remember one moment vividly, chasing a new Toyota Corolla at about 50mph. The Corolla driver was probably on auto-pilot, steering with one hand while listening to the Radio 4. I was wired and grinning like a loon, hands clamped to the wheel as the Mini bounced between bends.
This ability to make sensible – and entirely legal – speeds feel fast is the Mini Cooper’s genius. It transforms the B2126 to Dorking into the Col de Turini.
You wouldn’t want to drive one every day (although millions did, including me), but as a cool classic to relish on summer Sundays, the Mini beats many far more exalted sports cars. Just as it always did.
Thanks to RNG Classics (@rngclassics). Photos by Charlie B (@charlieb.photography).
The Iconic Auctioneers NEC Classic sale will see 170 cars auctioned later this month. The lineup includes everything from hot hatchbacks to legendary race cars.
Being held as part of the 2024 NEC Classic Motor Show, the Iconic Auctioneers sale will take place on Saturday 9 November 2024.
The auction catalogue features a variety of fast Fords, but the two legends featured here turned our heads most of all.
1990 Ford Sierra RS500 BTCC
The Ford Sierra Cosworth RS500 was designed to dominate Group A touring car racing. Indeed, the RS500 road cars only existed to homologate these flame-spitting motorsport versions.
This is no standard Sierra, but the genuine Andy Rouse Engineering RS500, driven by Tim Harvey during the 1989 and 1990 British Touring Car Championship (BTCC) seasons.
In 1989, it achieved two wins and claimed third place overall in the BTCC’s Class A. Following the end of the season, it was shipped to Macau, then won the prestigious Guia touring car race – again with Tim Harvey at the wheel.
Used again in the BTCC for 1990, wearing the instantly recognisable Labatt’s livery seen above, Harvey and the RS500 took another third-in-class finish. This was combined with fourth place overall in the BTCC.
After the BTCC season ended, the RS500 was left in Labatt’s colours and passed into the hands of private collectors.
A piece of British motorsport history
Bought by an Australian enthusiast in 2008, the RS500 was used for one race in the Touring Car Masters competition. In 2011, it was purchased by Paul Smith and brought back to the UK.
Ready for historic competition use, the Sierra was prepared for events such as the Silverstone Classic and Gold Cup at Oulton Park. Smith even shared the driving duties with Tim Harvey.
The car’s current owner has invested heavily in maintenance, and this year saw it driven by Tiff Needell for The Late Brake Show.
Opportunities to own one of the UK’s most famous touring car racers are rare, making this a very special auction lot.
1989 Ford RS200
The Iconic Auctioneers sale includes not one, but two Ford RS200s up for grabs. This car has a slightly higher pre-auction guide price, and also wears the distinctive Ford Motorsport livery.
Developed in heady days of Group B world rallying, the RS200 matched a mid-engined layout with four-wheel drive.
A 1.8-litre turbocharged Cosworth four-cylinder engine was fitted, developing up to 450hp in rallying guise.
The road-going examples built for homologation made do with only 250hp, but later versions gained more power.
Original tyres included
Said to be the 100th example completed, this Ford RS200 was initially delivered to Charles King Motors, a Ford dealership in Bedfordshire. The original owner specified a full leather interior, along with the Ford Motorsport decals.
Despite having four previous owners, the RS200 has covered fewer than 1,800 miles from new. It even still wears its original Pirelli P6000 tyres (now long overdue replacement) and comes with a complete factory-supplied tool kit.
As a standout example of an already special car, the RS200 could sell for between £220,000 and £260,000.
The car in front of me looks a million dollars, literally. At today’s exchange rate, that equates to £777,130: about what you’d pay for a perfect 911 Carrera 2.7 RS. Yet although it resembles the most iconic Porsche of all, this is actually a 911 SC. At £45,000, it’s six percent of the price for 90 percent of the fun.
Porsche’s 911 has been the sports car to beat for more than six decades. Purists, though, may tell you it peaked in 1973. After the Le Mans-winning 917 was outlawed, Porsche needed a sequel. That car was the Carrera 2.7 RS: a homologation special designed to meet Group Four race and rally rules.
The first road-going 911 to wear the RS (Rennsport) badge, it’s the godfather of today’s revered GT3 and GT2 models.
When less is more
The RS was based on the 2.4-litre 911S, its air-cooled engine bored out to 2,681cc. It also underwent a crash diet, including thinner body panels, lighter glass and no rear seats. In Sport versions, even the Porsche crest on the bonnet was a sticker to save a few grams.
The raw figures were 213hp at 6,300rpm, 0-62mph in 5.8 seconds and 975kg in Sport spec. A more luxurious (and 100kg heavier) Touring version followed, taking total production to 1,525 cars – all built in 1973.
I was lucky enough to drive a 2.7 RS several years ago: bucket-list stuff for any petrolhead. I vividly remember how every input felt richly mechanical and the car fizzed with kinetic energy. Only its near-seven-figure value tempered my enthusiasm.
RS prices have rocketed tenfold percent over the past two decades, making it one of the fastest appreciating cars of this century. That’s great news if you own one, but less so if you aspire to.
Rennsport revival
‘Backdated’ cars have filled the vacuum. Typically, these are SC, Carrera 3.2 or 964 models produced between the late 1970s and early 1990s. Their bulky bumpers are binned, black trim is swapped for chrome and the signature RS flourishes are applied: colour-coded Fuchs wheels, a ‘Carrera’ sill script and a ducktail rear spoiler. Porsche nerds may tut in disapproval, but the result is a 911 that oozes retro cool.
This 1980 SC was backdated in 2013, using fibreglass bumpers and body panels. Its 207hp 3.0-litre engine and ‘cookie cutter’ alloys are unaltered, while its cabin boasts several niceties missing from the RS – including electric windows and a radio.
However, settle into the ‘tombstone’ seat and you couldn’t be anywhere but an air-cooled 911. The upright windscreen, offset pedals and baffling heater controls are traits that transcend any hierarchy of performance or price.
Driving this backdated 911 today.
It’s a 1980 3.0 SC in Hellblau metallic with 16in cookie-cutter alloys. For sale at DM Historics for £44,950. pic.twitter.com/BZzQETQyC6
Early 911s are defiantly unconventional to drive, too. You steer with your fingertips and coax the spindly gearlever gently across the gate. You’re acutely conscious of weight transfer, sensing the back end squat under acceleration and pendulum effect of the rear-mounted engine as you turn.
You relish the car’s modest footprint and make allowances for its modest brakes. And you drink in the flat-six soundtrack, which swells from busy bluster to piercing yowl.
The sincerest form of flattery
The SC is brimful of feedback and classic character: a car that rewards on every kind of road. It’s also arguably more fun than the RS it imitates in the real world.
Granted, it doesn’t feel so textured or up-on-its-toes as the Rennsport – very few cars do, frankly – but you can drive it without fear of obliterating your investment portfolio. For many, the fact it looks the part only heightens the feelgood factor. So, don’t wait for that lottery-win 2.7 RS: just buy a 911, backdated or otherwise, then get out and drive it.
This car was kindly loaned by DM Historics in Kent and has now been sold.
The current Fiat 500 has been loved by young, fashionable urbanites since it was launched in 2007. There’s now an electric 500, too
Its classic predecessor – the Nuova 500 – first won over city drivers in 1957. Designed to get Italians on wheels, its diminutive dimensions, simple two-cylinder engine and cute-as-a-button styling earned it numerous fans. It proved so popular that it provided unashamed inspiration for its newer (and much larger) ancestor.
Replacing the front-engined 1936 Fiat 500 ‘Topolino’ (or ‘little mouse’), the Nuova (‘new’) 500 made use of the popular rear-engined template of the time. It followed in the tyre-tracks of its larger 600 predecessor, and was part of the ‘economic miracle’ that was post-war Italy’s decade-and-a-half of sustained economic growth.
Like the contemporary Volkswagen Beetle and Citroen 2CV, it can be considered one of the earliest mass-market ‘people’s cars’. It enjoyed an 18-year production run from 1957 to 1975.
Replaced by the angular, but similar-in-concept Fiat 126, the Nuova 500 is now a popular classic car. With a simple concept and endearing character, it’s easy to see why more than four million Nuova 500s were produced. Our test car is a 1966 500 ‘F’ with a 499cc 18hp engine, provided by Great Escape Cars. The car has also been used on the Antiques Road Trip TV programme. It was imported from Milan in January 2015.
What are its rivals?
As its production run covered almost two decades, the Nuova 500’s rivals are varied. Perhaps the most obvious is the ground-breaking Morris Mini Minor/Austin Seven/Mini of 1959, which brought front-engined, front-wheel-drive technology to the mass market.
Similar in size to the 2,970mm Nuova 500, the 3,054mm Mini was more powerful: its 848cc four-cylinder engine developed 33hp – almost twice as much as the little Fiat. The 500 weighed less, though; the tiny Italian car tipped the scales at 470kg, versus the Mini’s 617kg.
As the Nuova 500 entered the 1960s, more rivals appeared in the shape of the two-cylinder 1961 NSU Prinz 4, as well as the Hillman Imp of 1963. Both newcomers shared a rear-engined layout with the Fiat, but had larger dimensions.
Coincidentally, there was another NSU link: the pretty Neckar Weinsberg 500 Limousette and Coupe were based on the Nuova 500 and produced by NSU/Fiat Weinsberg Karosseriewerke in Heilbronn, Germany.
Which engines does it use?
The first 500s were powered by a two-cylinder 479cc engine (500cc nominally, which gave the car its name). It initially developed 13hp, then later 15hp. A larger-capacity 499.5cc Sport variant mustered 21hp.
The 500 D arrived in 1960 and ushered in an enlarged 499cc two-cylinder engine, this time with 18hp, which powered the little car – including our 1966 500 F test model – until 1973. The final incarnation of the 500, the ‘R’, borrowed its 594cc engine from the similarly diminutive Fiat 126. It produced a heady 23hp.
Abarth versions were even more dizzying; engines ranged from 593cc to 689.5cc, with power outputs from 27hp to 38hp.
What’s it like to drive?
The first thing that strikes you when you get into a 500 is the amount of space. Despite its bijou size, it uses what interior space it has to much better effect than the new version. Thanks to its rear-engined, rear-driven layout, there’s no bulky transmission tunnel to get in the way, while its large and upright glasshouse makes it feel spacious and easy to place on the road.
On the move, the engine really has to be revved to get any decent performance. But while our mildly hilly, open-road test route wasn’t best suited to the little Fiat, it coped well. Once the engine is on-song, it does assault the ears somewhat, but don’t worry: it might sound like you’re doing it some damage, but that’s just how it is. Top speed is only 59mph, so motorway cruising is generally limited to the inside lane.
The hardest thing to master is the non-synchromesh ‘crash’ gearbox. You need to double de-clutch every time you change gear – you’ll do it very often – and it can be tricky to get the hang of. The steering feels vague out on the open road, too, but the 500 is quite nimble and light on its tyres. The brakes work well enough, and you’ll be glad when you have stopped, just to give your ears a rest. For a small car, the Fiat can feel quite demanding and tiring to drive. But isn’t that part of the fun?
Reliability and running costs
Although the downsized two-cylinder engine was a departure for Fiat, it has a reputation for being a tough little unit. The car’s non-synchromesh gearbox was used throughout its life, but thankfully it’s also famed for being strong. If it does need repairing, however, this isn’t a simple task.
The 500’s dinky dimensions mean parts prices aren’t too prohibitive: a front panel can cost around £75 from an independent specialist, while bonnets start at around £110. Door hinge repair kits are as little as £6, while doors themselves cost upwards of £350.
With not much power – and therefore not a huge amount of speed – the 500 has an advantage when it comes to fuel economy, with 53mpg commonly reported. All now fall under the VED historic vehicle exemption rule for cars registered before 1 January 1984, too, meaning they cost nothing to tax. To further keep costs to a minimum, a classic car insurance policy would be a wise investment.
Could I drive it every day?
For today’s congested streets, the Nuova 500’s pint-sized footprint is perfect. A modern Smart car may still be shorter – so 90-degree parking facing the kerb is off the cards – but the 500 can nip through narrow streets that would be out of bounds to bigger cars, its modern relative included.
If you want more practicality, the equally cute Giardiniera estate version of the Nuova 500 was made from 1960 to 1977 and enjoyed a larger carrying capacity, thanks to the engine being turned on its side and mounted under the boot floor.Don’t forget the sunroof on the standard car, though – fold it back to carry long loads and you’ll possess the coolest load-lugger in town.
While longer journeys may prove more of a challenge due to that small engine, our 1966 test car provided modest fun out on the roads surrounding the Welsh borders. However, you do have to rev the little unit to its absolute limit, so it’s best to keep to the urban landscape.
How much should I pay?
Most early-1970s, good-condition 500 F, L or R models command around £6,000-£10,000, while top collectors’ cars can go for upwards of £20,000. Restoration projects start from as low as £2,000.
Cars that need importing may be cheaper still, but don’t forget you will need import duty and VAT adding to the total bill. It goes without saying that cars that have been better cared for fetch higher prices – we spotted one 1971 500 F that had been resprayed, serviced and kept in a garage for £12,500.
Later 500 Rs are in demand as they offer a combination of the later running gear with the early, retro-style ‘round speedo’ dashboard, rather than the plastic padded one of the 500 L.
What should I look out for?
As with almost all retro cars, one of the biggest enemies of the 500 is rust. Examine the front panel behind the headlamps closely, along with the areas around the front and rear windows, as well as the engine cover. Don’t forget the usual spots, too, such as the bottoms of the doors, sills, wheelarches and wings.
Open the front bonnet and check there, paying particular attention to the battery tray and spare wheel well. The floor can need attention on cars that haven’t been looked after. Rot is usually caused by leaks from that same large sunroof that gives the car a certain amount of its character.
Oil leaks from the engine are common, but a lot of smoke from the exhaust suggests the little two-cylinder will need a rebuild. The dinky unit also relies on its cooling flaps working correctly – if they don’t, it can overheat and substantial engine damage can result. Also look for worn carburettors, timing chains and clean, regularly-changed spark plugs. A check of the suspension mounting points is also worth doing. Examine both the rear semi-trailing arms and the transverse front leaf spring for corrosion. The front kingpins will need re-greasing every 1,000-1,500 miles as well.
With so many leaving Fiat’s Lingotto factory in Turin, a great number of Nuova 500s will be left-hand drive like our test car. If it’s known that a particular car has been subject to a steering wheel swap to the right-hand side, an independent specialist can check the conversion has been carried out properly. As befits its car-for-the-masses roots, the 500’s interior is refreshingly simple. Wear and tear will be noticeable, but parts (as well as exterior panels) on early cars can be difficult to find.
Should I buy one?
As with most classic cars, there’s characterful appeal to the 500 that rubs off on you as you drive it. A happy little car with plenty of personality, for retro-chic appeal, a Nuova 500 beats the current Fiat 500 hands-down. Healthy production figures mean there are still plenty around, and the tiny silhouette is one of the most well-known and endearing on the classic car scene. We’d buy one and keep it for high days and holidays, unless its condition and patina dictates everyday use.
Later 500 F and L cars from the mid-1960s onwards will probably be the most reliable, for those considering a long-term proposition. As well as the engine, last-of-the-line R cars shared some chassis parts with their 126 successor and will be more robust still. However, even the final examples are now well over 40 years old.
We’d probably have a Nouva 500 over a similar vintage Mini, purely for the added style and Italian character it offers. With a starring role as Luigi in the first Cars movie, your kids will thank you as well.
Pub facts
For the first eight years of its life, the Nuova 500 had reverse-hinged ‘suicide’ doors, but they were phased out in 1965 due to safety concerns. However, the Giardiniera estate car stuck with the rear-opening doors for all of its production run. Its wheelbase was also extended by four inches.
The original 500 was the first car to be offered with a flexible finance package, set to appeal to the bank of mum and dad.
And if you love your 500 that much and want to park it indoors, you can buy a Smeg fridge that immortalises the little Italian. ‘Because a refrigerator is not just a domestic appliance and a bonnet is not just a car’, the Smeg 500 has been available since 2013, and is based on the front of a Nuova 500. It has a 100-litre capacity and is available in traditional Italian red, green or white.
Daihatsu Cuore Avanzato TR-XX R4. It’s a long name for a very short car. But, as Aesop would have testified, good things come in small packages – and vehicles don’t come more diminutive than a Japanese kei car.
Then again, the Greek storyteller also claimed it is possible to have too much of a good thing. But in the case of the Cuore Avanzato, Aesop was a little wide of the mark. Allow me to explain, in my ode to the ‘Box of Frogs’.
First, a brief history lesson. The kei car can trace its roots back to post-war Japan, as the Ministry of International Trade and Industry (MITI) looked to kick-start the country’s economy after World War Two. The kei jidosha – or light vehicle – was designed to mobilise an entire nation, providing a cheap and practical alternative to the motorcycle.
Early kei vehicles were delivery trucks designed for small businesses and shops, but the kei car came of age in 1955, with the introduction of the Suzuki Suzulight. Three years later, Subaru launched the 360: the world’s first mass-produced kei car.
The modern kei car was born in 1990 when manufacturers were permitted to use 660cc engines, along with a longer bodyshell. It meant the kei became a viable proposition for export, although a 64hp power limit kept these automotive terriers on a tight leash.
It wasn’t tight enough to prevent a little bending of the rules, though. Manufacturers were free to use turbochargers, superchargers or whatever they felt necessary to inject the kei car with the automotive equivalent of vodka and Red Bull. Other energy drinks are available.
‘Konnichiwa, Avanzato’
In creating the Cuore Avanzato TR-XX R4, Daihatsu adopted a kid-in-a-sweet-shop mentality, grabbing all the cool bits from the parts warehouse and crowbarring them into a kei car until its cheeks were fit to burst.
The engine is a 660c four-cylinder 16v twin-cam unit, with both a turbocharger and intercooler, plus a five-speed gearbox and four-wheel drive. It’s redlined at 8,500rpm and weighs about the same as Kinder Egg, with approximately the same level of structural rigidity. Heck, it could probably fit inside the little yellow egg.
Back in 1998, when my ‘Box of Frogs’ arrived in the UK; the Daihatsu Cuore was the cheapest Japanese-built car you could buy. At £6,500, the Cuore – which is Italian for ‘heart’ – was around £3,000 less expensive than the Rover Mini, but a foot longer.
Our friends at CAR magazine likened the £9,750 Avanzato to the £9,400 Mini Cooper, labelling it ‘barking mad’. A 0-60mph time of 8.65 seconds compared favourably with the BMW Z3 1.9 (9.5sec), Volkswagen Golf GTI 1.8T (8.5sec) and Peugeot 206 GTI (8.7sec). Still, I suspect this tells you as much about the lardiness of contemporary performance cars as it does the bantamweight talents of the Daihatsu.
For some reason, the Avanzato passed me by in 1998 – I was too busy dreaming about owning a Honda Accord Type R – but a chance encounter in February 2010 meant I had to put right a previous wrong.
Casually browsing the PistonHeads classifieds, I stumbled across an ad for a Japanese-import Mira Avanzato, complete with a set of photos of the car taken in the snow. It was love at first sight. Cars always look better in the snow, right?
Sadly, somebody had already pocketed the Avanzato, but I spent the next few weeks searching in vain for a UK-spec car. Daihatsu UK only imported 100 Cuore Avanzatos: 80 to the general public and 20 to Harry Hockly for motorsport use. Yet I was determined to find one.
Living in Lilliput
With weeks in danger of turning into months, I placed a wanted ad on PistonHeads and expected to be greeted with little more than tumbleweed and silence. Surprisingly, within 24 hours I had received three emails, including one from a potential seller in Twickenham.
He had owned his white, 22,000-mile Avanzato from new, having passed the local Daihatsu dealer on his commute to work. It sounded perfect. So, with a 400-mile round trip in prospect, I asked as many questions as possible via email before agreeing on a price, subject to a final inspection.
The Avanzato was waiting for me outside the station and, determined to maintain my best car-buying poker face, I tried to remain calm as we made our way to the seller’s house. By the first mini-roundabout, I was grinning like Lewis Carroll’s British shorthair tabby. Poker face removed, I knew I had to have this car.
My memories of the drive home are a little hazy – it was 14 years ago – but I remember getting the controls mixed up, resulting in impromptu wipes of the windscreen, rather than indicating my intentions to turn left, and an unwanted screen-wash as I attempted to flash a bus out of a junction.
I distinctly remember feeling intimidated by other users, which is hardly surprising given the fact that the Avanzato is small enough to fit inside the glovebox of a modern SUV. Driving a kei car is akin to arriving in Lilliput, where superminis are giants and lorries are the giants’ parents. If you want to know how Stuart Little would feel while riding a Scalextric car through your dining room, take the M3 motorway out of London in an Avanzato.
Modern life in miniature
Everything is smaller in the Avanzato, which includes the running costs. Tax, at the time, cost £115 a year and belt-and-braces insurance was just £200. Also, £20 of fuel would deliver 200 miles of range, while a new set of Toyo tyres cost £120 including fitting. I’m more accustomed to spending that on each tyre.
The Avanzato spent most of its time transporting me to and from the office. It made every commute feel like a drive in the Gran Turismo Sunday Cup, only without the pixel-challenged Mazda Demio GL-X and Starlet Glanza to beat into the first corner of the Autumn Ring.
Strangely, for an infinitesimal hot hatchback with its origins in congested Japanese metropolises, the Avanzato is less at home in the city than you might think. It’s too highly-strung for stop-start traffic, forever begging you to take it to the redline. The ride quality is as you’d expect: it doesn’t crash over road imperfections, but instead falls down the crevices, before appearing nose first out of the other side.
There are plus-points. You’ll never tire of beating Audi turbodiesels away from the lights – don’t tell me that’s not appealing – while even the smallest parking bay is no bother to the Avanzato. And, when you get there, you can press a button to fold away the door mirrors. Because a kei car isn’t small enough already, apparently.
However, it’s beyond city limits that the Avanzato feels most at home. On B-roads, it’s as willing as the terrier mentioned earlier, sling-shotting from corner to corner like a frenzied dog chasing a ball. For such a relatively tall and narrow car, the Avanzato corners with remarkable poise, with its body-roll countered by endless grip.
Look, my precise memories of the Avanzato are hazy, so to provide a full and detailed review of its pros and cons would be a tad disingenuous. When you get to my age, you can barely remember what you had for dinner last Tuesday, let alone a car you owned 14 years ago…
Growing up is overrated
But, let me leave you with some closing thoughts. I’ve owned far too many cars, ranging from a £30 Daihatsu Charade to a £20,000 Vauxhall VX220 Turbo. If that sounds like a humble brag, just speak to my six-and-a-half friends, and they’ll tell you that the majority of the 50 or so V5s ever to bear my name have been closer to the Charade than they have the Vauxhall.
And that’s fine: I like cheap and unwanted cars. My point is this: the Cuore Avanzato is up there with the most fun I’ve had on four wheels. Rain or shine, 5mph or 55mph, traffic or open road – the Avanzato was fun regardless of the conditions.
We’re conditioned to follow a specific path in life. Be a baby, grow up, leave school, do well, get married, have a child or two, moan about getting old, retire, grow old and die.
The automotive path is similarly well-trodden. Start small, before working your way up the automotive ladder, then going small again when you reach the point at which your offspring are leaving care home brochures on your kitchen table.
The Daihatsu Cuore Avanzato TR-XX R4 is the antithesis of doing things the ‘right’ way. It says: “Hey, it’s OK to have fun in a small car,” even if you should be towing the line in a miserable, lazy-powered crossover.
Think of it as the car you imagined you’d be driving as you sat behind the wheel of your hand-me-down Little Tikes Cozy Coupe. The build quality is just the same, which means pushing it into the garden pond, or next door’s Toyota Avensis would have the same results, while you don’t need to be going fast to experience undiluted joy.
The only difference is that the world has told you to grow up. You wouldn’t fit behind the wheel of a Cozy Coupe, but you could own a Daihatsu Cuore Avanzato TR-XX R4. And if you get the opportunity to buy one, you probably should.
This is a rarity for the Retro Road Test: a car that went out of production less than a decade ago: the Land Rover 90 40th Anniversary. After 25 years, the Land Rover Defender production line finally ground to a halt in 2016. And that’s doing it a disservice – the Defender name is 25 years old, but it can trace its roots right back to the 1948 Land Rover Series I.
The Defender on test here isn’t actually a Defender at all – it’s from 1988, so predates the Defender name by three years. It’s limited edition 40th Anniversary – very limited edition, in fact. Industrial action at Rover Group at the time meant only two examples were made before the special edition was binned.
What are its rivals?
It kind of lives in its own sector, the Defender. Sure, there are cheaper, tougher, more comfortable 4x4s that make a lot more sense from a practical perspective.
But none of them is a Defender. If you must look elsewhere, consider the likes of the Mercedes-Benz G-Class or Toyota Land Cruiser. Or a Unimog.
What engine does it use?
Being a Ninety as opposed to a later Defender, E40 KDU is powered by a fairly asthmatic 2.5-litre turbodiesel engine. It was replaced in 1990 by the more popular 200Tdi, which then became the enthusiast’s favourite 300Tdi.
Later models used a range of BMW and Ford diesels – all of which were more efficient and offered greater performance, but lacked the bush-mechanics simplicity of the earlier engines.
What’s it like to drive?
The Defender has a lot of charm. We’d argue that an early 90 such as this is the best compromise between old-school simplicity and modern-day comfort. Its coil springs (as opposed to the leaf springs fitted to Series Land Rovers) offer comfortable (if slightly bouncy) ride quality, while the steering is vague in a way only Defenders can get away with.
Reliability and running costs
“If you want to go into the Outback,” the Aussies say, “take a Land Rover or a Land Cruiser. If you want to come back alive, take a Land Cruiser.”
No, Land Rover Defenders aren’t known for being reliable. And they’re not the most efficient vehicles – expect early-20s MPG. But they’re well catered for in terms of owners’ clubs and online forums – and they’re generally easy to fix if (well, when) they go wrong.
Could I drive it every day?
It takes a special kind of person to drive a Defender every day – but people do manage it. You have to be prepared for water coming in when it rains, and don’t expect a great deal of comfort. Still, enjoy looking down on other motorists, and be prepared to give fellow Defender drivers a cheery wave.
How much should I pay?
Defender prices have always been strong – now more so than ever, with production of the original model now finished. Pay as much as you can afford – concentrate on condition rather than age, and try to get a desirable station wagon over a commercial variant. You’re not going to lose out on a Defender. Not until you start taking running costs into account, anyway.
What should I look out for?
Rust is the big issue. Have a good poke around with a screwdriver, particularly checking the rear crossmember and the bulkhead. They can be replaced, but the work won’t be cheap.
Other than that, look for one that’s been pampered by an enthusiast. Although earlier engines can take more abuse than later ones, look for evidence of regular servicing. Also, check that the four-wheel-drive system works as it should – ensuring the low-range gearbox engages and disengages easily.
Should I buy one?
Objectively, there are many better, more sensible alternatives. But none of them are as cool or iconic as the Defender. Buy now while they’re still relatively attainable, and have a great deal of fun while you watch prices rise even higher.
Pub fact
The 2,000,000th Defender left the Solihull factory towards the end of 2015. It was a unique special edition, built with the help of Land Rover brand ambassadors and celebrities including Bear Grylls and Adam Henson. It sold at auction for an incredible £400,000.
The Sinclair C5 came in a cardboard box delivered to your door. It was built in a Hoover washing machine factory and it was narrow enough to drive down your hallway. Which many people concluded was the best place for it.
This was a revolutionary affordable vehicle for the masses, or at least millionaire computer whizz Sir Clive Sinclair thought so. His qualifications for this forecast were founded on his successful launch of one of the earliest pocket calculators and the famous ZX Spectrum home computer.
Well, the Sinclair C5 was cheap compared to a normal car of the 1980s, and it certainly looked different. But not in a good way.
An electric dream
The C5’s emergence was the result of Sinclair’s long-running interest in electric cars, which led to the start of the C1 project in 1979. Sinclair asked a former Radionics colleague Tony Wood Rogers to be a consultant, and design specialists Ogle to style it.
Ogle subsequently revealed they never believed in the project, and their concentration on its aerodynamic properties – critical for an electric vehicle, even with the modest 30mph target top speed – resulted in an unhelpful weight gain that probably undid all the aerodynamic wins.
That made the C1’s 30-mile range a near-impossible goal, despite a lightweight polypropylene body built for one person.
Better than a moped?
Sinclair’s aim was to build a better vehicle than a moped, and at a price vastly undercutting a conventional car. By spring 1983, however, he’d abandoned this project to raise more funds – undeterred by Ogle’s prophetic view that the C1 wouldn’t sell because its range was limited, it wasn’t weather-proof and it was too slow.
Sinclair raised £12 million by selling shares in Radionic, more than £8 million of it dedicated to the newly formed Sinclair Vehicles. Within months, the project was back on, and the Hoover domestic appliance company was contracted to build the vehicle, as Sinclair preferred to call it, at its Welsh factory.
The staggeringly optimistic production target was 8,000 C5s a week – a quantity to rival Ford cars at the time.
Engineering by Lotus
The project got a boost of sorts when the UK government introduced legislation, lobbied for by bicycle-maker Raleigh, that allowed electrically-assisted two- and three-wheelers onto UK roads. However, they were only permitted to reach speeds up to 15mph.
Also, the electric motor could only produce 250 watts, and the vehicle had to weigh no more than 60kg. All three rules had an unhelpful impact on Sinclair’s motor-assisted recumbent tricycle.
Within these limits, though, it was well-engineered, with Lotus hired to develop the C5 from Wood Rogers’ prototype. Like a Lotus, it had a backbone steel chassis and a welded composite two-piece body. And it was built down to a weight.
An electric fan motor powered a single speed, belt-driven gearbox and it was steered by handlebars that lay below you, where they were easy and relaxing to reach, an ingenious solution devised by Wood Rogers.
Powered by people
But the main source of drive was not so much the motor as the driver, using the Sinclair’s big, square pedals. The C5 was simply a tricycle with a part-time 12-volt motor, and it should have been sold that way to avoid disappointment. Still, marketing it as a tricycle would never have scored the colossal publicity that came its way because it was presented as a car.
Spin it any way you like, but the Sinclair C5 launch was a disaster. Problem one was that it took place on January 10 1985, the cold weather not only reducing the range of its puny 12-volt battery, but also treating the assembled hacks to the shivering reality of pedalling a C5 in the cold, wind and rain.
Problem two was the location. North London’s Alexandra Palace is an attractive venue, partly because it’s built on a hill. But it didn’t take long for the journalists, serial long-lunchers among them, to discover one of the C5’s many problems.
Hill-climbing often overloaded the motor to the point of cut-out – a state signalled by a forlorn electronic peeping – and when the motor wasn’t overworked a modest gradient would soon flatten the plastic trike’s battery. Some C5s didn’t decimate their batteries – but that was only because they didn’t work at all.
The orders came, but at nowhere near the rate needed to absorb the 8000-a-week torrent spilling from Hoover’s Merthyr Tydfil factory. Yet there was plenty of brave talk from Sinclair Vehicles on the fizzing interest in their £399 transport revolution, and how better weather would help sales.
Surging criticism for the C5
But it wasn’t enough to staunch the criticism. Testers found the electric range was more like 10 miles rather than the claimed 20, and less on a clement day. They felt hugely vulnerable on the road, a feeling undiminished by the optional high-visibility mast, which added to the deep feelings of foolishness that swept over anyone stepping into this pedal-powered plastic bath.
That was nothing to the embarrassment you’d feel at fitting – and wearing – the Sinclair’s wet-weather gear, though, which consisted of fabric panels covering its sides and your legs, and a matching hooded anorak. Putting all this on would have added another 15 minutes to your dismally slow journey, and made you feel almost as humiliated as a naked hotel guest trapped in a lift.
There was no heater – although you’d soon get warm pedalling when the motor stopped whining – there was no reverse gear and it had the turning circle of the trucks threatening to squash it.
Beautifully designed… in parts
Examine the C5 in detail and you’ll spot some subtle industrial elegance. It wasn’t a beautiful design, but parts of it were beautifully designed. Gus Desbarats, a Royal College of Art graduate hired to style the C5, later described his contribution as “convert[ing] an ugly pointless device into a prettier, safer and more usable pointless device”.
Its pointlessness was proven by the fact that of the 14,000 produced – less than two weeks of production at full tilt – only 5,000 were actually sold.
Belief in the wrong idea
The C5 was the product of a man with the means believing deeply in the wrong idea. No more than rudimentary market research would have revealed the C5’s flaws and near uselessness in the harsh environment of a late 20th century UK road network.
Its vulnerability made a superbike look safe. But perhaps the most powerful killer of C5 sales was that you looked an idiot when driving it. And cars – or bikes – that humiliate their users make for a hard, hard sell.
Some might say that the C5 was ahead of its time, but it’s doubtful that a tricycle travelling at snail-speed in the company of articulated lorries would be allowed on the road today. It would face the same construction and practical troubles impeding the decidedly more brilliant Segway, which isn’t allowed on the road either, but has many more uses.
Curiously, one of those has been spotted providing ‘safari’ rides in the grounds of Alexandra Palace.
The BMW M3 CSL sounds like nothing else I’ve driven. Its baritone blare builds to a surround-sound DTM howl as air is sucked through its carbon fibre manifold then spat out through quad exhausts. I get goosebumps just thinking about it.
At a standstill, though, there’s little to distinguish the Coupe Sports Leichtbau from a standard E46 (2000-2006) BMW M3. Only the true cognoscenti will spot the bespoke 19-inch alloys, subtle lip spoiler and ‘CSL’ badge.
Still, this is no tarted-up special edition. BMW tuned the engine to 360hp, fitted a quicker steering rack, stiffened the chassis, beefed up the brakes and stripped out 110kg of weight.
Does that make a used CSL worth several times the value of an equivalent standard M3? That’s what I’m here to find out.
What are its rivals?
The CSL’s closest rival is perhaps the Porsche 911 GT3. Both have a track-focused ethos and are fully-paid-up modern classics.
The 996 (1999-2005) iterations of the GT3 are similar money to a CSL – £65,000 upwards – while the 997 (2006-2011) GT3 and hardcore RS versions of both models cost significantly more.
Prefer a sledgehammer to a scalpel? The Mercedes CLK63 AMG Black is a few dollars more, while early examples of Nissan’s formidable GT-R dip below £40,000. Don’t forget the 420hp ‘B7’ Audi RS4, too – yours from £20,000.
What engine does it use?
Cloaked in carbon and squeezed beneath a strut brace, the CSL’s 3.2-litre six is something quite special. Power is increased from 343hp to 360hp at a heady 7,900rpm, with a modest 273lb ft of torque at 4,900rpm. Yes, this engine needs – no, demands – to be worked hard.
Find a German autobahn and the uber-M3 will hit 62mph in 4.7 seconds (0.4 seconds quicker than standard), with a top speed of 161mph.
Controversially, the CSL was never offered with a manual gearbox. All cars had a quicker-shifting version of BMW’s SMG semi-automatic, which allows sequential manual changes via the lever or steering wheel paddles. Some cars have since been converted to a stick and three pedals, however.
What’s it like to drive?
Based on a 3 Series, the M3 is already a fairly practical performance car. And while the CSL doesn’t thumb its nose at such matters – it has rear seats and a decent boot, while air-con and a radio were options – it isn’t a car I’d drive every day.
The ride is very firm, for starters: more akin to a tightly-damped GT3 than a regular M3. And the lack of sound deadening puts your ears under constant assault from wind noise, tyre roar and, of course, that freer-breathing straight-six.
Around town, it feels like a caged animal, the ageing SMG ’box venting its frustration with occasionally clunky shifts.
All of that is soon forgotten once you find the right road, though. With no turbo to spool up, throttle response is instant, the engine exploding to 8,000rpm, the gearbox banging each ratio home by brute force.
For all its straight-line performance, it’s the CSL’s handling that elevates it to legend status. The last car I drove that felt so tied-down yet adjustable was a Porsche Cayman GT4. High praise indeed for a BMW first launched in 2003.
The steering is sublime, too, while the chunky Alcantara-wrapped wheel and snug glassfibre buckets add to the road-legal-racer vibe.
Reliability and running costs
Official fuel economy for the E46 CSL is just 23.7mpg, although you’ll be lucky to see mid-teens if you drive one hard.
Likewise, CO2 emissions of 287g/km mean hefty annual car tax (VED) of £735. Consumables, such as tyres, clutches and brake pads, are expensive as well.
On the plus side, the engine – including its Vanos variable valve timing – is reliable if properly serviced. And there are plenty of specialists that cater for BMW M cars, typically with lower labour rates than main dealers.
Could I drive it every day?
A CSL is a bit like a Jagerbomb: stimulating and intoxicating, but you wouldn’t want one for breakfast.
As I mentioned previously, it’s a bit too single-minded for commuting or ferrying the kids to school. This is a special car best saved for special occasions.
The ideal place to experience a CSL, of course, is on a track. But I suspect very few still see action on circuits: more likely they are tucked up in air-conditioned garages. Such is the fate of the appreciating classic car.
How much should I pay?
Appreciating? You bet. Paul Michaels, Chairman of Hexagon Classics, says CSL values shot up in 2016, then stabilised soon afterwards.
“You’ll pay between £40,000 and £50,000 for a car with high miles,” he told me in 2017, “but the best examples are close to £100,000”. Today, you can probably add £20,000 to those figures.
A total of 1,400 M3 CSLs were built, including 422 right-hand-drive cars for the UK. Only two colours were offered: Black Sapphire Metallic and Silver Grey Metallic. The black is rarer and worth slightly more.
What should I look out for?
Let’s defer once again to Paul Michaels, who sold BMWs for 46 years. “Service history is absolutely vital,” he says. “Values have increased, but it still isn’t economical to spend large sums restoring them. You could throw a lot of money at a bad CSL.”
Check the service indicator lights on the dashboard aren’t illuminated and scour the paperwork. The car should have had its first oil change at 1,000 miles, followed by intermediate (Inspection 1) and major (Inspection 2) services at annual intervals. The Inspection 2 includes a valve clearance check: missing it could result in Vanos problems.
One well-known M3 issue, not unique to the CSL, is a cracked boot floor – caused by wear in the subframe mounts. If caught early, it’s a minor repair, but once the floor is damaged, the only option is to weld in a new one: a minimum of £1,500.
Parts are still available, but CSL-specific items, such as the carbon front bumper, can be frighteningly expensive.
Remember, originality is key to future value, so check bodywork and interior trim carefully. And steer clear of cars with aftermarket modifications.
Should I buy one?
On paper, the CSL doesn’t stack up. You could have 90 percent as much fun in an E46 M3 for a third of the price.
However, the most iconic M Power BMWs have followed the lead of Porsches and rocketed in value. And that makes the CSL – arguably the greatest M3 of all – a potentially savvy investment.
Still, let’s forgot money and talk about the car. When the oil has run dry and we’re all moving from A to B in autonomous electric pods, the CSL will be looked upon wistfully as a legendary driver’s car. It hard-wires itself into your head like a craniotomy, leaving your mouth dry, palms damp and soul stirred.
If that sounds like hyperbole, so be it. Perhaps I’ve been swept up in the CSL’s almighty sound and fury. Ultimately, I think the lack of a manual gearbox would steer me towards a Porsche 996 GT3, but the CSL has earned a place in my dream garage.
Pub fact
The 2005-2006 M3 CS cherry-picks some of CSL’s best bits for less than half the price. These include the steering rack, brakes and springs, plus a slightly wider version of those gorgeous alloys. Pay £30,000 for a good one.
When we spoke, Paul Michaels also tipped the BMW Z4 M Coupe as one to watch. “Just look at what’s happened to values of the Z3 M Coupe,” he says.
“Classic BMWs don’t get the recognition they deserve at the moment, but I think that will change.”
A 1967 Jaguar Mark X, previously purchased by legendary pop star Madonna, is coming up for auction later this month.
The classic Jaguar saloon was bought by Madonna for her son, Rocco Ritchie, for use in London.A direct connection to the queen of pop makes this already rare big cat even more desirable.
The Mark X will be one of many interesting cars crossing the auction block at the H&H Classics Imperial War Museum sale, which takes place on 9 October 2024.
A classic Jaguar flagship
Launched in 1961, the Jaguar Mark X was the British marque’s flagship saloon for the best part of a decade. Initially offered with a 3.6-litre straight-six engine, the option of a larger 4.2-litre version was added in 1964, increasing output to more than 260hp.
Some 18,500 examples of the Mark X were made before it was replaced by the Jaguar 420G in 1967. However, just 5,137 cars were fitted with the 4.2-litre engine, making these something of a rarity.
As one of the largest Jaguar models ever made when new, it should be no surprise that it came to the attention of diplomats and celebrities.
Although aimed chiefly at the North American market, the Jaguar generated plenty of attention on this side of the Atlantic, too.
A star of social media
Originally sold to a company in Kingston Upon Thames in late 1967, this particular Mark X would pass through several owners before undergoing restoration work during the 1990s.
Dry stored for a number of years, it was recommissioned in 2010, then finally purchased by Madonna in 2021.
Driven extensively by Rocco Ritchie, the Mark X has benefited from extra work since. The 4.2-litre engine has been overhauled, with new pistons and a rebore, while the exterior was stripped back to bare metal and repainted in Opalescent Maroon.
The interior, as highlighted by Madonna recently on social media, was also refreshed, and saw a reversing camera fitted to make London life easier.
Loving it in London
Kept at Madonna’s residence in London, the Jaguar is being sold directly from the ownership of Rocco Ritchie. He notes that the bodywork has suffered some minor damage, attributed to life in the capital, and the 4.2-litre engine could benefit from some attention.
Along with its well-documented celebrity connection, the Mark X will be accompanied by a history file that includes the original green logbook and service plan document issued by the supplying dealer.
Already a desirable classic Jaguar, and with a connection to a true pop music icon, the Mark X is likely to attract plenty of attention.
Listed without reserve, we will find out soon just how much the famous Jag can achieve at auction.
The first Ford Sierra RS500 continuation car, built in the UK by CNC Motorsport, has been finished and is now with its very fortunate owner.
It marks almost three years since the Gloucestershire-based company announced plans to build three ‘new’ RS500s. The project was officially sanctioned by touring car legend Andy Rouse.
All three cars will be built to Andy Rouse Engineering specification and eligible for use in historic saloon car racing. It leaves two cars still to be assembled, with the second already entering the build process.
Iconic power and performance
The first completed CNC Motorsport RS500 features a 2.0-litre Cosworth YB engine producing an incredible 575hp. Built by Harvey Gibbs, it should ensure the reborn Sierra is just as dominant on-track as its predecessors.
A five-speed Getrag manual gearbox sends the Cosworth’s power to the rear wheels via a 10-inch viscous differential.
With access to the original Andy Rouse Engineering technical drawings, the three continuation cars will closely match the period racers.
CNC Motorsport has machined numerous bespoke parts, including suspension uprights, wheel hubs, brake calipers and the protective roll cage.
Ready to spit flames on-track
Work on the RS500 was undertaken by Alan Strachan, an Andy Rouse Engineering employee between 1989 and 1996, along with his son, Andrew.
“This project has enabled us to build a reliable, period-correct car that will be competitive in historic motorsport for the fraction of the cost of an original,” said Alan Strachan.
“These are to be enjoyed, raced hard and fair and without the concerns of taking a valuable, period car on the track. The fans love to see these flame-spitting RS500s on the limit and they open the door to take part in a huge array of events across Europe.”
CNC Motorsport is now focused on completing the second RS500 continuation car, using a Motorsport-specification body shell. A donor shell has now been sourced for the third and final car, too.
