Driven to distraction in cars of yesteryear

PAV’S PATCH: IT’S funny how easily you forget things. I recently saw a newspaper feature which recalled those strange East European cars of the 1970s and 1980s. Remember Wartburgs (East Germany), Zastavas (Yugoslavia) and Ladas (USSR)?

I can only imagine that people bought them because they were so cheap. In the days when August 1 was the day the registration letter changed the great British public were apt to do some crazy things just so that they could show off all day.

Almost 20 years ago, I bought a new car — ah happy, long-gone days — and was invited to pick it up at midnight. A few weeks later, I was invited to a first-service barbecue. I politely declined both offers.

I suppose I’ve always been one of those people who has looked at cars as something to do a job rather than to worship.

When I got my first — a Cortina — I swore that I would never lovingly wash and polish it on a Sunday.

Later, I owned an Austin Maxi and then, in an act of madness, bought a Lancia Beta. I think it was at that point that I started mistrusting cars.

I would happily have kicked it except that it would probably have crumbled to dust.

Next in line was a Ford Capri. I loved that one until an ageing lunatic pulled in front of me. My 10ft long car was suddenly condensed to 5ft.

To be honest, I’ve had some bad luck in motoring matters. My first teacher believed you should be able to learn how to drive from a book. He encouraged me to practise with a circular breadboard.

I should have seen the warning signs when he kept telling me stories about pupils who had failed several tests. Last I saw of him, he was a bus driver.

Yet I’ve worked as a driver. I’ve driven post office vans and I can remember the first time I was given a Transit.

“I’ve never driven anything this big,” I told the inspector and another postman was instructed to teach me. I took the thing 6ft forward in a straight line and was told I’d be all right.

Somehow I got to Stockport where the head mechanic, Hissing Syd, was appalled to learn I hadn’t undergone formal changeover training.

Actually, no one-else at Hyde had. But he went ballistic when he saw his shiny new van had been pranged.

That’s why I was offered the overtime. “You people in Hyde,” hissed Syd. “I hate you. They should give you a horse and cart.”