There’s a feeling familiar to anyone who has owned a lot of cars: the one that kicks in when something just feels right. You might think you know what you want, but there’s a reasonable chance that it doesn’t exist exactly as you imagine.
A certain trim level, colour, engine option, or option combo you’re fixated on. Maybe even a location. Even those searching for something commonplace, like a Moondust Silver Ford Fiesta, can struggle with this, given the degree of personalisation available to a car’s first owner in recent times.
This is how I find myself scouring the usual sites, idly looking through the likes of Car & Classic, Facebook Marketplace and eBay for something to scratch my late-summer car-buying itch. Having convinced myself it was time to move on from my Perodua Nippa (after nearly fainting in it on the M25), I’ve given myself some search criteria.
Because I’m by no means convinced I will actually sell the Perodua, whatever I go for needs to live outside, and so it can’t be absolutely perfect. It needs to be reliable, economical, low-maintenance and ready to go without any input from me. It must have air conditioning and an automatic transmission. It can only cost £1,500. It can’t be too far from home. It should be bigger than the Nippa. How could it not be?
Of course, the first thing I enquire about is a base-specification, early Peugeot 306 1.4XN. It looks lovely from here: solid red with black bumpers, a nice back story, and it’s not too far away. Actually, that’s a lie, it’s three hours from home. It doesn’t have air conditioning. It’s a manual, too. Rules are meant to be broken.
While away on holiday, sporadic messages are exchanged with the owner, but while I’m excited enough, something doesn’t feel right about this. I’m proven correct when, the day before it’s due to be collected, I’m told the car’s head gasket has failed and it is being withdrawn from sale.
There’s already a plan to handle this disappointment, because somehow I knew this would happen. Plan B involves an early Citroën Xantia diesel, but much like the naturally aspirated XUD engine under the bonnet, I’m too slow. It has sold by the time I pull my finger out. That leaves a K-plate Toyota Carina E I first encountered in January.
Closer to my original vision, and unlike the two French cars, this actually does stand a chance of being reliable, economical and low-maintenance. It’s auto, too – but there’s a sunroof in place of A/C. That’ll do, as more people will be able to tell just from a glance that I’m enjoying the nice weather. It won’t need re-gassing, either.
For the second time in my life, fate intervenes while I’m scrolling Marketplace on the loo. There’s a dark blue 2001 Daihatsu Cuore that has just been listed. Instantly clicking on it, I know this is the one. The advert tells me it’s one-family-owned from new, fully serviced, 32,000 miles, auto, and that it has air conditioning. In disbelief, I look through the photos for evidence of this last claim. It’s there, in the shape of a tiny little button next to the temperature control dial. There’s one final, irresistible force now exerting itself on me: the car is ten minutes away from home.
The next day, after checking the sills are still intact, hands are shaken and I’m presented with the car’s carrier bag full of history, running from the original handwritten purchase order all the way to the most recent service invoice. This city car is to be my next conveyance for adventures far beyond the environs it was originally designed for. Being a direct descendant of the Nippa that tried to fry my brain on the London Orbital, it is really rather tiny. I’m impressed, though, with my overall dedication to the original criteria.
Auto, air conditioning, low-maintenance, economical, and a chance of some traditional Japanese reliability. While still minuscule, it’s certainly more comfortable on the fully cloth-trimmed seats than its cousin. Only a year separates this Cuore from the Nippa, but it may as well be ten. Of course, it’s also bigger – albeit only by a few millimetres.
Mostly, though, it just feels right. I can tell you it’s because of the history, the backstory of family ownership, the local life it has led, and the prospect of modest running costs, but that isn’t really true. A chord was struck on that visit to the loo, and no, that’s not something I plundered from the pages of Viz’s Profanisaurus Rex. I’ll try to work out why in time, but never be in doubt when the stars align on your car search. It’ll just feel right.
