“You got a fast car,
I want a ticket to anywhere,
Maybe we make a deal”
– Tracy Chapman, “Fast Car”
I’ve only ever watched one full episode of Top Gear in my life. The Vietnam one. It’s pretty good. But I’ve seen a few other clips on YouTube. Jay Leno was good. Rowan Atkinson was good. And Kristin Scott Thomas was … just Kristin Scott Thomas, down from Mount Olympus for the day. Apart from that, I loathe dull men talking about dull things.
Here’s my loathsome turn.
I’ve always liked cars. From childhood, when I was impressed with my uncle Christaki’s succession of cool cars: a mustard-coloured Triumph Stag, sky blue Jaguar, sky blue Ford Capri. My uncle Andro in Cyprus for many years had an orange Audi 80. Reliable, dependable, solid German engineering slicing through the Troodos mountains. The car lasted in the family from 1973 to 1997. I’m sure that its longevity, and its under-stated-ness, influenced my love for Audis. Plus, Theie Andro is a top bloke.
Talking about dependable and reliable, my uncle, the late Very Reverend Father Nikiforos Kykkotis, also had a thing about sticking to what worked and not deviating from it. He had a succession of Honda Accords that were smooth and comfortable. They smelled great inside, and never broke down. I can remember about 3 or 4 of them. He always had those mixed fruit travel sweets inside, in the small, round, tin box, that added to the nice smell. And glorious tapes of Byzantine music. And ABBA’s Greatest Hits album, Gold. He moved onto Hondas after a bad experience with a Rover.
My dad’s journey through cars was very Greek Cypriot: Alfa Romeo (a couple), Jaguar (a couple), Mercedes (a couple), Mitsubishi and Lexus. All through graft and perseverance. Like many Cypriots, we came to the UK with only some friendly contacts and a willingness to work hard.
When I graduated and started work, my dad took me to Enfield car auction. We bought a four-year-old Ford Escort. It cost £2,800 and despite starter-motor problems, it lasted 7 years. I still remember the number plate, twenty-six years on: B495 YYN.
When I could afford my own car, there was only one choice: Audi 80. It cost £5,500, was three years old, and never broke down. It had an afterlife, handed on to my brother, who continued to drive it from 2001 to 2005.
Then I was into my corporate company car years. From 2000 until 2020, every three of four years I chose a brand-new Audi A4 from the car scheme – I had five of them, in every version they made. I never opened the bonnet, except to top up the windscreen washer fluid. Soulful, soundless, attractive – progress through technology.
After the company car scheme was discontinued, I took the train from Euston to Hemel Hempstead and bought a 15-year-old Golf. It cost £3,600 and had 103,000 miles on the clock. It also had three amber warning lights flashing, and there was a weird gurgling, gargling, gagging, guttural noise from behind the dashboard – I honestly couldn’t have been happier, after 20 years of Audi perfection. The noises and amber lights were fixed at Citygate VW. It’s as reliable as the Audis. Unbeknownst to me, the 2005 Golf is apparently the best one they ever made.
A suitably understated car. The only thing that lets the North London Greek boy heritage shine through, is another hand-me-down, from my dad – a private number plate: Y40 NEO.
Can’t let the side down, can we?
James Neophytou