I think it must have been January 1974 when my father announced that he was finally getting a company car – one beloved of suburban worker bees across the land – a Mark III Cortina!

For those of a younger disposition, a company car in the 1970’s was an easy way for employers to reward staff without falling foul of government salary increase restrictions imposed to combat rampant inflation, and the major home market producers, especially Ford, quickly cottoned onto this, forming a new hierarchy.

With the Mark 3 Cortina, for instance, you could have a ‘base’ spec (effectively a proper steering wheel and glass in the windows), L, XL, GT (pretty rare as I recall) and GXL, the latter 2 with racy quad headlamps and a 6-dial dash. Probably the 2.0 engined one meant you got the pick of the choice at the wife-swapping parties (spoiler alert – ours was a 1.6, although my mother still has the giant pampas grass in the garden – however I don’t think she’s aware of the urban myth)

As an 12 year old boy who’s underpants mysteriously had started shrinking every time he stole his grandmother’s Kays catalogue to look at the lingerie models, I spent hours poring over a Cortina brochure with much the same effect, imagining my dad turning up in his brand-new 2.0 GXL with a vinyl roof. I was looking forward to the envious glances of my friends.

The day came. My father came home in his brand new Cortina, PGB 271M * But where were the quad lights and the vinyl roof, and why was it dogs lipstick purple? And why was there no badge whatsoever on the boot!!!

The shame. The ignominy. After years of motoring stodge, my dad had had the chance to redeem himself by driving something cool and racy (from the perspective of a boy of 12) and had blown it big time by coming home in a 1.6 Base model. My friends would want to beat me up and Nikki Varley wouldn’t want to kiss me. Or was it the other way round?

It was tempting to leave home there and then until I remembered I was 12 , so would have to tough it out for a few years yet…

* PGB 271M was first registered February 1974, and was last taxed in 1987. It was actually quite a good car, and my parents bought it after it was replaced as my dad’s company car by 2 Mark IV Cortinas, an orange 1.6 Base and lastly a white 1.6L Oh, the decadence.

It was kept as our second car for a few years, even surviving a bizarre accident (where it demolished a fence and a table tennis table when some young fool who’ll remain nameless) lost control of it) with no more than a slightly bent number plate.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been told by a couple of people that they’ve been scammed out of £500.00 or £600.00 by ‘sellers’ on such classified sites as Exchange and Mart, and Schpock (whatever the hell that is) using photos of at least one of our vehicles, and asking us to ‘do something’.

Such as what? Our own website stops the unscrupulous from copying our photos and text, but the same cannot be said for 3rd party websites that we have to use, who a) won’t let us put watermarks on our pictures, b) don’t really seem to care about seller fraud. It’s sensible to tell the two aggrieved parties that we’ll pay for a course of common sense pills for them, but that might be taken the wrong way…

This is the Land Rover that’s (at the time of writing) being advertised on Exchange and Mart.

The ‘vendor’s’ description is as follows:

Selling my dads old Land rover been stored in the barn for a few years. i know nothing about these at all so i am selling it as spares or repairs. i have uploaded recent photos of it. looking 500 for it Does not start. V5 Here will need trailer to tow away. My phone signal isnt great so please sms or email me

‘selling my dads old Land Rover’ – stops potential buyers asking difficult questions and introduces third-part deniability

‘been stored in the barn’ – an attempt to justify the ridiculously low price asked, and this is trading off it’s charmingly disreputable looks. Fortunately it drives really well…

‘I know nothing about these at all’ – again, stops buyers asking difficult questions

‘V5 here’ – err, no, don’t think so unless DVLA have made a major screw up. This one is actually personally registered to us.

‘Phone signal isn’t great so please text’ -classic scammer’s tactic – stops people recognising voices or indeed taping conversations.

Sadly people can’t seem to avoid looking a gift horse in the mouth. If it looks too good to be true, it most likely is. So here’s a tip: in the modern age, everyone has access to WhatsApp video calling, Facetime or similar. A genuine seller should have no problem whatsoever doing a live video call with you and the vehicle you’re interested in.

even more exciting than part 2 – (not really but it keeps me entertained)

My dad was never a big car enthusiast. I’ve written before about the ‘family car’ being a Vauxhall Viva HA, although in fairness my parent’s one was a ‘deluxe 90’ version, which presumably was slightly less asthmatic than the standard model, but I’d guess still cornered like a hippo on roller skates. I have two vague memories of it: my parents buying it new from Great Western Motors in Station Road Reading (now Revolution bar), and of my father returning home from work in it one day probably a year later, with both the bonnet and bootlid tied down with twine, and the Viva looking, if it were possible, even uglier than before, having been rear-ended and then pushed into the car in front. Whilst it then disappeared from our lives, GRD 290D seems to have lived on until 1993.

I wasn’t technically-minded enough aged 5 to appreciate the charms of a blue Renault Dauphine that (temporarily) replaced the Viva in my parent’s affections, but as far as I can recall it swiftly went back to the supplying dealer as it was very rusty. Very ugly in my opinion, although the number plate swinging down to reveal the spare wheel was mildly interesting in a James Bond sort of way.

Next up came a Mark 2 Cortina 1600 Super, and, whilst not a 1600E, at least it wasn’t a vehicle that a car-mad small boy was embarrassed to be seen in. However, soon after, the ‘big end’ went (according to my father, who I doubt knew what that meant. To be fair, neither did I at the time, but I did have youth on my side). So that bit the dust as well.

My mother had always liked entering competitions, and those where if you supplied a witty slogan or something were quite popular in the 1960’s, and some new piece of furniture or gadget would often turn up at our house, she having won it. Anyway, in 1968 she won a brand new Austin 1100 2-door, as you can see at the top of the page, with me adorning the bonnet. RUD 89G was in the family for many years as my mother’s car. Memories of being wedged in the back on a family camping trip to Spain, with a massive box of spares from the AA for ‘everything the motorist might need’ taking up most of the space not already taken by the tent, food (none of that ‘foreign stuff’) still linger. DVLA have no record of RUD 89G so I suspect, like most of these, it rusted into oblivion many years ago.

You can see from my father’s expression in the photo that, although not interested in cars, he was less than enamoured with the little 1100, so it was about this time that we became upwardly mobile as a two-car suburban family, with the acquisition of a gold Hillman Minx.

Apart from the headlights, I’m not sure what the difference was between the Minx and the Hillman Hunter, but I’d imagine the Minx was the poverty spec model. However, ours was the 1725cc model (as proudly announced on the bootlid) with a massive 61bhp. I quite liked the Minx because of it’s busy dashboard – there always seemed to be a lot going on.

Apart from my dad’s friend James and his E-type (covered in a previous post), I think most of my mate’s fathers had similarly ‘sensible’ taste in cars. With one exception. My mate Steve’s dad had a maroon XJ6 Series 1.

He also wore a sheepskin coat, smoked cigars, had a glamourous wife, and allegedly had been a racing driver. All very rakish. Mind you I’m pretty sure his XJ6 was the 2.8 model not the 4.2, so he didn’t get everything right. However, travelling in the XJ6 (even though I was sick in it once, but that’s another story) cemented a love of these big beasts that continues to this day – especially the Series 1 models with the classic dash.

If I a) can be bothered and b) find the time, next time I’ll delve into my father’s company car years, and examine the hierarchy of L, XL, and GXL badges in the car park of a 70’s catering company. Compelling stuff.

I got a Lego Technic Land Rover Defender (the new one, obvs) for Christmas from my children, and just made a start on the transmission. 400 or so pieces later, one missing yellow rod, and retrieving one of the tyres from the dog who thought it was the best chew ever, this is the result.

If you’re building one of these, best not to do as I did and start it after a big drink…