History
The first car I owned was a 1971 Volvo 144 sedan, a three speed auto model in mustard yellow. It might once have looked like the brochure picture, but by the time I bought it in 1984 for 150 pounds it had had a hard life over close to 200,000 miles. At some stage it had been a minicab (it had rusty dents in the roof where the sign had been) and it gave the lie to the myth that Volvos didn't rust - it was riddled with tin worm, and some previous owner had made ineffective dabs at it with red oxide primer so the thing looked like a crazed yellow Dalmatian. It's official kennel name was Mustard and Measles, but my friends and family called it Heap. It didn't lock, and at one stage when I left in the university car park over the holidays it was occupied by a tramp who made his home in the back seat. No one ever stole it, which was a shame as it was insured for more than it was worth. The front bumper was a bit twisted, and when the bonnet release failed I cut a hole in the radiator grill with a hacksaw so I could reach in to open the bonnet to pour in the copious amounts of oil it consumed. The resulting leering gap-toothed appearance meant no one ever pulled out in front of me in London traffic. The right hand headlight and the battery were both held in place with bits of wood as their official mountings had rusted away. I hit a really bad pot hole once in the middle of the Hanger Lane Gyratory System (a massive roundabout in west London) in peak hour and the wood holding the battery fell out and the car stopped. I had to dodge cars in the pouring rain to find the wood and jam it back in before I could re-start. By then the traffic jam was epic. When loaded with drunken students it would take ages to come level after taking a bend or corner, and when it rained the wipers were of limited utility due to the amount of water that ran down the inside of the windscreen. With the heater on full it would come out as steam which stank of curry after a leaky takeaway bag had deposited its contents down the vents one night when I'd been trying to keep it warm. It was a shocker to drive on a winter's morning with a hangover .... I could go on. Its faults were legion. But it never ever broke down when being driven, which was a minor miracle. I sold it to a city gent when I was stuck late one wet winter's night in a traffic jam on Longacre. It was 1986 and there was a public transport strike. He emptied his wallet of 90 pounds cash so he could drive it home to his mansion in Surrey. I walked back to my flat. I went travelling in America soon after, and the last I heard of Heap was via my mother after a call from the Wessex constabulary some months later inquiring as to my whereabouts, as the car had been found buried in the window of a gun shop in Gloucester having been used in a ram raid ....
Modifications
Anything required to make it run :o)
