Simca

Around the time of my seventeenth birthday I started dating a girl called Kate. She was a few months older than me and, at the point we met, just a few weeks away from taking her driving test.

I'm not sure that up until that point I'd have any particular interest in driving - public transport seemed to do me all right - but you know how it is when you first start seeing someone and find yourself doing tai chi or becoming a vegetarian. 

Anyway, the long and the short of it is that I started taking driving lessons, and, at some point, perhaps over the summer, bought myself a car from a mechanic, one Chris Simpson-Scott, who lived just around the corner.

While Kate had a cute little mini and my friend Sal had an MG BGT, I found myself the dubious owner of a lime green Simca. Prior to driving my own one, I'd never even seen a Simca before. I mean, yes it was French, but it was a left-hand drive, so I assumed other people in the UK drove them. I just never saw them. 

But apart from the knackered synchromesh that meant I rapidly became an absolute artist at moving into second gear from either direction, it was actually a good little car.

I was reminded of it this afternoon when we walked into town to see the collection of old/vintage cars that were on show in the square. There were some absolute crackers and there, tucked amongst them, a little Simca.