Mini’s are part of my earliest memories. It seems like everyone had one – my parents graduated from a blue 1960’s 850cc named Tom Thumb to a Morris Mini Minor Traveller (cream and half-timbered) when my sister came along two years after me. They drove us all over Europe in those cars. I particularly remember the floor mounted dip switch (what a nerd eh?) and the green light on the tip of the indicator stalk.
I was ferried to school and back in my best friend’s Mum’s beige Clubman estate (Brown velvet seats!) and in my late teens, many friends had Minis. And many friends crashed their Minis. We had a seven-up moment in a Mini at Sixth Form College where seven of us crammed into our friend’s red Mini 1000 to go to her house to “study”. It broke the suspension.
My wife and I bought our neighbour’s 76 Mini Cubman for fifty quid in 1997. Winni the Mini was an absolute hoot, and only cost ninety quid to get through the MOT a year later. I think the guy tipped it on its side to weld the floor. I used it for a 20 mile round trip commute from time to time and the truly terrible auto gearbox never failed to entertain. It used to slip in to 4th gear at about 12mph, but she was mainly an urban assault vehicle for my wife. She had to go when we had our 1st daughter; the small problem of the front tipping seats not being latched to the floor – not good for a baby car seat.
I now live in Cairo, and have my eye on a couple of Minis – oh to restore them to their former glory! A futile dream I fear.