Leak Fixed

So it's taken me another week to get around to doing it, but my exhaust leak is now fixed. I bought a cheap makeup mirror from a pound shop, and put it on the bottom of the engine bay so I could see up towards the underside of the leaking area. A bit more paste (actually, quite a lot of paste), and the exhaust is now leak free (I think). The sounds have disappeared so I'm going to assume the problem is dealt with.

Still Leaking

Yesterday I set about tackling my exhaust leak. I borrowed I trick I learned from  Wheeler Dealers (which is an excellent program if you're into classic cars), which is to get a bit of kitchen towel, and move it around the area where you suspect the leak to be coming from, with the engine running of course. Once you find the hole, the escaping gas will make the towel flutter, and you've found your leak. I found that my leak was indeed on the join between the exhaust manifold and the top of the exhaust pipe. This is clearly quite a troublesome joint on my car, as it was heavily coated in exhaust sealant paste. The hole I found was quite big; about 1 and a half inches long and a half inch wide.


As I was investigating a man who lives in my building walked past. He used to work on Minis a fair bit and told me the only way to seal the joint properly was to take it apart, readjust it and fit a new gasket. He's probably right, as more sealant is just going to wear away after a while, but it's a good temporary fix. I might be looking at a new exhaust system, as my current one is 12 years old now and a bit past it. However, that can be something for the summer, when I have access to a friend's ramp. However for the moment, some exhaust sealer paste should plug the hole quite well. I popped over to Halfords and bought some "Gum Gum Silencer Repair Paste". It comes in a circular tin much like shoe polish does, and it looks very much like wet mud, and it even has the same texture and consistency.


You simply warm up the exhaust pipe by running the engine, and then wet the gap, for some reason, and then cram the paste into the hole. Then you leave it overnight, and the next time you start the car, the heat will harden it up completely. Unfortunately, I found out today that it didn't completely fix the problem. The rasping noise and chuff chuffing are quieter now, but are still present. However the paste I put on the hole is holding firm. I did another tissue test, and found that the hole was a bit bigger than I though, and it seems to extend underneath the exhaust pipe where I could not see it.


So it looks like more paste will be needed, as well as a mirror so I can see where to put it.

Raspy exhaust?

Went on a nice long drive today, and took a couple of friends to Fareham to do some shopping. It's been a nice sunny day today, and all the classic cars came out of the woodwork. We saw a huge 1960s Cadillac, a Pontiac Trans-Am, two '65 Mustangs, a Porsche 356 Carbriolet, a Reliant Scimitar, a Cortina mk.2 and a Beetle. My Moggy made the trip faultlessly, although on the way home I noticed it had developed a rasping noise coming from the engine whenever I stepped on the gas. At home I opened the bonnet and inspected further, and I found there was an irregular but constant "chuff-chuff" noise coming from the area around the carburettor and the manifolds.


I suspected at first a leak from the exhaust manifold, and hoped it was nothing to do with the carburettor, since I don't know much about them and they're expensive to replace. I've just gone onto the Young Members facebook page and asked their opinion, and I've been told it is indeed an air leak, probably from the point where the exhaust manifold joins onto the top of the exhaust pipe. This actually makes a lot of sense, since that was the part that Sean at Sussex Classics had to wrangle with to stop the exhaust pipe knocking against the bodywork. There's a lot of white sealant all over the join, and I've been advised to strip away the old stuff and re-seal it. How I'm going to get the old sealant off is a mystery to me; chipping away with a screwdriver I presume. Luckily there's a local motor factors and a Unipart store within walking distance of my flat, so getting some new sealant should be fairly easy. I think first the priority is to ascertain as to whether the leak is coming from, and I really hope it is that joint. I'm pretty sure it's not the inlet manifold, as that would put extra air into the cylinders and make the car run funny. However, if it's where the exhaust manifold meets the block, It'll mean a lot of work with spanners and some new gaskets. Not that complicated, but fiddly and time consuming.


It's not like the car's any worse to drive, but exhaust leaks are an instant MOT failure, since the gasses can get into the cabin; not good. What's more the rasping is irritating. It is pretty annoying this happened now; I've just bought a new Jago Jeep for a bit of restoration, and I was going to go home and see it for the first time tomorrow. With a leaky exhaust however, a 100 mile drive doesn't seem very sensible. Hopefully I can have this sorted out by the end of tomorrow.

Living With It Since Then

Well, here it is; my Moggy. At the time of writing, I've owned this car for 4 months and 5 days. So I'm going to tell you exactly how this car has impacted on my life.


The first week I owned the car, I couldn't keep away from it. I drove it everywhere for the slightest reason; often for no reason at all. I poked and prodded every linkage, fluid container, pipe, valve, spring and whatever I could find. I bored my friends to death with it over facebook and whenever I ran into them. I stood for ages in the car park, looking at it from every angle. Essentially, I became obsessed.


After a week, I announced to my mum that I would come home that weekend to show her, my stepdad and my brother. I made the 100 mile journey home from university without incident. Well, almost. Upon pulling into the driveway at home, I signalled my arrival at home with a couple of quick toots of my horn. Except that, I didn't. Not a sound came when I pressed the horn button. So the first time my mum and stepdad saw my Moggy, it was in the driveway, with its bonnet up, with me prodding at things. Not a very good first impression.


After some brief investigation on the internet, I found that the most likely culprit was the fuse that controls the horn. The Morris 1000, being such a basic car, only has three fuses in its electrical system. One fuse that controls the horn and the interior ceiling light, one that controls the wipers, the indicators and the heater, and one that controls the side lights. The main and brake lights are unfused. So after opening up the fuse box, I found that the fuse for the horn and interior light was indeed blown. The fuses aren't like modern car fuses, with the plastic heads and the bladed connectors. They're the older, tube shaped glass fuses that you still find in wall plugs. Unfortunately, I didn't have any 35 amp fuses to replace the blown one. Luckily, I found two spare fuses inside, covered in grime, with the word "Lucas" written on each. These fuses must have been there all the car's life. "How cool," I thought "I get to repair the problem using an original spare part.". I was so pleased at finding these fuses, I threw away both the old fuses, despite the other fuse for the indicators etc, being fine, and replaced them with the spares. Big mistake. After doing so, not only did the horn not work, but also the indicators, heater and wipers. This got me quite irritated, to say the least.


Of course, in hindsight, it's easy to see what the problem was. The "fresh" fuses that I put in had degraded so badly over the past 45 years, that they were completely useless. Somehow I didn't see this at the time. After being frustrated for an hour, I phoned a friend of mine who works with his dad in their workshop turning mk.2 Escorts into rally cars and generally being awesome. I popped down to his, and after jumping the fuse box connectors with a bit of wire, we discovered the fuses were bad. Replacing them both with new fuses solved the indicators et al, but the horn still wouldn't work. After jumping the current direct to the horn from the battery, it turned out that the horn itself was bad. We also discovered that the circuit that handles the interior light has a short in it, which was likely what had blown the old fuse in the first place. I took the bulb out of it to stop it happening again. To this day I haven't attempted to mend it, partly because it wasn't that useful, and partly because diagnosing even a simple wiring loom problem is beyond me.


Problem solved, I took my mum out for a drive to get some shopping. My mum has some fond memories from the late 70s of the Minor, as her first boyfriend had one (it was even a girl magnet back then). Needless to say it's been a long time since she's been in one, and she told me about all the nostalgia it brought back for her. My stepdad also liked it, although back in the day he was more of a motorbike person, and still is. He had a mk.2 Jaguar though. My brother, on the other hand, was slightly less impressed. He is not a car person, at all. He's an environmentalist, and my car burns leaded petrol, which did upset him a bit. The main thing he didn't like was the safety, or lack thereof, of my car when I took him for a drive. But hey, not everyone is a fan.


That weekend I also picked up my 17 year old stepsister from town. She said it was "gay". 1650lbs of metal cannot possess a sexuality, as far as I'm aware. But hey, not everyone has taste.


Once I was back at uni, I got introduced to the social side of owning a classic car. I'll be honest, when I joined the Morris Minor Owner's Club (MMOC), I only did it for the insurance. I'm afraid I held an idea that a lot of people do, that members of classic car clubs are all old people, who are very anal about detail and all too ready to bore you with the intricacies of their 5 year restoration project, and, as such, I wouldn't really talk with them at all. However, after posting the video of my first day of Moggy ownership on youtube, someone from the MMOC Young Members Register found it and posted it on their facebook group. The head of the register then contacted me through youtube and asked me whether I'd like to join the register, and their facebook group. Every day since then, my facebook inbox has been filled with chatter and posts from people in the group, sharing tips and advice and swapping parts and so forth. If I need help with something, which has been mercifully rare, I can ask on the group and get a helpful answer. 


I suppose I should tell you about arguably the most important two areas of living with a classic car, or indeed any car, as a main vehicle; the cost and ease of maintenance, and the reliability.


As far as reliability is concerned, it has been almost faultless, besides the horn. Starting it up from cold takes a bit of practice, but is always easy enough, and never takes more than about 20 seconds at most. Once it is started, the choke will keep it ticking over till it's warmed up. I've done several long motorway drives in the Minor, and a great deal of stop-start city driving, and not once has it overheated, refused to move or broken down in any way. The brakes have always brought me comfortably to a stop, and the electrics, apart from that mishap with the horn, have been very good to me. The lights, wipers, heater and indicators always performing perfectly. A couple of times I've had to readjust the horn fuse, due to the fuse box being a bit tired. One time the pin that holds the driver's door handle in came loose; it took me half an hour to take the door card off, replace the pin, and put the card back on. The windscreen washer also stopped working soon after I got it, but this was due to the washer fluid being too soapy, and foaming up in the pipe. I replaced it with plain water and it has been fine. But these are just little niggles in the long run. Everything crucial that keeps the car moving, and allows you to drive it has worked perfectly.


So, it's a reliable car. I put this down to not only excellent build quality (the fact that it's still here after 45 years speaks volumes), but also to the ruthlessly simple and tough design. It's the sort of machine where you can tell how it works just by looking at the oily bits. But is it difficult to get at the oily bits? No, not at all, and you won't need friends at Fort Knox partswise, to quote Quentin Wilson. There are three companies in the UK supplying Morris Minor parts at cheap prices, and since the Minor shares a great deal of parts with other British cars of the era, certain parts can be found in places specialising in other cars, or no cars in particular. And of course, there is good old eBay. A complete, running A-series engine can be had for under £100 if you're desperate. But of course, you'll generally be buying more modest parts for your Minor.


I mentioned earlier that my horn bit the dust. A horn isn't really the best example of a replacement part, as they are entirely generic and fit on just about any car, even today. I've seen basic disc horns for £5. But what about Morris Minor horns? As it turns out, brand new Morris Minor horns are only £10 off the internet. They probably won't be as good quality as original parts; that's an unfortunate reality of re-manufactured BMC/BL parts, but at least they're there. I chose to opt for something a bit different. I bought a klaxon horn (the sort that goes "aroooga") off eBay for £10, plus £8 on some bolts and jubilee clips to hold it onto the standard mounting point. Getting the old horn out was easy; just a matter of unplugging the two electrical connectors and undoing one bolt, and it comes straight off. Being that the engine is quite small, there's plenty of room to maneuver in the engine bay. If it were a modern car, the horn would be inside a tightly packed engine bay where it would be difficult to reach, and would probably necessitate the removal of other parts to get to it.


Of course, replacing parts when they fail is essential, but just as important on  old cars is preventative maintenance, and constantly assessing the condition of your car. The Minor was made in a time when people who bought it probably wouldn't have had a car before, and wouldn't always be able to afford to pay a mechanic to service it for them, so routine maintenance is very simple. One of the first things I did after getting the Minor was check the oil. There was plenty of it, but it was a nasty black, and clearly had been there for a long time. So after asking about what oil to use on the Young Members facebook group (20W50), I invited a fellow Young Member round who lived locally to make sure I didn't break anything, and we made a day of changing the oil. I had previously inspected the air filter and found that it was filthy, and needed changing. I therefore decided to order a full service kit, which not only comes with a new air filter, and a new oil filter and O rings that I needed for the oil change, but also a brand new distributor cap, set of points, distributor rotor arm, condenser, and four spark plugs. All that only cost £16. I wanted to put on all the new parts of the distributor and replace the spark plugs, but Marcus, the young member who'd come to assist me, advised against tampering with the ignition system, since it was working perfectly and can often be a tricky area, and instead keep the spares in the boot should I need them. Sound advice, and the spares are still unused. Apart from a few spillages, the oil change went without incident, and I felt immensely satisfied. Incidentally, the oil was Halfords 20W50 and a 5 litre can cost £18, but Asda stuff can be had for £7 a gallon.


A couple of weeks later, I was bored again and wanting to do some more maintenance. I checked the gearbox oil, but that was full and fine. However, my differential (a big mass of cogs at the back of car that imparts motion to the wheels) had been a bit noisier than it really should have been, so I thought changing its oil would be a good thing to do. A litre of gearbox oil was £6 from a local Unipart store, and I purchased an oil pump can for £3.50 from Halfords for getting the oil up into the diff. I invited my friend Rob around to help, partly because he's an engineer and enjoys fiddling with things, and partly because I knew getting the new oil into the diff housing would require a lot of tedious pumping, and I didn't want to do it all myself. The actual operation itself was very simple. It didn't do too much to quieten my differential unfortunately, but I learned later that my diff is just a bit old and tired, and will probably need replacing fairly soon.


Even that still didn't sate my desire for tinkering. One of the trappings of classic car maintenance is valve adjustment. These are rather like the valves on your heart which let blood in and out, except on an engine, they let fuel and air in, and exhaust gas out. Over time, they gradually move away from their correct factory setting, and need to be readjusted, so the gap in the valve rockers when fully open is the correct width. This also needs to be done on most modern cars, but much less infrequently, and is also much harder to do due to inaccessibility, often requiring special tools, so is best left to your servicing people. However, on any car with an A-series engine, it's a doddle to do yourself. Two bolts hold on a cover on top of the engine, under which are all 8 valves, two per cylinder. You then use the starting handle (yes the Minor does come with a starting handle) to rotate the engine, closing each valve one by one so you can adjust the gap. This is done using what's called a feeler gauge, which is a thin piece of metal of an exact thickness, and you use this to feel the valve clearances, and adjust as necessary with a screwdriver. Sounds simple enough. I decided to adjust my valves because they were making noises when the engine was cold, but stopped once it was warmed up. Of course, I know now that noisy valves when cold is just part and parcel of an old A-series, and I'l just have to live with it. But at the time, I thought that adjusting the valves might make it go away. The clearances I needed to put in were .012 of an inch. Unfortunately, correctly feeling the gap with the gauge is a bit of an art form in itself, and doing it for the first time, I got it a bit wrong, and set all the gaps way too loose. It's better to set them too loose than too tight, but now the valves were even noisier, even when the engine was warmed up, and also made the cold engine a bit more tricky to start.


I decided not to tinker with the valves further, and next time I was at home in Oxfordshire, I paid a visit to Oxford Minor Parts, a specialist out in the countryside. The man there was very friendly and helpful, and not only readjusted my valves properly, but gave helpful information on how to set them properly in the future. He also spent some time looking over my car and giving me tips here and there about things. He told me that my valve rockers were not in fact original Minor ones, but were uprated ones taken from a Metro engine. He also managed to find my original chassis number, told me my diff would need replacing in the near future, and informed me my engine was not the one my car left the factory with. It is a Gold Seal engine, which apparently means it was bought back by British Leyland some time ago and rebuilt at the factory, then sold again. Interesting to know. Generally, however, he liked my car and said it was a good purchase. If you ever buy a classic car, it's so worth getting it looked over by a specialist. They have a wealth of knowledge and you can learn a lot about your car from them. I took up three hours of the man's time, and he only charged me £22.50. Not bad I think.


Since then my car has been tinker-free, and it's still fine. Since I've owned the car, I've spent less than £100 on maintenance. That might still sound like a lot for 4 months of ownership, but when you consider a full tank of petrol still costs around £36, it's not that much. I will say this though; classic cars, even simple ones like the Moggy, require much more attention and preventative maintenance than modern cars. However, parts are very cheap and the work can be done by anyone with the tools and a Haynes manual. Modern cars often require specialist tools or knowledge for repairs, which can get very expensive.


But, to see the benefits of a classic car in this respect, you must work on it yourself, and learn a bit of mechanical skill, because if every time your car has an issue, which, depending on the condition of your vehicle, could be quite often, you take it to a garage to get fixed, it will cost you a fortune. Case in point, my door handle pin which came loose. It took me an hour to fix. Cost: £0. If you took that to a garage, they'd charge you an hour's labour, sometimes over £40. This point is rather moot though, because if you've bought a classic car, you're not going to be afraid to get your spanners dirty; that's part of the fun.


So, so far the Moggy has been a perfectly reliable and faithful transport. My friends like it in varying degrees; some of them still prefer the old Swift, some of them express quiet respect on seeing the Moggy, and a couple of them squealed with delight upon seeing it for the first time.


Although my initial obsession with the car has now cooled, it has very quickly worked its way into my heart in a way that the Swift just couldn't. The Minor is the kind of car that you look out of your window at to make sure it's still there, or just to refresh the shape of it in your mind. It's the kind of car that, if you don't drive it for a day or two, you start to think to yourself that you really ought to. It's the kind of car that makes people turn as it passes them in the street, and makes children point it out loudly to their parents, and makes old people smile and reminisce. It makes car park attends and people in petrol stations compliment you on it. It makes you appreciate just what a car is, and just what amazing machines they are. Not just that, but the Minor is something quite special; a proper British creation. It was built by hand in a factory quite near my home a very long time ago, when we as a country were still a world manufacturing giant. And yet, 45 years later, it's still here, doing the job it was meant to do. I am immensely proud of it, and feel very privileged to own it.  


It may not be very fast, or very practical, or very safe, or the most efficient car, but it is a joy to own, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Prologue Part 6: Picking Up The Car

During the few days before I was set to go and pick up my new Minor, I asked my friend Channing if he'd like to come with me. With my Swift now sitting on a dealer forecourt, I was facing a 2 hour train journey up to Sussex, which I didn't want to spend alone, and I also wanted to spend the memorable first drive of my Moggy with a friend, since it was going to be a long one. Channing agreed to come if I paid his train fare. Seemed reasonable enough.


I used my new video camera that I'd been given for Christmas to film the whole escapade, which I subsequently edited and put up on youtube in two parts. You can see them here and here.


We departed at 11:20 on a cold Friday morning at the beginning of February, and throughout the train journey we managed to eat some sandwiches, Channing managed to coin the name "Shitchester", and I taught Channing Occam's Razor (look it up). Two hours later we arrived at Three Bridges station in Crawley, and Stewart arrived to pick us up in a Ford Transit based low-loader, which luckily has three abreast seating in the front, otherwise Channing would have had to sit on the back.


On the journey to the shop, Stewart told me that they had in fact sold quite a few Moggies in recent months, most of them to housewives who wanted something a bit retro and stylish to go to the shops with.


Once we arrived, I found out that not only had Sean fettled and finished my Moggy as best he could, and sorted out the exhaust, but he had given the whole car a thorough polishing, so even the 45 year old paint sparkled. It looked magnificent.


I went in with Stewart to sign paperwork and hand over the remaining money, and pick up my keys. Their duties had not quite finished yet however. A few days before, I'd ordered a few little bits and pieces to put on the Minor, just to give it a little more of a personal edge. I'd bought two chrome headlight peaks, often fitted to cars like Minors and Beetles, and a larger, wooden gear lever knob to replace the rather tired and smaller one on the car. Stewart and Sean very kindly helped me fit the new headlamp peaks (by which I mean I stood back and watch them do it), and I screwed on the new knob (watch it).


After flicking switches for a few minutes, revving the engine and giggling like a school girl, we bid adieu to Stewart and Sean, and set off. After a mile, we were presented with our first challenge of the journey; filling the tank. After spilling petrol all over the bumper and my shoes, we joined the motorway.


To say I was nervous would be a bit of an understatement. The Swift hadn't exactly been an ideal car for the motorway, and the Minor has just over half the horsepower, and no fifth gear. However, it did very well. We settled down to a constant speed of about 65mph, and had enough time to really take in the car. Channing started playing with the quarterlight on his door; he'd never seen such a thing, while I constantly wondered aloud if that squeak or that rattle was normal, or if there should be that much heat coming from that opening.


It took a very long time, due to both distance and terrible traffic, to get home. However, the car did perfectly well. It didn't strain, overheat, make any undue noises, have problems with power delivery or braking, or dump any of its fluids all over the road. We got home, parked, and went off to the pub for a celebratory pint.

Prologue Part 5: Insurance

In the following week before I was due to pick up my new Minor, I had to deal with anyone's least favourite part of car ownership; the insurance. Being only 20 years old at the time and not having any no-claims bonus also made it that much more difficult. If you're American, you may wonder why, even at this age, it would be at all expensive to get insurance on a car with a 1.1 litre engine made 45 years ago. After all, there are plenty of people my age in the states rolling around in fully insured V8 Mustangs. The short explanation is that the car insurance companies in this country completely take the piss, partly due to an inflated and misguided prejudice that pervades this country that younger drivers are the rolling apocalypse of Britain's roads, and partly due to the government, who make it compulsory to have car insurance, whilst at the same time failing to provide adequate regulation to prevent car insurance prices from rocketing through the roof with year after year of arbitrary premium hikes.


However, there are a couple of ways to beat the system, if you're clever. I don't mean using price comparison websites, although that does help. The first way to try and get prices down, if you're a young driver, is be a named driver on a car owned by your parents. In a lot of cases this can cut your bill in half. This is what my parents did for me with "my" Suzuki Swift. The other way to beat the system is to buy a classic car. Because classic cars have been out of production for many many years, they are, in most cases, no longer subject to the same area of the car market that deals with cars made in recent years; ie, their age-depreciation has bottomed out. This means that they are seen by insurance companies as much lower risks, for reasons too numerous to go into here, but it works.


The main advantage to insuring classic cars is that you can have classic car insurance (yeah). This is not only much cheaper than standard insurance, but often comes with extra benefits. I first tried getting insurance through comparethemarket.com, which is a price comparison website famous for advertising itself using bizarre CG meerkats. The cheapest price I could get was £920 for third party, fire and theft cover. I didn't think it was too bad, considering I had no no-claims bonus, had held my license for only two years, and had never held my own car insurance policy before. However, it just wasn't cheap enough. My dad had told me that he would continue to pay my car insurance for me, as long as it was as cheap or cheaper than it had been for the Swift. As a named driver on my mum's policy on the Swift, it was only £750. That meant £170 of it would have to come out of my pocket. Not the end of the world but not ideal.


So I investigated classic car insurance. Whilst poking around on the Morris Minor Owner's Club (MMOC) website, I saw that they had a special insurance agreement with a company called Footman James, and members of the club are entitled to discounted rates. I figured I wasn't going to get much better than that, so I signed up. It's £25 a year for an adult, by the way. Once I had a membership number, I phoned up Footman James and negotiated some insurance. I got quoted £517 third party, and £817 fully comprehensive. Both policies included breakdown cover and lots of other goodies, including insurance abroad for up to 35 days a year. I told my dad about this and he said he would pay the full £817, considering that he would not have to pay £100 road tax on the Minor, thus saving £33 overall in the end.


So, with my insurance sorted, I just had to put down my cash and collect the keys.

Prologue Part 4: Minor 1000 Test Drive

In the intervening weeks before I went to see the next Minor, I tried to find a buyer for my Swift. I was hoping for at least £4000 for the Swift, since it was a nice car with nice features, and I had looked after it well and not put many miles on it. Had I sold it privately I probably would have got that money for it, but I was unwilling to wait for people to come around, kick the tyres and test drive it only to bid me £3000. It could be ages for a real buyer to turn up, and I just couldn't wait. That left the world of the motor traders. I decided my first port of call would be to take the car back to the place my dad and I bought it from two years ago. That way they would know what they were buying back, and also how much we'd originally paid for it, so I hoped it would be a fair price. Besides, they were only 10 minutes away. When I turned up, I spoke to the same salesman we'd spoken to two years previous. He said he vaguely remembered the car, but instead of going out to see it, he pulled out a little book, thumbed to a page and showed me that the trade price for a Suzuki Swift was £3500, and that was what he would pay me for it. Now, £3500 is more than enough to buy a cracking Moggy, but there was no way I was going to accept such an insultingly low price for my car, especially not from the man we paid £6500 to for it only two years ago. I told him I'd think about it (yeah right) and left. I reasoned that he was a back street motor trader, selling high and buying very cheap. So I decided that I would take the car to a Suzuki dealership. They'd surely have honest, expert, polite people who'd give me a fairer price.


After driving to a local dealer in Bedhampton, they told me they were full up of cars and weren't interested. So I drove a little further to another dealer in Fareham, who'd said on the phone they were interested. I arrived and was dealt with by a nice chap called Russel, who gave the car a brief test drive and had a look round. He told me that the aftermarket alloy wheels didn't go down well with him, and he would have preferred the original Suzuki alloys. Well he would, being a Suzuki dealer. We went inside to his office, and the haggling began. I told him that I had been offered £3600 by the trade dealer, which I thought was a good move on my part, as it gave us a higher starting point. Higher by £50. I told him that £3650 was simply not enough. Russel was an expert salesman. I had never sold a car before in my life. I stuck to my guns however, and after a couple of "tell you whats" we shook on £3750, which I was assured was a "top drawer dealer price". I don't know how true that was but it made me feel better.


Russel told me that he'd need a week to sort out paperwork and things and to pop back next Friday. Now knowing exactly what my budget was, and when I would have the cash, I could now go and see a car that I actually wanted to buy.


Six days later, I found this:

Before you marvel at the ridiculously cheap price, I should explain that the tax disc is covering up the 5 at the end of the price. The first thing that struck me was that the colour wasn't my first choice. However, apart from the colour, it ticked all the boxes. It was a 2-door saloon, with the later engine and gearbox, flashing indicators, both wing mirrors fitted (not present on all Moggies), and the bodyshell was completely solid. It was even from my preferred year, 1967. The price of £3295 was quite high for a Minor 1000, but as you can probably tell by the other classics in the background, the car was being sold by a specialist classic car dealer, so I reasoned they'd know their stuff, and wouldn't give the car such a high price if it didn't warrant it. Besides, I reckoned there was plenty of room for haggling. This car was definitely worth a look.


I rang the dealer, who are called Sussex Classics by the way, and spoke to a very nice chap called Stewart, who was very helpful and told me lots about the car on the phone, and seemed to be very honest. I told him I'd like to come and see it that afternoon, which he said was no problem at all. I got in the Swift for its last great road trip, and drove a long way up to Sussex to the village of Crawley Down, just outside Gatwick airport, which Sussex Classics is based. I pulled up on their tiny forecourt, where the Minor was waiting for me. A man came out to greet me, and introduced himself as Sean. Sean is the place's mechanic, and as far as I can tell he and Stewart run the place together. Sean was incredibly helpful and friendly about the car, and answered all my questions very honestly.


The first thing I noticed about the car when I opened the door was how different the interior was from the Series II I drove a few weeks before. Gone was the red leather on the seats, which was replaced by green vinyl to match the paint. The vinyl is actually very good quality and holds its colour much better than the leather does. The seats had also been rebuilt at some point so they looked very healthy. The dashboard was different too, with a curvy lid now covering the passenger side glovebox, with the driver side one left open (yes, there are two gloveboxes; stick that in your 5 series, ha!). The speedo was no longer cream coloured with old numbers so it looked like a grandfather clock, but instead was a stylish black with white blocky numbers. True 60s styling. It was also surrounded by a chromed metal panel which also contained the switches, giving the dashboard a bit of sparkle. The switches themselves had also been updated to be a bit easier to use. Gone also was the pull start of the Series II. The Minor 1000 has a plain old turn key start. The steering wheel had also been changed. The white, metal tri-spoked and brass wheel had been replaced by a black plastic two-spoke wheel, with a plastic "M" horn button. I could also see that the gear lever was a lot shorter in this car. The old Series II gear lever connects to very near the front of the gearbox, so it has to be very long to stretch back towards the driver. However, in the Minor 1000 it connects towards the back of the gearbox, much nearer the driver, so it doesn't have to be nearly as long.


After looking the car over with Sean, I got the keys off him and took it for a drive around the block.  He'd warmed it up for me, so it fired right up. Turning out of the forecourt, I was so relieved to have proper indicators, operated by a stalk. Granted, the stalk was on the opposite side of the steering column to that of the Swift, so it would take some getting used to, but at least it was a stalk, that you pushed up and down, in easy reach of your hands. The indicators don't self cancel, but when one is switched on, there is an audible clicking sound as it flashes, and a bright green light on the end of the indicator stalk flashes at you. This is both extremely cool, and makes it impossible to forget the indicator is on. As far as the actual driving went, it was just like the Series II, but better. I found the driving position a bit better, and due to me wearing comfy trainers, pushing the pedals was much easier. Seeing out of the front was a bit easier thanks to the new curved one-piece windscreen, and seeing out of the back was also easier thanks to a much larger rear view mirror, and a larger back window. But best by far was the performance. Once I got out onto the main road, I shifted into second and buried the throttle. Doing this in the Series II caused you to gently accelerate. However, when I tried it in the 1000, I actually saw the front of the car rear up as we accelerated. I still wouldn't call it fast, by any measure, but it has some grunt to it now; it wants to go. Even in a 5 minute test drive, I could see how much better this Minor was to drive. I definitely wanted one.


As I got out back at the shop, Sean said to me "You're smiling James." Now that he mentioned it, I had been grinning from ear to ear like a loon. "It's a lovely car. Brilliant." I said to him. "It is a good one." he agreed "But are you going to buy it?". Well that's the £3295 question isn't it? It took me five seconds of consideration to come up with an answer. I hadn't looked at any other Minor 1000s; there might be a better one out there. But better how? This one was solid as a rock, had all the bells and whistles working on it, and ran like an absolute dream. "Yes, yes I will." I told Sean.


I decided not to waste his time, and told him flatly I wouldn't pay a penny over £3000 for it. He didn't waste my time and told me that that would be fine. We went inside to have a look through the service history, which there unfortunately wasn't that much of. It only goes back to 1988. We discovered a few interesting things. The car had had a full engine rebuild in 1988, and a reconditioned gearbox in 1989, as well as 4 new wings, which was only around 20000 miles ago. The car had also been professionally valued in 1997 at £2000 (which, incidentally, is about £2950 now). We also discovered the car had spent a few years abroad in Holland in the early 00s, before being repatriated. I then explained the situation of the Swift to Sean, and said I could not pay for it immediately. He said that was fine as long as I laid down a deposit of £100, which I gladly did. He also told me that before I came to pay for the rest of the car, he would look it over and correct anything that wasn't working, and also sort out the exhaust pipe, as it was banging against the body where it exited the engine bay, all free of charge. What a guy! It's nice to see a mechanic who takes pride in his work and won't see a car leave his shop that isn't as good as he could make it.


We agreed that I'd pick the car up in a week's time, and I drove home to a week of eager waiting. 

Prologue Part 3: Series II Test Drive

January came round, and I began my search for a Minor in earnest, and told my parents I would be trading in the Swift in a month's time. When they heard I wanted a Minor, there was some slight groaning, probably mitigated by feelings of nostalgia. In a last ditch effort to put me off a classic car, they insisted that I take a test drive of a Minor before I sold the Swift, just in case I hated it. I couldn't really argue, so I had a look for a Morris Minor for sale near university. I managed to find this one:

It was for sale in Chichester, at a Smart Car dealership, of all places, for £4000. That's quite a steep sum for a saloon, and it was not the model I wanted. You can see from the picture that it has two too many doors, but also it is a 1956 Series II Minor. These have a less powerful engine and worse gearbox than the later Minor 1000s, and also has trafficators instead of proper flashing indicators. However, it did at least have my favourite colour scheme. It was the nearest Minor to me by a long way, and I didn't want to travel many miles to see a car I was not going to buy. A Minor is, essentially a Minor, so I rang up the man to have a chat about it. Being a Smart Car salesman he was unfamiliar with Minors, to put it mildly. I learned that the steep price came from the fact that they had had £700 worth of welding done to it to get it through its most recent MOT, and that it had full service history. I agreed to come and see it that same day. However, I didn't want the salesman to think I was some unwashed youth just wanting a spin in a classic car. So I put on a suit, with a waistcoat. That did the trick.


A couple of hours later I arrived, and the man brought the car round the the front, gave me the service file and left me alone with the car for a few minutes. I climbed into the driver's seat, and shut the the door with a loud "thunk". There is nothing else like climbing into a classic car for the first time, shutting the door and breathing in the interior. It was fantastic. The air in the Minor was a perfect mix between the engine fluids and the smell of the old leather, the kind of smell that couldn't come from anywhere except an old car. The interior itself was beautiful. The red leather had faded over 56 years into a darker, more brown shade, but still looked magnificent. The steering wheel was made of white plastic, with a grey swirly pattern in it that looked great. The wheel itself was also huge, the sort of thing you'd expect to find on a sailing yaught. The horn button in the middle was brass, tarnished heavily from the years and countless hands on it. Everything was different in the Minor. The switches and ignition were all in the middle, underneath the speedo, which itself was a creamy white colour. The switches aren't modern push buttons, but instead are big bakelite pull and flick stalks. There's also a manual choke, essential on an older car. I just sat there for a while, marveling at it. I then had a look at the service file, and wow. When the man had said full service history, he meant it. Every single bill, receipt, MOT, tax disc and scrap of paper relating to the car had been kept and filed. The original bill of sale from 1956 was there, as were some original brochures, and receipts for parts with shillings written on them. It was amazing. I grabbed the salesman and the keys, and we went for a drive.


It took quite a bit of getting used to, to put it lightly. Firstly, you have to start the engine. In the Series II Minor, you don't simply put the key in the ignition and turn. You put the key in the ignition, and switch the ignition on. Then, you pull a separate little stalk, which operates the starter motor. It's needlessly complicated, but I love it. The engine itself fired up instantly, sice the car was already warm.


Then, you've got to operate the pedals. The brake and clutch pedals hinge from underneath the floor, instead of from the bottom of the dashboard, so the way you push them is a bit different, as they curve in the other direction. What's more, the clutch and brakes themselves are not power assisted, so to make them work, you really have to step on the pedals. The throttle, however, hinges from the familiar position, from above, and since it's only pulling the throttle cable on the carb, it's much easier. The carburettor itself doesn't deliver power as instantaneously as fuel injection does, but I prefer it, as it makes power delivery smoother and easier to regulate, which is what you actually need with everyday driving. I did actually find the driving position slightly awkward, and getting at the pedals was a little tricky. That was probably down to inexperience, and the fact I was wearing uncomfortable brogues.


Once we got moving, there was the steering to contend with. It's not power assisted, but thanks to the large wheel and lightness of the system, you really don't notice once you're moving. The rack and pinion system is incredibly responsive and gives great feedback, and is one of the Minor's best features.


Once some speed was achieved, I had to change gear. This is one of the most enjoyable bits of driving a Moggy. You don't just flick the gear lever around like you do in a modern car. You really have to grasp it and properly move it. That's partly because the gearbox isn't quite as refined as a modern car's, but also because the gear lever is very long, especially on the earlier Minor gearboxes. The gears are easy to find however, once you know where they are. There's also one less of them; Minors have 4-speed gearboxes, not 5. It's also very important to remember not to shift into first gear when the car is moving, because first gear in a Minor does not have synchromesh. Long story short, this makes the gearbox graunch horribly if you try to select first while moving, but it's something you very quickly learn.


The view out of the Minor was great. The visibility out of the Minor was not so great. By that I mean that what you see through the windscreen and the windows makes you smile, but is perhaps not the best for seeing outside. The split-screen windscreen on the Series II Minor looks great from outside, and even better from inside. On the side, you get quarterlights, which look brilliant, even if they don't actually do much when you open them except make wind noise. The rear view mirror was tiny, about the same size as the mirror that girls carry around with them to check their makeup with. Mind you, the rear window was tiny as well. This was actually enlarged on the later Minor 1000s, another reason why I didn't want a Series II.


Up until I took the first corner, it was all fine and dandy. However, when you arrive at a junction in a Series II Minor, you have to indicate. Your hand moves towards the steering column to operate the indicator stalk, but you don't feel it. You look down and see nothing there. You scan the dashboard quickly for any likely switches, but there are none. By this time you've been sitting at the junction for a good five seconds. You turn to the salesman in the passenger seat and ask "Where are the indicators?" he points and indicates a small plastic lever underneath the dashboard to the right of the steering column, attached to a vertical swivel so it can move left and right. You tentatively reach out and push the lever to the right. There's a slight sound in your right ear, and you look round to see that a metal arm with an illuminated orange light on it has flipped up and points out a good 10 inches from the side of the car, between the front and rear doors. "That's ridiculous!" you say to the salesman, with slight incredulity in your voice. The salesman shrugs and says "It is a bit odd.". I decided after that I really didn't like the trafficators. Not only do they not self-cancel, but they don't flash or click to let you know they're on, so it's very easy to drive along, forgetting that one of them is standing erect. The flashing indicators from later Moggies can be retrofitted to Series IIs, but that would mean messing around with the wiring, which is my least favourite part of any car, and I would have anal purists on my back for ruining the car's originality.


But I'm waffling a bit now. Suffice to say that, despite the trafficators, driving a Minor for the first time was challenging, but incredibly good fun, and satisfying too. You're really involved in the driving of the car, as it has no aids to help you like a modern car, so once you reach your destination, you really feel like you've driven there, not merely traveled there. One thing I did miss, besides indicators, was a seatbelt. That's right, there were no seatbelts. They were not compulsory on production cars in Britain until 1967, so all Moggies made before then will not have come with them as standard. Of course many Moggy owners have since fit seatbelts to their cars over the years, but the previous owners of the Series II I drove clearly hadn't got around to it. The Series II Minors also have a weaker gearbox than later cars, and the measly 30 horspower engine gets you a top speed of 65 mph, so cruising would be around 55.


After having another chat with the salesman, I unfortunately had to lie to him and tell him I'd think about it and get back to him. In fact, I had no intentions of buying the car, partly because £4000 is way too much for a Moggy like that, and that it was just a bit too antiquated for me.


In hindsight, I actually really liked the way the Series II looked. If it had been  quite a lot cheaper, I might have bought it, then fitted some flashing indicators, and dropped in a later engine and gearbox to bring the performance up to scratch. Maybe a project for the future.

Prologue Part 2: Choosing a Classic

In the previous few months before January, I'd been researching the good old Beetle, brushing up on my knowledge and keeping a mind as to what to expect, even selecting specific model years as the sort I would like to buy. However, my search for Beetle info brought other classic cars under my radar. These were the Ford Capri Mk.3, the Mini, the Series II Land Rover, the Volvo Amazon, and, of course, the Morris Minor. I ended up doing research on all these cars, and as the sale time for the Swift was looming, I started to shorten the list of possibilities one by one.

Firstly I discounted the Landy. While being a wonderful-looking vehicle in its own right, a true British classic, and having excellent carrying space, it would not have been the right car for me. The interior comfort is virtually non-existent. The fuel consumption is pretty heavy. They're slow and taxing to drive, even by 1960s standards. What's more, their reliability is notoriously patchy, and as such cost a lot to maintain, even if you do it yourself. I would also seldom have use for the off-roading capabilities of a 4x4.

Next went the Volvo Amazon. As far as I have read the Amazon is a brilliant car, and quite out of the ordinary. However, they are incredibly scarce these days, and as such are expensive when they come up for sale. I imagine parts would also be difficult and expensive to locate.

Third to go was the Mini. Don't get me wrong, I'm extremely fond of the Mini; show me a British classic car fan who isn't. However, I found out that getting a Mini of a similar vintage to a Minor, Beetle, Amazon or Series II Land Rover would be much more expensive than any of the former, and whilst I was not averse to getting a later Mini, it does make it that much less special. What's more I really wanted something rear-wheel drive, and I'm a big chap; 6ft 5" to be exact, and I also have friends and stuff to move sometimes, and a car the size of a Mini just wouldn't do in those situations.

Next off the list was the Capri. You might be surprised that I considered it at all, with the mk.3 being 20 years newer than the other cars on my shortlist. They also hold a questionable image with older generations (see Bodie and Doyle). However, I really like the way the Capri looks, especially in black. What's more, being a much more modern car than the others, it's faster, safer, better equipped and easier to get parts for. However, because of those same reasons, it's just not as special, or as good looking, as any of the others. I would also lose out on the free road tax.

Last to go was the Beetle. This one was a bit different, as it wasn't so much what was bad about the Beetle, but more of what the Minor has that the Beetle doesn't. As it turned out this was mainly value for money, Britishness, and looks. In the last 10 years or so, Beetles have got rather more scarce in Britain, so much so that it's not hard to find left hand drive imports for sale nowadays, and see rust-free Australian cars commanding big bucks. Whilst I could still afford a good early 70s Beetle, ones made before 1967 have slightly better styling, mainly round the headlights and bootlid, and as such are much more expensive. Minors are much cheaper and easier to find. In the looks department, it is obviously a subjective thing, but looking at the two cars side by side, the Beetle looks somewhat silly, whereas I see the Minor has elegant but strong British styling. What's more, the Minor is a British classic, and it really means something to own on in Britain, and conjures up a lot of positive feelings with people here. I'm not saying the Beetle is disliked in this country, far from it, but it just doesn't have the little bit extra that the Moggy has. Also, VW made a whopping 23 million Beetles, whereas only 1.5 million Minors were made, with 85% of them being exported, which makes the Moggy a much more exclusive motor. What's more, the Moggy has history in my own family, as it does in most British families. My grandparents had one, and my mum's first boyfriend drove one.

So, I made my choice, to get a Minor. I intensified my research and discovered that there are four main eras, if you will, of the Moggy in it's production time from 1948 through to 1971, and that they differ quite a bit through that time. I'll go into the history of the car a bit more in another post.

I quickly established that the version I wanted was the later Minor 1000, produced from 1962 through to the end of production in 1971. With these models, you benefit from the most powerful engine and best transmission the Moggy was equipped with, and proper flashing indicators instead of trafficators. Also, being that the majority of the Minors made were 1000 models, and that they are the newest Minors, they're a lot easier to find and cheaper to buy.

I then had to choose the bodyshape I wanted. The choice was between the 2-door and 4-door saloon, the convertible, the traveller estate, van and pickup. I discovered that vans and pickups, as well as being rare and expensive, are built on a separate chassis, as opposed to the standard monocoque construction of the other cars. This would make them heavier, slower and not as good in the handling department. Also, I have no need or use for a van or pickup, so they were discounted first. Next to go was the traveller, which despite being easier to find, is just as expensive, probably down to the lovely half-wood construction, which is both desirable and a pain in the arse when it rots away. For similar reasons the convertible went next. They command similar prices to travellers, and the roof would no doubt cause me some hassle. Also, I think they look a bit silly. That left me to choose between the 2-door and 4-door saloons. You might think that the 4-door would be the obvious choice, but I don't really like the way it makes the car look. It makes the side of it look a bit fussy, and the monocoque has greater integrity when only two large bits of it can move instead of four. What's more, as on cars made to this day, the two door has longer front doors, and when you're 6ft 5" that really helps when you get in. What's more, I'd learned with my 5-door Swift that having back doors is not that useful when you hardly ever have more than one passenger.

So with my bodyshape narrowed down, I next chose an ideal colour scheme; black with a red interior. I even had an ideal year of production; 1967, for reasons mainly relating to music. With everything mapped out, I dived into the online world of pistonheads, autotrader, and car and classic.

Prologue Part 1: The Swift

In February 2010, at 18 years of age, I passed my driving test, a momentous occasion in the life of any youngster. On top of that, my parents had promised me that, because I had been such a good boy and got into university, they would buy me a car and pay all the running costs for me (sans petrol). Unfortunately, as so often happens in this scenario, my parents wanted to buy me one sort of car, and I wanted one that was very different. I wanted, it may surprise your to learn, a VW Beetle, the proper one, of course. My dad was actually somewhat keen on the idea at first, as he drove across Australia with my mum back in the early 80s in a VW camper, and knows the brilliance of the air-cooled engine. However, after telling my mother of my excellent choice of vehicle, she flatly refused and became flustered, telling me that it was an old deathtrap with no airbags and that I would crash and that I would die in a mangled mess of metal and fire, or words to that effect. This lead to some arguments where I think I presented a pretty strong case for the Beetle. However, it was all pretty much academic as my parents were in charge of the cheque book, not I. In the end, they insisted that I could choose whatever car I wanted, as long as it was a 21st century creation and had no more than 1.5 litres in its engine. As a compromise, however, they said that after two years of driving a modern car, if I still wanted a Beetle, I would be allowed to sell my current car, and use the sale money to buy one for myself. My guess is that they were hoping I'd come to realise the benefits of modern cars and that I'd want to stick with it after that time. 


So it was that I ended up with this:

This is a 2007 Suzuki Swift. It has a 1.3 litre twin cam straight-4 engine which kicks out about 90 horsepower to the front wheels, and a 5-speed manual gearbox. It set my dad back £6500 and had 26500 miles on the clock when it was given to me. You're probably thinking that, because I was a fickle teenager, I chose it because it has cool alloy wheels, stripes on the bonnet and a chequered roof. It's fair to say that I chose this particular one for those features (it had a boot spoiler and chrome exhaust tip too), but I also really liked the Swift in general. Ever since it appeared on our roads in 2005 and the ads come on the TV, I had always liked the way it looked. I also liked it because it was Japanese, and I love Japanese cars because of their legendary reliability and cheapness to operate and work on among many other things (although I found out later that Swifts sold in Europe are actually assembled in Hungary).


I drove this car for two years, covering 8000 miles, and I liked it. It's a good looking car, very nippy, fun to drive when you put your foot down, and easy to drive when you don't. It got me around 45mpg, and besides needing new brake pads and tyres, it never missed a beat. My friends like it too. However, after two years, I still wanted shot of it, much to the disappointment of my parents. But they honoured our agreement, and allowed me to put the car up for sale in January of this year. The ball had begun to roll.

Mog Blog

Hello and welcome to my blog! I decided to create it after reading a couple of other blogs; tinworm's blog about his Austin 101 restoration, and, more relevantly, ourlondontaxi's blog about using an old FX4 black cab as a daily family car. I noticed two things about these blogs; firstly, they're both quite interesting reads, and secondly, they're both blogspots. I've had a blog on tumblr for about a year now, and haven't really been updating it that much. That's partly because the blog itself doesn't really have a direction or main subject, but mostly because tumblr is an utterly awful website. That's not because of the design of the site; in fact I think it's a very well thought out and coded website, but mainly due to the people that dominate it, namely, 16 year old girls who constantly post about how much they like that idiot boy at school/how much they love their idiot boyfriend/how much they hate life because their idiot boyfriend left them/how cool slitting your wrists is/how much they like rubbish teen bands, endlessly reposting pictures of tattoos/ridiculous piercings/animated gifs of guys kissing/utterly stupid and incomprehensible captioned pictures, and generally whining and begging for attention. Making a mockery of the English language also seems to be a priority for them.

But I digress. Suffice to say tumblr is crap, and I've had enough of it. So here I am on blogspot, which I'm hoping will be a much more mature place. I can also access it through my google account, which is splendid. I'm also giving this blog a proper subject matter. As you've no doubt seen by this point, this is living with a Morris Minor, the lovable and thoroughly brilliant little car that got post-war Britain on its feet, or, more accurately, its wheels. When I say "living with" I really mean it. The Minor is not a toy that I bought for sunny weekends and country lanes. It is my only car, and I use it for everything. I am 21 years old, and a student, and with this blog I hope to prove that even in today's world and at this precarious stage of my life, it is not just possible, but perfectly easy to live with a car that was designed in the 1940s and went out of production over 40 years ago, and that you don't have to be an old fart, or a trained mechanic, or have a Swiss bank account to do so. If this interests you, read on.