Steve Cropley
What went down at the chicken shed
FRIDAY
Snuck away from the office to join Autocar contributor Richard Bremner and a bunch of car-mad pals for an exploit we labelled Chicken Run, because our destination was the former chicken farm near Hemel Hempstead, north of London, where Bremner and friends keep a multifarious car collection. It has become mildly famous, this collection, for embracing everything from classic supercars to Bremner’s treasured Austins: Mini, Allegro, Princess and Maestro. My ride was a near-priceless 1926 Vauxhall 30/98 plucked from the maker’s Luton heritage collection and expertly driven by former Autocar inmate Simon Hucknall.
The event had no theme: guests included past and present car bosses and a few hacks, united by the simple love of cars. After inspections of the Shed and Chicken Runners’ own cars, we lunched in a nearby pub. Talk followed in a lively 1970s BL direction, mainly because attendees had either worked in that company or road tested the wildly variable cars it built. I’ve been recalling the carefree exhilaration of that day ever since: there’s no camaraderie quite like hanging out with people who love cars as much as you do.
MONDAY
Spent my first quality time in a new Ford Fiesta ST, a car I seriously doubted would be better than its four-cylinder predecessor, until I found that it was. I’ve always loved three-pot engines (reflecting happy 1980s days with Laverda and Yamaha motorbikes), but have occasionally noticed a tendency for poor throttle response. However, this new 1.5-litre Ford turbo triple has never heard of the problem. The ST’S singleratio steering strikes me as close to perfect, but an even bigger win is this car’s phenomenal cornering grip, especially given the maturity of its composed but sporty ride.
I’ve got the softest possible spot for affordable cars as painstakingly developed as this; VW’S Up GTI is another in the same mould. Strikes me they offer 90% of the driving joy available in decent cars twice or even ten times the price, with the extra agility born of small size chucked in for nothing. Want a Porsche? Get a Fiesta.
TUESDAY
Like everyone in the car world, I was horrified to hear of the tragic death of FCA’S Sergio Marchionne, a man whose towering corporate successes seem even greater when compiled in obituaries. I’ll remember him for two things: bravura press calls at motor shows (mentioned elsewhere) and unaffected warmth away from them. He once spent 10 minutes explaining what solid business sense it made for Fiat to sponsor Yamaha-mounted Valentino Rossi in top-level bike racing, before making it clear a large part of the decision was to do with his own liking for Rossi himself. Another time I asked Marchionne about his celebrated preference for sweaters instead of suits, thinking it’d be quite like poking a wasp’s nest with a stick. “Oh, I just find it comfortable,” he said, simply not minding.
Marchionne was unique, but I’m pleased to see the obits have avoided the ‘we shall not see his like again’ cliché. The words are too obvious.
THURSDAY
Since being introduced to Bremner’s Austin Princess, I’ve begun a hunt for a particular evocative but ludicrous Princess advertising poster. It featured a parked Princess and a bloke bent over beside its driver’s door, hand against glass to view the fascia. The awfulness of the line beneath still makes me quake: ‘PEOPLE BOW WHEN THEY SEE A PRINCESS’. So far, the internet denies all knowledge of this poster’s existence. The ad men probably buried it early.
Our destination was a former chicken farm