HIS YEAR MARKS TWO SIGNIFICANT
anniversaries for petrolheads of a certain age.
Namely 60 years since the Mini first took to our
roads and 50 since The Italian Job first hit cinema
screens. Though each predates me (the former
by a comforting amount, the latter by fewer years than I care to
acknowledge), both car and film had a tremendous impact on me
during my formative years. Indeed, they not only shaped my deep
love of cars but also steered me towards becoming a motoring
journalist and predicated what I look for in a great driver’s car.
Launched in the dying days of the 1950s, the Mini was a car that
came to epitomise the ’60s. Yet throughout the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s,
right up until the dawn of the noughties, it remained a cheery,
iconic and idiosyncratic presence on our roads, transcending the
conventional automotive ageing process in much the same manner
as the Land Rover Defender.
By the time The Italian Job premiered in
London during the summer of 1969, some
two million Minis had been built and sold.
Stylish, classless and affordable, it was the
car of the moment. And, as the hotted-up
Cooper S versions proved countless times,
it was also all but unbeatable on racetracks
and rally stages, not to mention uncatchable
across the rooftops and through the streets
and sewers of Turin.
By 1976, some four million Minis had
been built. By 1986, five million. They
were everywhere, in all shapes (I still lust after a pickup), states
of tune and sorry decrepitude – an unbroken thread that spanned
generations. My grandmother had a very early example from new.
My dad also owned one (and tuned it up) in his youth. I remember
trips in the family Clubman (maroon, with teeny 10-inch Wolfrace
slot mags; well, it was the ’70s) and badgering my mum until she
sold me her F-plate black Mini Mayfair, which I immediately de-
striped, slapped some 12-inch Minilites on and sank a fortune into
making go faster.
Even so, I’m not quite sure what it was that ensured the Mini
resonated with me so strongly. The cumulative effect of years of
Italian Job reruns clearly achieved a degree of indoctrination, but
I’m convinced it would all have been for nothing if the driving
experience hadn’t stacked up. OK, so it has a peculiar bus-like
driving position, and in basic tune is in no way quick. I think ‘nippy’
was the phrase most associated with Minis back in the day. A bumpyroad has you bouncing and jiggling around to comedic effect, and
deep puddles invariably drown the electrics. At least until you learn
to stretch a Marigold glove over the distributor and snip holes in the
fingertips through which you feed the plug leads.
Yet despite the manifold (LCB, obvs; sorry, that’s an in-joke for
Mini people) shortcomings, the directness of the Mini’s handling
and the sheer tenacity of its road-holding truly were revelatory
straight out of the box. Of course, the fact they were also ridiculously
responsive to tuning helped massively, fuelling a sub-culture that
thrived to the end of the 20th century and has risen to prominence
once more thanks to the Mini’s brilliance in historic racing. YouTube
‘Nick Swift Goodwood’ for ample supporting evidence.
What owning and driving a Mini taught me was it doesn’t matter
how fast you travel between corners, it’s the speed you carry
through them and the fun you have doing so that’s most important.
That belief has stuck with me to this day and, I suspect, will only
get stronger as modern performance cars
stray further from that deep-rooted Meaden
manifesto. I’m convinced it’s why hot
hatches remain my default choice of long-
term test car, for it is they that are closest to
the Mini’s magical mix of perfect packaging,
exploitable, deployable performance,
humble origins and everyday practicality.
I love 205 GTIs and 106 Rallyes, assorted
hot Clios, BMW Minis, and most recently
the Up GTI, but I’m not sure any of them
quite capture the exuberance and live wire
dynamic energy contained within every ‘classic’ Mini I’ve ever
driven. They are unique in this respect.
And as for The Italian Job? Well, its influence extends far
beyond those red, white and blue Cooper Ss. The opening credits
highlighted the allure of exotic Italian supercars and remains the
source of the joy I feel at the very thought of driving along an Alpine
pass. The phalanx of slinky black Fiat Dinos taught me that the less
obvious cars are often the coolest, and the acrobatic stunt driving
of Rémy Julienne and his L’Équipe Rémy Julienne team sparked
a fascination for hooning and a sense that knowing how to skid
around in cars was a life skill worth learning.
So, if you’ve never driven one, try and get yourself a go in a
proper old Mini. Preferably a Cooper S and ideally after watching
The Italian Job, but any classic Mini will do as long as it’s a manual
and has been well looked after. Honestly, you’ll be amazed. In fact,
I’d go so far as to say it’ll blow yer bloody doors off. LA classic British (and Italian) job will always be Meaden’s kind of Mini adventure
@DickieMeaden‘The Mini’s
handling and the
sheer tenacity of its
road-holding were
revelatory’
Richard is a contributing editor to evo and one of the magazine’s founding teamOutside Line
RICHARD MEADEN
T
66 http://www.evoIndia.com | July 2019