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The Volvo P1800 is one of those rare classics that manages to surprise people who think they...
Let’s be honest, shall we? There are sensible, logical reasons to buy a classic car. You might want a solid investment, a weekend cruiser that starts on the button, or a beautifully engineered piece of automotive history. And then there are the other classics. The ones you buy with your heart, not your head. The cars that promise so much passion and character that you’re willing to overlook a teensy, tiny little detail: they are catastrophically, biblically, and sometimes hilariously unreliable.
These are the cars that will leave you stranded in the rain, that have a special relationship with the back of a recovery truck, and whose electrics were seemingly designed by a man who hated light. Yet, we adore them. We pour our money, time, and sanity into them. They are the automotive equivalent of a bad romance, and we just can’t quit them. So let’s celebrate the glorious, infuriating, and utterly charming classics that we love, against all better judgment.
A special relationship with the Prince of Darkness
If you’ve ever owned a classic British car, you’ve likely become intimately acquainted with a certain Joseph Lucas, the man dubbed the “Prince of Darkness”. Lucas electrical systems are the stuff of legend, and not in a good way. Why do the British drink warm beer? Because Lucas made refrigerators. What’s the definition of optimism? A British car owner with a book of wiring diagrams. The jokes are endless because, for decades, the reality was so painfully true.
From headlights that spontaneously decide nighttime is overrated, to wipers that only work in the dry, a Lucas system can feel like a practical joke embedded in your car’s very soul. Yet, is it fair to lay all the blame at Joe’s door? Many experts now argue that decades of poor maintenance, bodged roadside repairs, and ham fisted attempts to add a modern stereo have done more damage than the original components. For owners, sorting out the electrics is a rite of passage, a shared trauma that binds the British classic community together in a unique bond of flickering camaraderie.
The beautiful, passionate, and frequently stationary Italian
There’s a saying that you can’t be a true petrolhead until you’ve owned an Alfa Romeo. There’s another, unspoken rule: you can’t be a true Alfa owner until it has broken your heart, your wallet, and your will to live, at least once. For decades, Alfas have been the poster children for cars that are beautiful, soulful, and an absolute pain in the neck to own. Rust, for example, was less a risk and more a standard feature from the factory.
Whether it’s a gorgeous GTV6 with its glorious V6 engine and famously tricky transaxle, or a classic Spider that leaks oil as part of its charm, owning an old Italian car is an emotional rollercoaster. The highs are incredible; the sound, the feel, the sheer joy of driving a car designed with passion rather than logic. The lows often involve waiting for a specialist part to arrive from Milan, which may or may not be the right one. But when it works, oh, when it works, all is forgiven.
A Stag party you might regret
The Triumph Stag is, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful British classics ever made. Designed by the Italian maestro Giovanni Michelotti, it’s a handsome four seater convertible with a unique T bar roof and, crucially, a V8 engine. It should have been a world beater, a British take on the Mercedes SL. The problem was the engine. A masterpiece of poor design, it was essentially two four cylinder engines welded together and was plagued with issues from day one.
The Stag’s tendency to overheat is legendary. The cooling system was woefully inadequate, leading to warped cylinder heads and blown gaskets. In fact, it’s said that over 90 percent of Stags no longer have their original Triumph V8, with most owners having swapped in a more reliable Ford or Rover unit. Yet, the car’s popularity has never been higher. A well sorted Stag is a joy, and the community of owners is one of the most dedicated you’ll find, united by the shared experience of having conquered one of British Leyland’s most flawed gems.
The car everyone loves to hate
Few cars have been the butt of more jokes than the Austin Allegro. Launched in the 1970s to replace the much loved Morris Minor, it landed with a thud. It was saddled with dumpy styling, questionable build quality, and, most famously, a square steering wheel. The “Quartic” wheel, as it was known, was supposed to be futuristic but was just plain weird, and was quickly dropped.
For years, the Allegro was a national punchline, a symbol of everything wrong with the British car industry. But a funny thing happened on the way to the scrapyard. People started to appreciate the Allegro for what it was. Its Hydragas suspension gave it a surprisingly comfortable ride, and its sheer unloveliness has, ironically, given it a certain cult appeal. Today, the Allegro has a dedicated following of enthusiasts who love it not in spite of its flaws, but because of them. It’s a reminder that even the most maligned cars can find love in the end.
The big cat that bites back
The Jaguar XJ-S is one of the most beautiful grand tourers ever made. Those sleek flying buttresses, that long bonnet hiding a silky smooth V12, and an interior dripping with leather and wood. It was the car for the discerning gentleman who wanted to waft from London to Monaco in effortless style. The only problem was actually getting there.
Early XJ-S models combined Lucas electrics with a fiendishly complex fuel injection system and an engine that ran hot enough to cook breakfast on. Head gasket failures were common, the wiring loom was a spaghetti junction of potential faults, and the fuel consumption would make an oil sheikh wince. Jaguar mechanics reportedly drew straws to see who had to work on them. Yet, the XJ-S has aged beautifully, and values are now climbing as enthusiasts realise just how much presence and performance you get for your money. When everything works, there are few more relaxing ways to cover ground.
The Anglo American heartbreaker
The Jensen Healey promised so much. A gorgeous little roadster that combined British chassis know how with a Lotus 907 twin cam engine, it should have been the perfect sports car for the 1970s. On paper, it had everything: Italian styling by Giugiaro's team, a proper British sports car feel, and an engine from the wizards at Lotus. What could possibly go wrong?
Quite a lot, as it turned out. The Lotus engine was temperamental at the best of times, prone to oil leaks, and had a particular hatred of cold mornings. Jensen was in deep financial trouble during production, so build quality was, shall we say, inconsistent. The bodies rusted with alarming enthusiasm, and finding parts today requires the detective skills of Sherlock Holmes. Despite all this, the Jensen Healey is a properly quick, nimble sports car with bags of character. Survivors are now cherished by a devoted community of owners who wouldn't swap them for anything more sensible.
Character over conformity
So why do we do it? Why do we pour our affection into these deeply flawed machines? Because in a world of bland, identical modern cars that are utterly reliable but completely soulless, these classics have character in spades. They have quirks, personalities, and the ability to make you feel something, even if that something is often profound frustration.
Owning an unreliable classic is a journey. It’s about the challenge of keeping it running, the community you join, and the stories you gather along the way. No one ever tells a great dinner party story about their Toyota Corolla starting first time, every time. But the time your Jag’s electrics failed in a thunderstorm on the M6? That’s a story for the ages. And that, right there, is why we love them.
