In these times of increasing grumbles over the quality of today’s mass-produced motor cars, may I cast a spanner in the works by praising the performance and reliability of my everyday transport — and it’s British to boot.
It has now taken me 89,000 miles, given 19 m.p.g. in town and 30-ish on a run.
It has never failed to get me both there and back in fair comfort, comparative silence, and relatively fast.
It has gone through two sets of tyres, one clutch, one alternator, a set of shock-absorbers and a few sets of brakes. It tows like a trojan, and despite my ignoring the bodywork for long periods — comes up beautifully after an afternoon’s hard work.
The chassis is reminiscent of a piece of the Forth Bridge (in common with my 1935 Derby Bentley) and the body seems set to last for ever.
I greatly enjoy the car, and until the face of motoring changes dramatically, wouldn’t dream of parting with it.
What is it? A 1974 Reliant Scimitar
S. N. Cookson