Reliability of course was finally proved possible by the Japanese, and rustproofing would eventually be pioneered by the ever-efficient Germans.
The Rover has come to me by way of temporary loan/storage, and for a short time whilst it is with me I chose to use it and eventually all of the fuel in it. It is a remarkably good example of its breed, I have yet to find a single half eaten sandwich in any of the door cards and it is a single owner, 42,000 mile 1.6l petrol Automatic with (so I am reliably informed) a Honda engine instead of the dreaded, Headgasket-hungry K-Series engine.
There are notable downsides of course: both the front and rear bumpers are attached with little other than some snapped cable ties, the bonnet and boot are kinked upwards and let in rain, the remote central locking often chooses instead of opening the car it would rather set of the alarm and the drivers’ door stubbornly refuses to unlock.
We will start with equipment, because that should be easy – it has none. Actually that is a white lie, according to its original sales receipt (which, remarkably I am in possession of) it cost a grand total of £12.995 and had optional extra ‘Luxury’ floor mats, which appear to still be in the car despite not looking luxurious at all.
Other than the immensely appealing floor mats there are electric front windows, and an electric glass sunroof with what could only be the least well-positioned operating button ever. To prevent the sunroof from breaking Rover saw fit to place the button to open and close it behind the steering wheel, below the dash clocks. It’s not a single touch, so you have to hold your finger there for the duration of the sunroof operating process and handily to throw you off it always stops halfway, whereby you have to release and re-press the button.
This has caused only a handful of near misses in the short time that I used the car. To increase the chances of sudden death the hazard, rear demister and foglight switches are also located thusly. There is a stereo, placed very low in the dash and due to the incredible amount of tiny buttons completely impossible to operate. It even has 3 volume knobs, only one of which actually operates the volume (no idea which one of course). I assume this is mostly to take your attention away from using the radio, which will not work unless you manually deploy the aerial, by exiting the car and pulling it out of the A-pillar, whereby it will shortly return – preventing you from getting any stations.
There is a clock, which provided the battery still has some electrickery up its sleeve occasionally shows the time. It’s never right of course - because the battery often disagrees with its own electricity and throws it out - but it is there.
Interior – this may come as a surprise, but its beige. There is something across the dash which I think may be to replicate wood, but it’s hard to tell. Whatever it is its awful.
There are redeeming points however, because the front seats are very comfortable, like old armchairs without the arms.
I had the misfortune of spending quite some time sat in the Rover on one long journey and the squishy seats made it quite agreeable – if the radio worked it would have almost been pleasant.
The single best feature of the interior though is the storage area on top of the dash, a perfectly placed, lipped tray with a grippy base that is perfect for throwing phones and things in whilst keeping them within reach.
Of course the tray exists entirely because Rover could not be bothered to fit an airbag, so in the event of an accident instead of a cosseting pillow of air exploding violently into your face you will have an Apple (other, infinitely better electronic devices are available) logo rammed into your forehead.
Driving – It is a 1.6l petrol Automatic, so it was never going to be a rocket. With that considered I blame the gearbox for its performance, which is entirely noise and no go. The common phrase is that there are quicker glaciers, but I feel it’s more of a continental drift style of movement. Soon after holding the kickdown (with your ears bleeding from the screaming engine and the speed nudging two figures) the gearbox will change gear – and immediately give you whiplash.
The trick was to take a more casual approach to driving the Rover. This will require you to have a thick skin because the clear view the large windows afford you of the road will also allow people to see you as well as you see them. This means the considerable queue of frustrated BMW and Audi drivers can see you, and they can see that you see them, and they really, really don’t like you. Somehow just seeing a Rover ambling along seems to be able to generate stunning levels of rage from any driver of a Teutonic, rust-free Germanic vehicle.
From the moment they spot you they sit, mere inches from your bumper, giving the occasional flash of lights or horn in the vain hope that you may reach the speed limit. Even driving a planet-destroying 4x4 into a Greenpeace protest would generate less rage.
Despite all that, you find – with your hat pulled down low and the windows done up – that it’s not that bad. Whilst enjoying your gradual journey you may realise that the ride is pillowy-soft, and that a combination of gentle rocking and squishy seats is putting you to sleep.
Or perhaps it’s the heater, because Rover saw fit to equip this car with the most industrial furnace of a heating system I have ever experienced. Capable of completely melting passengers and driver alike in an unfeasibly short time it impressed me very much.
Equally impressive is the twin horn system, most unlike the image the car suggests the horn can wake the dead (and all your neighbours) when the Rovers car alarm goes off in the morning – which it will.
So... Anyone want a fine modern classic? Comes at a very reasonable price…
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