I Went To The UK’s Best Worst Car Show And It Was Brilliantly Terrible

The sounds of a great British summer – the gentle thwack of leather and willow (cricket, you utter perverts), squawking shitehawks (seagulls) dive bombing the seafront for fresh chips, the thump of pasty Brits hitting the dirt as they pass out from the lack of air conditioning, which we don’t have because the EU banned it and we’re too poor or something – surround me. Oh, and then there’s the gasping wheeze of thousands of unremarkable shit boxes heaving themselves onto the lawn of a castle for the only event they can actually get into.

One of the highlights of the British car show summer is the annual Festival of the Unexceptional, organized by our friends at Hagerty. It’s the equivalent to your Concours D’Lemons, but with more British self-deprecating humor and less Jason Torchinsky. A huge celebration of the most mediocre cars to ever soil the tarmac during the seventies, eighties and nineties, if Generation X-ers like me ever shed our apathy long enough to organize a car show, FOTU (to use its accepted internet-friendly abbreviation) would be it.

Staged on the vast front lawn of Grimsthorpe Castle (nominative determinism in action), this year’s event was the biggest yet, attracting visitors and exhibitors from all over Europe. I didn’t make it last year because on the morning of the event, our Rodius presented me with a flat tire as a ‘fuck you’ and by that time I had had enough of the bloody thing, so I threw up my hands and went back to bed.

This year was the maiden outing for my new car, which had been in my possession for precisely one week. Now, you might suggest that neither your humble author nor an eighties high-performance Euro Ford fit the definition of unexceptional, and I would agree. But only entrants picked for judging in the Concours d’Ordinaire are strictly curated under the unexceptional banner, with the main display area being for ‘classic’ and unexceptional cars. However, trombone engine map Subarus and vaping VAG group products trying to pass themselves off as classics are silently marshalled into the modern car park, out of sight and out of mind. Without further ado then, let us celebrate some utter automotive gruel.

1986 Citroen Axel

It’s not often I come across a car that completely befuddles me. I spent ten minutes walking around this alternately convincing myself it was an AX and then oh no it’s a Visa, and actually it IS an AX, and hang on, what the fucking hell is this thing, Schrodinger’s Citroen? Nope, actually it’s a Citroen Axel – a French rebadge of an earlier abandoned project they had fobbed of on the Romanians, where it was sold as the Oltcit Cub. Because the Communists couldn’t pay up, Citroen tried to recoup their money by importing the Cub back to Europe as the Axel, although it wasn’t sold in the UK.

The simple and rugged Axel sat underneath the ageing Visa in the Citroen range, using air-cooled flat twins from the Dyane and fours from the GSA. It had disc brakes all round which they didn’t need, and bigger-engined versions had a five-speed gearbox, which they definitely did. Just look at that dashboard and tell me it wasn’t designed by someone roaringly drunk on Pernod. The switches on the top of the binnacle you reach by putting your hand through the wheel are a particular joy, if you like having your wrist broken as the steering unwinds. The gap between the rear bumper and quarter panel looks like something you could drive a May Day tank parade through as well. Notice the license plate? It’s from the Netherlands, a country known for its lack of hills. I bet the Axel still gets overtaken by cyclists.

1999 Skoda Felicia Fun

We used to laugh at seventies and eighties Skodas with their side flapping frunk lids and ass-mounted engines, but the Velvet Revolution (saw them open for The Jesus and Mary Chain at the Borderline in ’91) happened, the former Czechoslovakia cast aside the hammer and sickle, embraced the oily tendrils of Capitalism and the Czech Republic was born A fire sale of state-owned assets began, Western OEMs were courted and Volkswagen was able to swoop in like a vulture and bag 30% of Skoda, on the promise of them maintaining production of the slightly more up-to-date FWD Favorit, introduced in 1987, and VW guaranteeing the future of Czech Republic based Skoda facilities.

In 1994 Volkswagen gave the Favorit a skin job to create the Felicia. Embracing their riches, after a three-day potato salad bender some Skoda engineers looked around the factory, saw a load of Felicia pickup bodies and decided spray painting them yellow and installing a moveable rear partition with a pair of jump seats was a great idea. Thus, the Felicia Fun was born. According to this website, just over 4000 Felicia Funs were built, with some 600 or so making their way to the UK. Gordon Fucking Bennett, we defeated Communism for THIS? Believe it or not, there were actually two of these at FOTU, at one point parked next to each other. That’s two more than I ever hope to see again.

1989 Nissan Sunny Estate & 1990 Sunny Coupe

Over to our ‘I can’t believe this is the same car’ desk now for this pair of appliance-white Nissan Sunnys. Introduced in 1985 the B12 Sunny had rectilinear styling knocked out by one of the Zanussi design team, which had the laughable effect of making a brand-new car look utterly dated the minute it hit the showrooms, troubling in important export markets like the UK, where Nissan was scrabbling to get a foothold.

If modern life was a bit too exciting for you in 1989, a cure could be found by putting the Sunny Estate on your drive for £8700, and you could earn some of that money back by using it as a minicab in the evenings. The three-door might look rakish, but at the time, Car magazine described the Sunny Coupe as “the world’s worst ‘performance’ coupe.” The version you’d actually want is the 1.8-liter 16-valve model because it was the only one with enough performance to get away from anyone who saw you driving it. It cost a staggering £12,500 pounds, which at the time was more than a BMW 316i. I don’t think the styling was Nissan’s only problem.

Vauxhall Viva/Firenza

I’m going to put down the snark for this one because from a 2026 viewpoint the Viva tells a slightly melancholic story that could be seen as the beginning of the end. Launched in 1970 as a heavy re-skin of the existing Viva HB, the HC was the last Vauxhall designed and engineered entirely in the UK. After the HC Viva Vauxhalls became restyled Opels or based on GM world car platforms like the T-Car and J-Car. The Viva was analogous to Ford’s all conquering Escort – a small RWD sedan available with a wide spread of trim and engines. You can see a heavy Detroit influence in the Viva’s exterior – inside, early versions even had a ribbon speedometer. Plusher and more powerful versions were named Magnum, and the two-door coupe badged Firenza. This wide range mirrored Ford’s approach and likewise made the HC Viva a strong seller, with some 600,000 sold in nine years on sale.

This Jamaica Yellow is a very late car; the V suffix means a registration date between August 1979 and July 1980. It’s owned by the British Motor Museum at Gaydon. The silver Firenza is from 1975, the final year the two-door was on sale. Officially known as the HP (High Performance) Firenza, and colloquially called the ‘droop snoot,’ it had a 2.3 four with twin carbs and a five-speed gearbox. Despite the best efforts of Gerry Marshall ragging a racing version around British circuits like he was late for opening time at the bar, the Firenza HP never had anything like the sporting credibility of the equivalent Escort. It launched at exactly the wrong time, and only 204 were built. Nowadays, few of any version of the Viva survive, and parts are rare and expensive – giving the Escort a final victory in death.

1983 Renault 30

Mon Dieu! Une grosse berline française qui n’est pas une Citroën? Plop a Johnny Halliday cassette into the stereo and treat your mistress or girlfriend (or both) to a comfortable ride they’ll never forget. Launched in 1975, the upscale Renault 30 was one of the first of the breed of the large Euro super hatch. Its two most notable achievements are the introduction of the PRV (Peugeot Renault Volvo) V6 and rust. A more modest version, the 20, came along a few months later, distinguished by its single rectangular headlights.

I have mentioned before my bastard stepfather was a part-time curbside cowboy. One of his regular punters had one of these, and he joked that working on it come MOT time paid for our family holiday every year. Even in the mid-eighties, getting parts for these was a nightmare. When he sent me to our local parts place (I was his unpaid gopher), they said “A Renault? Sorry we’re closed!” and proceeded to laugh in my face. Sometimes I wonder if I was one wrong set of brake pads away from a life of serial killing. It’s a miracle I turned out as well adjusted as I did, frankly.

Right, there’s a lot of other stuff to get through, and I want to wrap this up as I’ve been writing it for three days. Let’s get on with the photo dump, which I’ve put into half-assed categories.

The American Mind Cannot Comprehend etc.

1999 Volkswagen Lupo

1991 Mazda 323F SE Executive. Alright, calm down, it’s just a fucking 323 with pop-up lights.

1989 Honda Accord Aerodeck

1977 DAF 45. Goes as fast backwards as it does forwards, i.e., not very. Also, don’t drive through any puddles.

Nineties Convertibles That Are Not Miatas.

1993 Rover 200

Suzuki Vitara

1996 Fiat Punto convertible. Those stickers are making the appalling three-quarter blind spots even worse. Well done.

More French Fancies

1979 Matra Rancho. When they weren’t building missiles, Matra used to build cars for other French OEMs.

1985 Renault Espace. Also built by Matra.

1998 Peugeot 406. The greatest mass market Euro sedan ever made. I will not be taking questions.

1973 Renault 15TS. Possibly the slowest mass market Euro performance coupe ever made.

The Section To Make Andrea Faint

1982 Fiat 127. Late version of the revolutionary FWD hatch.

1995 Alfa Romeo 155 in goth spec.

2000 Fiat Seicento. A reskin of the earlier Cinquecento.

Lancia Thesis. Never sold in the UK. Another one that had made the trip from Holland.

Fast Euro Fords To Make Matt Faint

1987 Escort RS Turbo. Most of these ended up wrecked or stolen.

1989 Fiesta XR2i. Non-standard wheels are the crime here.

Actually, I Take Those Back. Where Is MY Limo And Podcast, Matt?

1992 Eagle Quest. We all know who this belongs to.

Some Base Euro Fords For Matt Instead.

1987 Fiesta MkII

1992 Escort MkV

Look How They Massacred My Boy

1983, 1985 and 1992 Ford Sierras.

A long time ago, I wrote about how Ford was forced to unwind the Sierra’s austere design during its lifetime. Although the red car is a Base (yes, it was really called that and my god the owner has a website about it), I took these pictures to demonstrate my point.

The Pinnacle of European Luxury Motoring And The Greatest Car Ever Made

1981 Ford Capri 2.8 injection and 1985 Ford Granada 2.8 injection Ghia. Rate my two-car garage, although only one of them is actually mine. Take a wild guess which.

As usual, I’ve written this in my inimitable manner, but I hope you all know me well enough by now to know I mock because I care. I loved all these cars, and it was a privilege to be able to spend a day amongst them. Some of them came from a long way away, which I think is an impressive tribute to both owners and vehicles.

Not as impressive as me getting my new car to attend, mind you, but that’s a story for next time.

All photos: Adrian Clarke