Following on from my girl’s eye review of the BMW 2 Series Gran Tourer last week, here’s my fiancé with his thoughts…
I’ve always rather liked BMWs.
As a child in the 1980s, to me they epitomised the idea of what you drove if you were successful. A family friend had a BMW that was immaculate, and it felt like you were being chauffeur-driven when you were in it. Then, James Bond had some fun in a Z3 in Goldeneye and I was obsessed with wanting one. I was gutted when as a 20-year-old I asked my Dad if he’d buy me one if he won the lottery. “Nope,” he answered. “You would wrap it around a tree.”
And that was the end of that. An old lady we knew gave me her Peugeot 106 when she became too old to drive and I was happy with my lot. It was an automatic, and while, like its former owner, it was senior in years, and its white paint had become faded and rusty, the fridge, (as she was affectionately known), did me well until a door fell off on the South Circular and I paid a scrap man to take her away. View Post