Our editor in-chief briefly takes up the reins.
I seldom like to visibly intervene in the daily activities of DTW since I find such matters rather unbecoming. Furthermore, the hostility from various embittered car clubs (step forward the Albanian Morris Minor Club) is often too much for me to bear. However, now that the annual exodus of Driven to Write’s editorial staff is upon us, I find myself once more cast into a role I find distasteful.
While the vain Herriott disports himself (en famille) across Northern Europe in a Opel Astra C Landaulet commissioned for this express purpose, and the deluded Gorfe has set forth to Granada – where the poor fool returns every year in pilgrimage, only the officious Doyle remains. He’s a burdensome companion with a philistine’s appreciation of the finer fortified vintages.
It is (I regret) left to me to introduce a number of reissued articles from our extensive archive (the tiresome Doyle insisted), so I must do my best.
The Renault 5 is of a vehicular archetype DTW’s editorial team have a worrisome tendency to wax lyrical about. A prefectly pleasant little automobile, I seem to recall, although my affections are rather coloured by an incident at the car’s (1972 I think) press launch which culminated with the distressing loss of my hat. It was a nice hat and I was fond of it. The PR at Renault UK promised to mount a search, but I suspect he never did. Another rotter got it I expect. I hope his hair fell out.
But to the subject at hand. In May last year, a chance sighting of a well preserved Cinq prompted our Mr. Herriott to don his design-tutor cope and pronounce upon its merits, which you may read here, should you so be inclined. Alternatively, you may choose to reacquaint yourself with Mr. Doyle’s conceited dissertation on the R5’s merits, framed, as the author put it at the time, in Five Easy Pieces.
Which you choose to read I leave up to you, dear reader. You may indeed elect to read both. Or neither. It is, I feel bound to add, a matter of supreme indifference to me.