Why the Volvo 780 is sexier than the P1800

The P1800 is the sexiest car Volvo has ever produced, right? Oh sure, it was beautiful, but while it was a sexy car, was it really a sexy Volvo? Can the Volvo 780 of 1985 mount a stronger case for being a more seductive Swede?

Volvo had worked with Bertone before, but the 262C and 264 Top Executive limo were hardly works of art. Sure, the bottom half of the cars looked nice enough, but the roofline gave them the look of something that had just had an unfortunate encounter with a low bridge. Great for limbo dancing, but hardly beautiful.

With the Volvo 780, the two partners had clearly learnt from their mistakes. The elegant 780 was an object lesson in how two of the most stylish and design-led nations can work together to create something beautiful. The 780 was part-Swedish, part-Italian and 100% gorgeous.

For a start, Bertone started with a clean sheet of paper and, despite appearances, only the engines and chassis were carried over from the 700 range. When it was unveiled at the 1985 Geneva Motor Show, this was an entirely new model and was the most expensive car the company had ever launched.

Carrozzeria Bertone was responsible for the assembly of the 780, with powertrains and chassis components shipped from Sweden to Turin. Production started soon after the Geneva Motor Show, with the first deliveries taking place in 1986. Thirty years on, the Volvo 780 looks better than ever.

Here’s the thing. If you put the P1800 and 780 side by side and asked a non-car person to pick out the Volvo, they’d almost certainly choose the 780. Does that make it sexier? Obviously not, but it proves the 780 has a clearer identity. It looks the more Volvo of the two and that’s a significant factor in this argument.

If you’re not convinced by the styling – and if not, we’d be happy to arrange an appointment at Specsavers – check out the interior. This was unique to the 780 and included a pair of individual rear seats. And in case you’re wondering, that’s hand-stitched Italian leather you’re looking at. Perfect for the pampered bottoms of would-be Gordon Gekkos in the mid 1980s.

Volvo produced a total of 8,518 of these elegant coupes, with the vast majority being shipped to the United States for boulevard-cruising duties. Carleric Häggström, Volvo’s marketing director at the time, said: “With the 780, we can offer an elegant car that is ideal for long journeys, incorporating a personal design, exclusive component solutions and a unique range of engines with the emphasis on comfort.”

As you can imagine, the 780 was kitted out like a branch of Tandy Electronics. Almost everything was powered, including the seats, windows, sunroof and rear-view mirrors. Other goodies guaranteed to impress your shoulder-padded friend at the dinner party included climate control, ABS brakes and automatic level control. Your friend would have been left choking on their Wall’s Viennetta and reaching for the Liebfraumilch.

Check out the microprocessor-controlled stereo, which would have been a big thing back in 1985. Adjust the frequencies on that bad boy and a few Phyllis Nelson tunes would almost certainly encourage your passenger to move closer. Smooth. And yes, that is real wood. No fake malarkey going on in this Swedish lounge.

Several engines were available, including a straight-six turbodiesel, which was followed by a turbocharged four-cylinder and a 2.8-litre V6. Production continued until 1990, by which time the rigid rear axle had been replaced by a multi-link axle. The 780 was never designed to go quickly, which is why it wasn’t a huge success in Germany.

Finding one for sale is tough, especially in Europe, so you may have to dig deep in order to get your hands on one. It was never a cheap car, but then Volvo never pushed it as a volume seller. In its final year, the 780 cost SEK 315,200 in Sweden, compared to SEK 247,500 for a 760 GLE. But then the 760 didn’t have the Italian leather, a long list of equipment and delightful Bertone styling.

Is it sexier than the Volvo P1800? The majority of people will say no, but the 780 looks and feels more on brand and is definitely more PetrolBloggy. And the styling just seems to pull together in a more balanced and cohesive manner. With apologies to people who actually know about matters of a design nature.

We’re sticking to our guns – the 780 Coupe is the sexiest Volvo ever made.*

*Assuming we don’t include the Volvo Concept Estate.

Volvo 780 Coupe on the beach

Bertone Volvo 780

Silver Volvo 780 Coupe

Volvo 780 Coupe interior

Volvo 780 Bertone

Volvo 780 Coupe

Volvo 780 Coupe beach

Sexy Volvo 780 Coupe

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Regrets: Audi 80 GLE

Hae I ever bought a car that turned out to be a dog?”, was a question posed to me over Christmas. I tilted my head up and to the left (why do we do that?), gazed into the heavens and remembered my Audi 80 GLE. Yes, that was a dog, but it was all my own fault.

I can’t remember the reasons why, but I was in desperate need of a car. I think I had just panicked-sold my Capri 2.8i Special (that’s a story for another day) and needed wheels to get me to and from university. Step forward my sister, who knew of a cheap-as-chips Audi 80 GLE available in Bournemouth.

Some say you should never buy a car from a friend or relative, but given the seller was a friend of my sister’s then boyfriend, that argument didn’t really apply. He was a friend of a friend of my sister. He could just as well have been a chap I met in the supermarket.

The B2 Audi 80 was a car I grew up admiring. I loved the three-box styling, not least because it looked remarkably similar to the cars I once drew in the back of my school text books. Sure, it was getting on a bit – about 17 or 18 years old, if my memory serves me correctly – but back then the Audi badge was still cool.

Giddy with excitement at the prospect of owning my first Audi

You can see where this is going. A purchase driven by desperation and a recommendation from a mush in Shepherd’s Bush, this was a recipe for disaster. But like any self-respecting car nut, I was giddy with excitement at the prospect of owning my first Audi.

So I turned up at the seller’s flat in Bournemouth – sister and girlfriend in tow – to take a look at the cheap-as-chips Audi 80 GLE. And I continued to make mistakes.

It was dark – never a good time to view a car, especially one painted black.

It was raining – again, it’s advisable to view a car when the heavens aren’t open.

I didn’t take it for a test drive – hey, the seller’s a friend of a friend of my sister. What could go wrong?

I can’t remember how much I paid for the Audi, but I have a figure of £300 in the back of my mind. It was either that or face the prospect of public transport, which didn’t exactly appeal. So we agreed a deal and I said I’d return with the money the following day. Sorted.

At first glance everything looked fine. The black paint – while not exactly gleaming – lent the Audi 80 a whiff of class and sophistication, while the alloy wheels – which I seem to recall were from the GTE – looked ace. I could use words like ‘ace’ back in those days.

It was as though Fungus the Bogeyman had exploded inside the Audi

But then I opened the driver’s door and, whoa… what on earth is that? I have never seen a more green interior. It was as though Fungus the Bogeyman had exploded inside the Audi, with the Jolly Green Giant lending a hand with the clean up operation by throwing mushy peas at every flat surface.

The seats were green. The dashboard was green. The doors were green. The carpets were green. I swear even the steering wheel was green. Somebody had a field day speccing this Audi 80 back in 1981. Needless to say he liked green.

OK, what the hell. It still looked great from the outside and I was sure I could come to terms with my new green cabin.

The problems started when we reached the Cooper Dean roundabout in Bournemouth. With my girlfriend following behind in her Rover 114 SLi, I went to adjust the rear-view mirror. Which promptly fell off in my hand. Cue much laughter from my girlfriend who witnessed the whole spectacle.

Never mind. I promptly chucked the mirror in the green glovebox and carried on home, hoping that would be the last of the problems. Only it wasn’t.

It was Valentine’s Day and I’d arranged a surprise meal for my girlfriend. This was another reason for rushing into the purchase. I mean, I couldn’t have my girlfriend driving to the surprise meal. How ungentlemanly would that be?

I remember the night was freezing cold, but even with that in mind I was keen to show off my electric windows. After a succession of Capris and the Daihatsu Charade, I wasn’t used to such luxuries. “Try your window”, I suggested, which was fine, until it was stuck in the down position. No problem in the height of summer, but when the temperates are below freezing and you’re trying to impress your girlfriend, not so good.

Having the left the window wide open while we enjoyed an Italian meal, we spent what seemed like hours trying to close the window, me pressing the switch, with my girlfriend attempting to push the window up with her hands. It worked – eventually – but we vowed never to open the windows again. If we needed air we’d simply use the sunroof, which was fine until the handle broke off in our hands.

It’s fair to say the Audi 80 GLE was literally falling apart.

My friends were all too happy to jump inside the Incredible Hulk’s boudoir

The next day I drove my new pride and joy to university, eager to show my uni chums what I had bought to replace my Capri. At first it was met with nods of approval, with my friends seemingly impressed with the premium German saloon and its GTE wheels.

But then they looked inside and promptly fell about laughing. It was the green interior, you see. Naturally I joined in the fun, keen to disguise my embarrassment.

That said, my friends were all too happy to jump inside the Incredible Hulk’s boudoir when I offered them a lift to our off-site study centre. Every week we ventured to Lulworth in a ropey old minibus, driven by a fellow who put speed above safety. We all had a sense that we were only ever two minutes away from a crash of epic proportions.

A few miles into our journey, my friend Daniel, who was travelling in the front, went to adjust the green front seat. He was then thrust backwards as the seat gave way, leaving him staring up at John, who was travelling in the back. Brummie John wailed as 12-stones of Daniel landed on his knees, much to the amusement of Sarah, who was travelling behind me.

Sadly, Daniel was unable to put the seat back in its upright position, leaving John with the unenviable task of holding it up for the remainder of the journey. Meanwhile, Sarah and Daniel proceeded to identify all the other faults and niggles with my Audi 80, of which there were many. I’d already advised them not to use the windows.

Needless to say, when given the choice of travelling back in the death-trap minibus or the should-have-been-scrapped-weeks-ago Audi 80, my friends took their chances with the Transit. I travelled back alone, with the passenger seat in a rather dodgy looking reclined position.

The term ‘death trap’ may have been muttered

Did I mention the Audi 80’s MOT was about to expire? I’m not saying the friend of a friend of my sister knew what was coming, but I wasn’t especially hopeful of my German shed sailing through its MOT.

No matter, because my father had a mechanic friend who offered to give it the once over before I sent it for testing. That signalled the end for this particular Audi 80 GLE.

Once the mechanic had finished laughing at the green interior, he reeled off a list of faults as long as your arm. The term ‘death trap’ may have been muttered as the 80 was condemned to future of ‘spares or repair’, with the emphasis very much on spares. The mechanic even insisted that my dad shouldn’t risk the 10-mile journey home, as it would be too dangerous.

I think I managed to sell it for scrap value, with my classified ad failing to mention the green interior. What became of it I’ll never know, but I’ll never forget my time with the Audi 80 and its green hell interior. Cheap cars aren’t as rubbish as they used to be.

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I drove an MG Maestro 1600 and it wasn’t rubbish

When I think about it, the MG Maestro played a hugely important role in my childhood. In fact, along with the silver Ford Capri 2.8i that regularly graced my short walk to school, the MG Maestro is one of the first cars I actually remember taking an interest in. For this impressionable young lad, the MG Maestro – introduced in 1984 – could have been the best car in the world.

I was reminded of this during a recent visit to the MG Car Club, which is celebrating 25 years at its home in Kimber House, Abingdon. Alongside such luminaries as the MG Abingdon Edition, MG ZT V8, MG B GT and MG Midget, I only had eyes for the MG Maestro, even if it was the unfashionable 1600 version and not the later and more desirable MG Maestro Turbo.

Having driven a number of the cars on offer, it was the MG Maestro that left the lasting impression. To say I met a hero and it didn’t let me down would be overplaying things, but my nine-year-old self would have been in his element.

You see, in 1984, the MG Maestro had it all.

MG Maestro: Talking Heads

The headline act was undoubtedly the so-called ‘talking dash’, which helped to elevate the MG Maestro from the pages of the motoring press to television news. My memory is hazy, but it could have been Frank Bough who was taken aback by this otherworldly development, as if a lady was living in the Maestro’s glovebox. In fact, it was little more than the prerecorded voice of Nicolette McKenzie, who was on hand to deliver timely and often unwanted information on the car’s health and wellbeing.

Through a fair degree of pester-power, the MG Maestro also resulted in a change of shopping habits. Growing up in New Milton, Hampshire, we had a choice of three supermarkets: Safeway, Co-op and International (remember that?). At the time, International was running a sticker-based giveaway. In short, spend some money and the cashier would give you a sticker displaying part of an MG Maestro. Complete the jigsaw and you could win the car.

It was like a Panini sticker album, only without photos of Gary Lineker, Andy Gray and Joe Jordan. I would do everything in my power to convince Mum to shop at International. No matter that we didn’t have a snowball in hell’s chance of winning the car, I always believed we were only one shop away from having a car with a talking dash. We never did win.

MG Maestro: Groove Armada

I did, however, get my hands on a yellow MG Maestro. It was the Corgi version, complete with working headlights. Simply press down on the roof and the front and rear lights would illuminate. Fantastic. Although pressing down only served to create a deeper groove in the living room carpet. Sorry, Mum.

Talking dashboards, supermarket giveaways and Corgi models with working headlights. It’s little wonder I held the MG Maestro in such high regard.

Back then, I had no idea that the MG Maestro was rushed into production, despite protests from the engineers. A piece on the ever-excellent AROnline paints a pretty dim picture of the early cars, with stories of unreliability, quality issues and poor management. Even Honest John Classics, which tends to be more balanced than others when it comes to British cars of this era, does little to lift the mood.

But this is PetrolBlog, where the underdog is king and the glass is forever half full. After a brief drive in an MG BGT (which left me feeling a little underwhelmed), my time had come to go for a drive with Nicolette. To go where Frank Bough had gone some 30 years earlier.

As I put the keys in the ignition, I was warned that starting could be a problem, especially when the car is hot. I’m paraphrasing a little, but these days you simply don’t hear things like “be aware that if you turn it off, it might not start again.” According to the MG Car Club, they did this from new. Ah, happy days.

MG Maestro: So Solid Crew

The first thing that strikes you is the gloriously futuristic (for its time) dashboard. It’s a sea of hard plastic and sharp angles, but your eyes are inevitably drawn to the Computer & Voice Synthesis and SOLID STATE display. Driving an MG Maestro is like driving Tron, circa 1982.

In its day, the solid state electronic instrument panel was quite a big thing. It was the first of its kind on a British car and was controlled by two microprocessors. Aside from the trip computer, which looks terribly archaic alongside the Tron display, there are no moving parts. You’ll note the ‘convert’ button, which allowed Maestro owners to switch from mph to kph at the flick of a switch. Clever stuff.

Sadly, the dashboards could be wildly inaccurate and, perhaps true to form, could suffer from failure. According to Nicolette, I averaged 236.4mpg on my nostalgic drive through the Oxfordshire countryside. Who needs a plug-in hybrid?

It takes a while to get used to. Treat the MG Maestro 1600 like a modern-day hot hatch and you’ll be hopelessly disappointed. The twin-Weber 1598cc S-Series engine doesn’t offer the same lazy performance of today’s turbocharged units. It requires work to get the best from it.

The Volkswagen-sourced five-speed gearbox does everything in its power to stop you having fun behind the wheel. It’s like an automotive chastity belt, there to stop you from getting too carried away. Wiggle the gearstick and it’s hard to figure out if you’re in gear or in neutral. And occasionally you might just find second gear at the first attempt.

MG Maestro: Joy Machine

But like anything, you soon get used to the gearbox and learn how to get the best from it. Besides, there are other joys to be had here.

Take the engine, which is wonderfully torquey and offers a delightful raspy soundtrack. It simply encourages you to press on, at which point you discover that the rev counter is incapable of keeping up with your demands. No matter, you’re having too much fun to care.

The all-round visibility is great and the sense of involvement is all-encompassing. Show the MG Maestro 1600 an open road and it’s like showing an open field to a dog. In town and in traffic, the MG Maestro has the potential to be a pain to live with. But on a country road, it’s as enjoyable as any other hot hatch from the period. Right place, right time, etc, etc.

There’s feedback from all directions: through the steering, through the pedals and even through the supremely comfortable seats. It’s only the inadequate brakes that stop you from throwing caution to the wind. It’s easy to see why so many hot hatches of this era had a brief encounter with a hedgerow.

After an hour with the unfashionable MG I felt fulfilled. My inner nine-year-old revelled in the experience. The red pinstriped, red belted and red badged MG had lived up to 30 years of expectations. It just goes to prove that while everyone will have an opinion on a car, you can only make up your own mind when you’ve driven something for yourself.

MG purists may bemoan the existence of the front-wheel drive cars, but they represent a period in the famous marque’s history. The execution could have been better, but hot hatches were exactly what MG needed back in the 1980s.

Thanks to the MG Car Club for allowing me to see what I could have won in the International supermarket sweep. Credit must also go to the Maestro’s owner, who has the dedication required to keep such a lovely example alive. This MG Maestro 1600 deserves to live on. Fun car.

1984 MG Maestro 1600

MG Maestro 1600 solid state

Rear of MG Maestro 1600

MG Maestro talking dash

MG Maestro dealer number plate

MG Maestro 1600 dashboard

MG Maestro 1600 front

MG Maestro 1600 badge

MG Maestro 1600 alloy wheel

Driving an MG Maestro 1600

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Oh Lord, I’ve bought a Mercedes-Benz W123

Look at that classic car, daddy,” said the small lad to his father when crossing the road to school. His father didn’t even look up from his mobile phone, but this was the moment I realised I owned something a bit special. PetrolBloggy cars aren’t generally appreciated by the man (or in this case, lad) in the street. But the W123 is something different.

Yes, that’s right, I’m the proud owner of a very gold Mercedes-Benz 230E, more commonly known as the W123. If this news comes as a shock to you, try sitting where I am. Me? The owner of a bonafide future classic? Surely there’s been some mistake?

Well given there’s a huge chunk of German metal quite literally filling my garage, it must be true. And believe me, this is a whole new world.

For a start, the W123 is a car that seems to attract almost universal acclaim. From classic car nuts to non-car people, everybody seems to love this thing. For someone who is well practised in the art of defending their choice of motor to anyone who will listen, this is completely alien. Everyone seems to get the W123.

Of course, everything that could be said about the Mercedes-Benz W123 has already been written. The best engineered car of the 20th century. The high point in Mercedes-Benz history. Built to a brief, not a budget. A car to survive the apocalypse. That kind of thing. PetrolBlog is about championing the obscure and the mundane. So what on earth is a Mercedes-Benz W123 doing here?

Quite frankly, I couldn’t let it leave the village. Even though it cost more than I’d usually spend on a car, I just had to have it. All of which means the Citroën AX GT restoration will have to wait another few months. More on that another time.

So what can I tell you about this particular W123? It’s a 1982 car that was supplied new in Exeter. The history suggests it has spent its entire life in Devon. As a 4-cylinder model it has the lower-spec, but in my opinion, lovelier, twin-lamp headlights. It’s still running on its original steel wheels with those glorious colour-matched hubcaps and it has the most relaxed and leisurely automatic transmission I’ve ever experienced.

I thought the Honda Accord was slow, but the Japanese saloon is positively whippet-like compared to this lethargy-enriched saloon car. Not that this matters, because the W123 is an absolute master at going slowly. It rolls, it pitches, it wafts, but it never does anything in a hurry. Time stands still when you drive a W123. And that’s a very good thing.

Aside from the Saab 9000, this has to be the most comfortable and cosseting car I have ever owned. In fact it puts many new cars to shame. The Rolls-Royce Wraith and new Volvo XC90 are the only cars that manage to beat it. And I’m comparing the 33-year-old Mercedes-Benz W123 to cars with some seriously expensive air suspension.

Inside it has electric windows, an electric sunroof, wood-effect trim, a Blaupunkt Melbourne radio-cassette player, the original carpet mats and a brilliant heating and ventilation system. It’s such an old school thing to be able to blow cold air at the same time as directing heat towards your feet. I’d go as far as saying the interior is almost mint. It’s as though it hasn’t been sat in, which highlights just how well these things were built.

I’ll be the first to admit I’m a bit of a W123 novice, having only previously experienced them from afar. But through articles, books and videos I’m learning fast and beginning to appreciate just what it is I have bought.

It’s far from perfect. The electric aerial doesn’t work, which as PetrolBlog’s regular reader will testify, is a big thing. There’s some surface rust at the front. The engine is pinking under heavy load. And she’s running a bit rich. But a winter hibernation should give me the chance to sort these issues. I get the feeling that this is one car where spending money could actually be a wise investment. Time will tell.

So treat this as an introductory piece. A warm welcome to the PetrolBlog family, if you will. I’ll be using this page to provide updates on living with a Mercedes-Benz W123 and will be launching similar sections for other members of the fleet.

Am I happy with my purchase? Put it this way: I’ve hardly looked at the classifieds since I bought it. And that really is saying something. The question is, where does the W123 rate on the PetrolBloggy scale?

Mercedes-Benz 230E on PetrolBlog

Mercedes-Benz W123 dials

Rear of Mercedes-Benz W123

Blaupunkt Melbourne in W123

Mercedes-Benz W123 wheel trim

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AMC Eagle: the original crossover?

Today, I’ll be testing the all-new Volvo S60 Cross Country, claimed by some, to be the world’s first crossover saloon. Only it isn’t, because that accolade probably belongs to the mighty AMC Eagle. And the AMC Eagle is quite possibly the most PetrolBloggy American car of all-time.

And yet it barely warrants a mention this side of the Atlantic. Quite frankly, this has to change.

Thanks to the wonders of the internet, I’ve read an awful lot about the AMC Eagle and now I want to own one. Badly. Seriously, this thing was way ahead of its time in the late 1970s. Part car, part truck and part 4×4. It confused the hell out of many Americans.

Indeed, in the MotorWeek review of 1982, the presenter declared the Eagle SX/4 to be “designed by committee”, before claiming it wasn’t really a car at all. It was built to “fill a special niche in the marketplace”, something the Germans have become postmasters at. No, not postmasters, pass masters.

Put aside seven minutes of your time. This is rather enjoyable.

American Motors didn’t do things by half. A whole flock of Eagles were made available to the American public, including – at launch – a two-door coupé, a four-door saloon and all-American station wagon. They were designed to fill the gap between the affordable all-wheel drive Subaru Leone AWD and authentic but expensive SUVs.

It was a sizeable gap, almost as large as that between the Eagle’s tyres and wheel arches. These jacked-up Eagles sat three inches higher than the AMC Concord upon which they were based. All came with 15-inch wheels and a Quadra-Trac four-wheel drive system. Crucially, they came with switchable two- or four-wheel drive.

Sure, the AMC Eagle looked a little ungainly, bordering on plain weird, but that’s no reason to dismiss it. In fact, AMC should be applauded for making the Eagle so affordable. This wasn’t some super-expensive 4×4 reserved for the upper reaches of American society. An entry-level Eagle would have cost the equivalent of £12,000 in today’s money, about the price of a good supermini.

In Europe, we’re a little obsessed with ‘firsts’ and pioneering all-wheel drive vehicles. The original Land Rover, original Range Rover, Audi quattro, Jensen Interceptor…all landmark vehicles. But why no mention of the AMC Eagle? It was the first American-produced four-wheel drive passenger car, but it doesn’t seem to get any credit. Come on, it took the Interceptor’s Ferguson Formula (FF) system to a huge audience.

The AMC Eagle deserves to be held up amongst the greats of the 20th century. A car not afraid to venture into unknown territory. Quite literally in some cases. No surprise to discover it sold in excess of 120,000 units in the first year.

Who cares what it looks like when it has the ability to climb (almost) every mountain and ford (almost every ford)? As Popular Science put it, the AMC Eagle was a proper mountain goat. And mountain goats don’t care about their appearance.

It also deserves respect for wearing its wood panels with pride, along with being the official car of the American National Ski Patrol. You can’t imagine the American National Ski Patrol (or the Canadian Ski Patrol for that matter) choosing a car that would run away in terror at the sight of a few centimetres of snow. AMC Eagle: the original Snow Patrol car.

View one of the original TV adverts and say you’re not tempted.

People of Britain, PetrolBlog puts it to you that the AMC Eagle deserves as much respect as the Matra-Simca Rancho. But unlike the Rancho, the Eagle was a proper unsung hero of dirt tracks, steep inclines and wet roads. The original crossover? Depends on your definition and some will claim the Subaru Leone got there first. But for its switchable two- or four-wheel drive system, multiple body styles and lofty ride height, it gets the vote of PB.

PetrolBlog salutes the Eagle. God bless America.

Photos © AMC

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