Typically, tiresomely French. Dangerously unreliable; a seasick-inducing ride and a stereo that made everything sound like an accordion. Hopeless.
The Story
The Renault 5 is generally considered to be an iconic small hatchback. Sadly, like most icons, it rather outstayed its welcome. The 1972 original might have been a funky little thing which revolutionised small car design but the 2nd generation was more 80s-tack than 70s-chic. By 1988 even that was looking a bit long in the tooth, offering little more than a bit of reheated ‘Gallic charm’.
And unfortunately, this was the point at which the 5 and I became acquainted, in the form of a 5-door 1.2 litre in ‘TR’ spec. My memories are not fond. Steering with more free play than a Russian pimp. Suspension made from underpants elastic that would have struggled to stop your prize jewels jiggling into oblivion, let alone restrain the weight of a motor car. Badly-fitted dash trim inside that gave rise to more squeaks and squeals than a burning cattery, with a hard plastic steering wheel which on hot days would have you making those monkey noises that people make when lowering themselves into a hot bath. And all this was when it was brand new – after the warranty expired the fun just got better. There was the entertainment of guessing when the clutch cable would snap again; the excitement of watching the mismatched red paint race the plastic grey trim to see which could fade fastest; even the occasional surprise joy of your passenger enjoying their own personal foot-spa as the heater matrix collapsed once more.
Don’t let anyone tell you that the French lack technological prowess, either. Back in 1988 they had managed to equip this car with one of the most advanced forms of artificial intelligence I have yet encountered. It knew when you were pulling out in a hurry and would make the engine cough at just the right moment to stall. It knew when it was in the garage being looked at, as it always ran perfectly then. It knew when the MOT was due and would blow a hole in the exhaust the week before and lose a brake light on the drive to the testing station. Hell, it even knew when you were a bit hard up and would choose precisely that month to grind through two wheel bearings and destroy the head-gasket. Forget Turing compliance – it was more human than any machine I’ve ever known.
A badly-timed fart could cause panel damage.
It may be the fourth most-scrapped car in Britain but shockingly, you still see these evil little turds floating round our roads today, resisting the blessed mercy of rust in order to torment their poor owners a little longer. Is it because these particular examples have spent so much time off the road being fixed, they didn’t get a chance to pick up salt and grime? Or maybe so many bits broke or fell off so often that half the car is virtually new anyway? Is it significant that the remaining examples are invariably poverty-spec Campus editions which, lacking just about any electrical items beyond windscreen wipers and lights, had a lower chance of meeting a fiery end thanks to wiring-related spontaneous combustion? Who knows. Perhaps they just exist as a source of misery and discomfort to be endured, seemingly destined to be with us until the end of time, like herpes or Noel Edmonds. Whatever. If you’ve got a masochistic streak, a few quid spare and a burning desire to find out for yourself just how far small-car design has come in the last 20 years then get looking for a mid-80s 5 in the classifieds. It’ll be... educational.
Ratings
|❸|A-Road Overtaking
|❶|B-Road Blasting
|❹|City Driving
|❸|Long Distance Comfort
|❶|Reliability
|❽|Stealth Factor
|❷|Entertainment Value
Random Facts
● 55bhp, 730-odd kilos and a five-speed box meant overtaking was actually possible if the overtakee was doing less than about 45. 3rd gear could then be employed quite effectively. Higher-speed passes necessitated a tailwind, downhill gradient or prayer.
● Bodywork was made of tinfoil. The tiniest of tiny shunts when my mate rolled gently into the back bent the hatchback and caused the entire boot floor to ripple, costing £100s to repair. A 2mph side-shunt left a huge dent in the door skin.
● TR specification was mid-range. It had more power and amenities than the Campus or TL, but gave away 5hp to the 1.4 GTS and 35hp to the ‘luxuriously appointed’ 1.7GTX. GT Turbo might as well have been a different car – it had nothing in common with its shopping-trolley siblings.
● Stuff that went wrong: It snapped 4 clutch cables in total. Apparently right hand drive models had the cable routed half way round the engine bay, with right-angle bends that just frayed the cable away. The heater matrix went twice, destroying the carpet in the passenger footwell. A couple of coolant pipes split on different occasions. The exhaust blew. It was almost a West Ham supporter, forever blowing bulbs. And both front wheel bearings went prematurely at less than 40k.
● Stuff that was never fixed: It leaked oil from some indiscernible location, almost from brand new. And of course, the fuelling/ignition system had some kind of malaise that nobody could diagnose which meant the engine often briefly lost power or died at the most inopportune moment.
● I had to get rid of it when the head gasket went as the head had warped and I couldn’t afford to get it fixed up. By this time it was also making a nasty noise in 2nd gear and the driver’s side headlamp kept blowing the bulb every couple of weeks.
● Number of roadside recoveries needed: 5
● Fuel economy: Probably averaged mid-30s. Could top 40mpg but only if you kept the speed down.
● Originally bought new by my mother, I inherited it when she stopped driving in 1995. Costs below are given for the period of total family ownership.
The Big Question
Would I own one again? Not unless it was the only possible alternative to taking the bus. Even then, it would be a marginal decision.
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