The reimagined Mini: Driving the 1970s Innocenti

We exchanged emails over Christmas and in my head I was planning the return leg over the Alps and through France. Should I sleep in the back? Take camping gear? It will be January, but I’d wear thermals. Lots of thermals.

Then the owner admitted that the tyres weren’t all that, so best not to drive it back. I asked if there was a nearby tyre fitter. He was evasive (later I discovered I would have probably died in the Alps due to the dodgy brakes and ancient rubber).

On a wet Friday at the end of January, Ryanair took myself and Mrs Ruppert (she’s my designated minder) to the northern Italian city of Bologna. We checked into Il Canale hotel, which was as quirky and attention-seeking as the Innocenti Mini. The place was packed full of absolutely fantastic tat, like a carefully controlled explosion in a hipster shop: an old push bike, stuffed animals and loads of empty but colourful biscuit tins.

The next day we went to a bleak, industrial part of the city, with car dealers, random commercial units and what turned out to be a smallish underground garage in which the Innocenti resided.

The car was driven out into the daylight and it seemed straight enough. It certainly started without much bother, although a blowing exhaust made it sound a teeny bit rough. At some point it had been indifferently resprayed, but it was still on a par with how most Leyland products left the booth in the 1970s. There were no major dents, just some less-than-brilliant panel gaps, but again, it was all very ’70s. Under the bonnet it was stupendously clean, though, and the togetherness of the upholstery was quite a shock.

It was too damp to get right underneath the car. The sills seemed a bit crumbly and there was a colossal amount of black underseal of a certain vintage. Some work would be needed, not least on the basis that it’s from the ’70s and I have never seen any car, let alone a Mini, without some degree of ruggine or other. We drove down the road and around the industrial estate. It was bouncy and noisy and I reckoned it needed things doing. Mostly, though, it worked. The hard-to-get parts and bodywork all seemed intact, and the oily bits are all easily obtainable A-Series components and as cheap as chips.

This Innocenti would make one hell of a 60th birthday present, so I bought it. But was I going to drive it home? Er, no. I booked a trailer.

Exporting from Italy

You need the Italian registration papers, a declaration of sale (signed at the local ACI office), Italy’s MOT equivalent and UK insurance (use the chassis number). Cool Italian number plates belong to the seller: you need their permission to drive off with them and they must trust you to post them back once you’re home – or you hang around for days for export plates. In the UK you have 14 days to notify HMRC via its online NOVA service. No import tax on EU cars over six months old. Get an MOT and complete the V55/5 form to register, which costs £55.