07 Aug 06
Ever since I was a kid, I've had a soft spot for companies that dreamt up names for their cars that made a promise that the poor underlying product never stood a chance of living up to.
I'd imagine the board meeting at Hillman that came up with the name Avenger for one grim 70s saloon and were so pleased with themselves they redoubled their efforts and called the next one the Hunter. Quite what they were hunting or, indeed, trying to avenge was never made clear. I was fond, too, of the Wolseley Hornet, which was, in fact, a jumped up Mini with all the sting of a warm yoghurt.
Lancia Delta
But as I grew up, I soon realised that, compared to some nations, the Brits actually chose only slightly silly names for their cars. By contrast, the names chosen by the Italians only sounded silly because they were so ridiculously sensible. Imagine, if you will, Aston Martin deciding not to call its saloon concept something racy like Rapide but, instead, the Aston Martin Four-Door. We'd have laughed ourselves off the show stand. Yet somehow Maserati Quattroporte sounds perfect. Fiat produced a Type, Road and One (Tipo, Strada and Uno) and we didn't blink, nor did we think Lancia's preoccupation with nothing more glamorous than letters of the Greek alphabet in the very least strange. Somehow the Lancia Delta sounds rather more evocative than would the Vauxhall D.
It seems that, as a continent, Europe hasn't got into the swing of thinking up really stupid names for its cars at all. I can't think of anything more ridiculous than the Frisky Friskysprint, which might sound pretty silly to you but, as we shall see, and compared to what the rest of the world has come up with, that doesn't even get on the score sheet.