Retro spec
The cute little Fifties-style Nissan Figaro knocks the bobbysocks off
Emma Parker Bowles

I am having a serious control problem with Wally. Since I am used to having the upper hand in relationships, it comes as an unpleasant shock when my requests and orders are disobeyed and, largely, ignored. Any attempts to establish authority are greeted with a blank stare and the sight of his rear end disappearing in the opposite direction, usually at speed. According to canine experts, there has to be a ‘pack leader’ in you relationship with your mutt, which mirrors the hierarchy of dogs in the wild. I can safely say that this role does not belong to me. And I’m to blame. For a start, Wally should not be allowed to sleep on my bed (which should be reserved for the pack leader). But every night, he stretches out in his preferred place and I arrange myself accordingly. On a good night, I get a postage-stamp-sized portion of the duvet to keep my hip warm.

Deciding to shatter Wally’s delusions of grandeur and superiority, I left him behind on my outing with the Nissan Figaro. He enjoys these excursions as much as I do and watched forlornly from the window as I awaited the arrival of the Japanese car. I don’t know who was more surprised to see it trundle down the road – me, Wally or the builders next door, who nearly fell of their scaffolding. Much hilarity and finger-pointing. I could see why: the car really does look extraordinary, like something from another world. I wouldn’t have been surprised if a munchkin had wound down the window and asked me, in an ‘I have just sucked on a helium balloon’ voice, for directions back to Oz, while the tine man performed the soft-shoe shuffle on the bonnet. I am certain that Wally’s lips curled into a smirk as he disappeared from the window with a purposeful look in his eye.

The Figaro charmed me. It is extremely cute, in an Italian-waiter sort of way. So, too, is the interior, all cream leather and chrome. Indeed, there is an abundance of quality chrome everywhere, from the slimline bumpers to the external boot hinges, and from the hub-caps to the Victorian-cutlery-style toggle switches. It even has a chrome stick thing on the bonnet to help you line up when you are parking. The radio is appropriate retro, even though it conceals an anachronistic CD-player. And if the sun shines, you can roll back the canvas roof manually.

The Figaro's engine is based on the Nissan Micra’s, but that’s where the likeness ends. Although the automatic 1-litre turbo-charged engine is nothing to get excited about, it means the Figaro is perfectly nippy and reliable in the city. It may dislike hill-starts and feel a bit like driving a Dodgem car, but a Figarist (someone who drives a Figaro, apparently) is in it for the fun and the attention, not the torque. Driving one is like sitting in Ed’s Diner or being trapped in a cartoon. When I discovered that luminaries such as Vanessa Feltz and Jonathan Ross, were Figarists, I understood perfectly.

Only 20,000 Figaros were made, in 1991, for the Japanese market. It is easy to imagine those retro fanatics working themselves into a frenzy over such an authentic-looking Fifties motor. Perfect for kitsch culs-de-sac in the country.

The Figaro experience is certainly unique. My day was only soured when I returned to my flat to discover that Wally had taken revenge by savaging my cacti and distributing their mutilated bodes around the place. But I was more concerned that he might have perforated his lips on their little spikes and, after a cursory examination, I rushed out to Harvey Nichols for some Elizabeth Arden menthol lipstick, just in case.