1978? The Crash of Cliff.

A new Mini, in a delightful, dark blue, had been bought, following the Datsun's near-death experience at the hands of Mitch. The Mustang had thankfully gone. I was again a Mini-owner.

I was homeward bound for Enfield off a midnight shift at Halifax airport. There'd been freezing rain but the Highways Department had been busy salting so the trip home promised to be OK, if I was careful.

At the bottom of the airport hill I turned off the 102 Highway at the Enfield exit. This had been salted too, as had the road into Enfield - "Great!" thought I and then noticed the salt truck had turned right, just past where the Irving station stands today. There it must have turned round and headed back the way it had come. That left the rest of the road into Enfield unsalted.

Seconds later the Mini decided to go its own way. With exquisite slowness it began to spin. It slowed as it slid to the side of the road and soon I was facing the way I had come. And, of course, there was a car following me. The poor Mini took the hit on its front right corner.

I was discussing things with the driver of the other car when a second car arrived, more or less out of control and slammed into the left front corner sending the poor Mini down, over the bank that slopes down to Benere Brook.

She was later retrieved by a tow truck and taken to Truro; it was declared a write-off.

In fact it was restored by the replavcement of the entire front end with a fibre-glass unit, but by then I'd used the insurance money to buy a white Mini ... sigh!