My first car launch was terrible | Thank Frankel it’s Friday

I’d heard so much of these events, particularly the allegedly Bacchanalian nature thereof, I was keen as could be to try one out for myself. It would also be an opportunity to make friends with the kindred spirits I was sure my fellow motoring writers would be. And before long I was summoned to the editor’s office and told it was to be my job to tell the world what the new Alfa Romeo 164 was like to drive. The 164! I’d have been happy with a Fiat Panda.

The 164 you will recall was an example of an early form of platform sharing. Its ‘Type Four’ structure was the same as that of the Fiat Croma, Lancia Thema and Saab 9000, but had sufficient flexibility for each manufacturer to clothe it how they liked inside and out, as well as install their own powertrains. Which is why the Alfa came with that gorgeous V6 motor already seen in the GTV6 and others, but now placed transversely across the engine bay and driving the front wheels. This was not without its issues, indeed directing the energy of the 3.0-litre engine through the front-wheels caused such rampant torque steer the car could change lanes under maximum acceleration from a standing start, but that’s another story.

The idea for the launch was a drive from the UK to Bordeaux. The UK press contingent met, I think, in Dover where we had to divide ourselves into pairs for the journey through France. But none of my new found friends wanted to share with me. It was like at school when captains got to choose their football teams and I was always left as last man standing. In the end someone grudgingly agreed to share a 164 with me and then refused to speak to me for the duration. I could tell you who it was but his name will probably not be familiar, he passed away some time ago and I don’t choose to speak ill of the dead.

Despite the fact there was no need at all, we stopped somewhere for the night. Somewhere outside Paris. Somewhere called the Trianon Palace, a modest little residence built by Louis XIV for his mistress. I had never even seen a place like it, let alone spent the night there. And I’m ashamed to say I still have the ashtray I nicked from my bedroom.

The next day we headed south again in stony silence, the only conversation I recall being that I had with the gendarme who caught me speeding and fined me 900 francs. Which that evening the nice man from Alfa Romeo kindly repaid. We arrived at our final destination, another chateau if I recall, and flew back to the UK the following day on a small executive jet. I couldn’t believe it. Me, a kid without a degree to his name, swanning around Europe, staying in palaces and castles, flying home on a private plane with, as I recall, a drinks cabinet under my seat where’s you’d normally expect to find a life jacket. Got to get your priorities right.

So you’d think it would be one of the best experiences of my life. On the contrary: it’s where I learned that living the life of a billionaire is a poor substitute for the company of friends. Back then the industry in which I was trying to make my way was almost a closed shop to the likes of me, full of people with a wildly over-inflated sense of their own importance, an attitude no doubt fuelled by all those palaces and private jets.

It’s not like that now, at least I hope it’s not, but of course I’m now at the other end so no longer have the newcomer’s perspective. As for the 164, I just loved it, torque steer ‘n’ all. It was beautiful, fast and had a gorgeous engine. A proper Alfa Romeo in other words.