On Robert.

Let's talk history. I mean, the history of the hot hatch, to be precise. It's been going on a long time, and the war between the sedan lovers and the hatch desirers shows no signs of abating. One fusilade after another, every barrage of cars fired from the manufacturers becomes sleeker, faster, stronger, and greener.

What about a little trip down memory lane? Let's go to a little car known as Robert. He's a good little car, sturdy, reliable - well, almost; and most importantly, a hatch. He is a KB laser, from 1983. The second generation of the light, fast japanese designed, australian built country tourers.

The Laser came in three variants: Go Comfortable, Go Fast, and Go Very Fast - with the last one being limited to a production run of just 500, turbocharged and with every bit of fat liposuctioned clear out of the already almost skeletal frame, it was a menace on the rally and track circuit.

Sharing some design constants with its bigger overseas brother, the Ford Escort, the little Laser had strong lines, and a shape that set the design language for hatchbacks for nearly a decade.

A single carb, 1.3 or 1.5 litre, four banger engine were available as stock options, or for a different approach, twin carbs on the sport version. A mighty 80 horsepower pushing around less than 1 ton of car made for a quick and nippy driving experience, and at any speed you could have a great time.

So how has all of that translated for Robert across 28 years? Well... not very well I'm afraid. Poor Robert, when I took ownership, had many, many foibles. He wheezed, he spluttered, he drinks oil like it's going out of fashion and trying to get him going in the morning is harder than getting Jeremy to avoid making fun of Hammond for a single episode. He has rust, the steering wheel is perpetually tilted slightly to the left, two of his wheels are polished, one is peeling and the other has taken a trip to Tasmania; His roof rack mounts have faded, peeled and cracked, the stereo is probably worth more than the car twice over, and worst of all, there is an odd smell, like a cat has just gone to the toilet in the cabin, whenever it rains.

He has cost me well over his worth in repairs, and every few months he tries to die on me, only to be jolted back into the world of the mechanically living by the power of a few simple tools and elbow grease. The head gasket blew one day while driving home, and he limped home under the power of only two cylinders, and he was immediately dissected on the back lawn and brought back to life. The transmission died while he was visiting Melbourne, only to be repaired within a few days.

And you know what? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter an ounce. Robert is still, to this day, a ridiculously fun car to drive. You can beat him up and he still calls for more, you can tear up a twisty deserted road doing 20 and feel like you are doing 200, and when he is sick, he can be mended with nothing more than a piece of fishing line and a tin can.

He is the happiest old man in the world, a geriatric, amnesic, athsmatic old wheezing runner still trying to push that last step over the finish line, and a kindly old grandpa who will take you into his wing and tell you a story while giving you the lollies that you aren't supposed to have - and most important, over all of that, he has acres and acres of personality, bubbling over every day you drive.