Ford Orion

Way back in the early eighties, the marketing bods at Ford Motor Company in Dagenham, Essex, had a meeting.

"We need a new car," said the Chairman. "Something to replace the Cortina. Something truly representative of Ford's company motto."

"Found On Road Dead?"

"The other company motto."

The result of this brief meeting was the Ford Orion, an upmarket saloon aimed at the fleet market and company buyers.

The name was randomly picked out of the dictionary.

"Orion!" Said one marketing bod. "That sounds coooool! Let's call it that."

The body was carefully designed by the Ford bodymakers after a particularly long and boozy lunch.

"Shall we spend time and effort creating a truly beautiful car?" Asked one designer.

"Naah," said the boss. "Let's just wodge a big old boot onto the back of the Ford Escort. Then we can all bugger off home early."

A few months later, Dagenham factory workers started welding wheels to a ton and a half of low grade pig iron and the cack-handed product was wheeled off the assembly line. They euphemistically labelled the result of their labours a "car" despite breaching the Trade Descriptions Act.

For ten years the Ford Orion was driven (or more often pushed) off the forecourts of Ford dealerships across the country, leaving nothing but a trickle of oil (and occasionally clutch components) behind.

Much like scientists can't figure out exactly how a bumblebee flies (it's apparently impossible) the 534,239 Ford Orions produced by Ford during the car's ten year production span continued to shuffle around Britain's roads. One of them even found it's way into my possession.

However, much like dying elephants trudge to their ancestral graveyard, all Ford Orions eventually wind up in the same place. On the hard shoulder of the M3.

This is where our Ford Orion ended up yesterday evening.

Rest in Pieces.