Some things stay with you for decades. Mine were a girl and a Ford Escort RS1600i.

There are certain words that instantly transport a Gen X bloke back thirty years without warning.

Escort RS Turbo.

Ford Escort RS1600i.

Sierra Cosworth.

You don't simply read those names. They take you straight back to a time when cassette tapes lived permanently in the glovebox, Friday nights usually ended on an industrial estate and everyone knew someone whose mate's Escort would apparently "do one-forty all day long". Most of those stories were complete bollocks, but nobody ever let the truth spoil a decent conversation.

Cars like these were never just transport.

They represented freedom, independence and the first real taste of adulthood. Owning an RS Ford wasn't just about getting from A to B. It was about finally having the car you'd stared at in magazines, pointed at through showroom windows and promised yourself you'd own one day.

For me, it's always been the Ford Escort RS1600i.

I was lucky enough to own one years ago and, like plenty of enthusiasts, I sold it without giving much thought to how I'd feel twenty-five years later. If somebody turned up tomorrow with my original RS1600i and a sensible asking price, there'd be a fair chance I'd be finding somewhere to park it before I'd finished explaining the purchase to anyone else.

Speak to any genuine petrolhead for long enough and the conversation almost always ends up in the same place. There'll be one car they wish they'd never sold, one they'd buy back tomorrow without thinking twice and one that still pops into their head every time another example drives past.

Yep… mine has always been the Ford Escort RS1600i.

Funny thing is, life has a habit of doing that with more than just cars.

Recently I've started seeing someone, although saying "started seeing" doesn't really tell the whole story. We first went out when we were about twelve/thirteen, which, if you remember being that age, mostly involved standing around looking awkward and pretending you weren't interested when you definitely were. We always got on, though. As the years went by we'd regularly bump into each other, have a proper natter, catch up on what life had thrown at us (we’ve both had our fair share of shit… who hasn’t) and then disappear again for another few years. Neither of us probably imagined we'd end up here, but life has a funny habit of bringing people back round when you least expect it.

A Weekend With The RS Owners' Club

I'll admit it probably looked as though I'd switched up models rather quickly from the outside. In my defence, I'm fifty-one now. Buying green bananas already feels like a long-term investment, and life's far too short to spend years wondering "what if?" when you've finally got the chance to find out.

When I heard the RS Owners' Club was holding an event, it seemed like the perfect excuse for a weekend away together. She'd never been to a RS Owners' Club meet before and, if I'm honest, I quite liked the idea of introducing her to a world that's been a huge part of my life for years.

There was probably another reason as well.

Every bloke secretly enjoys looking knowledgeable in front of a new girlfriend.

I'd already pictured myself casually pointing out rare RS models, explaining bits of Ford RS history and generally sounding like I knew exactly what I was talking about. After spending most of my adult life around RS Fords, surely this was finally my chance to impress someone with information that's completely useless in everyday life.

It was a solid plan… I’m owning it.

Reality, as it often does, had other ideas.

The weekend couldn't really have started much better. We found a couple of decent pubs, had one or two drinks more than we'd originally planned and, by the end of the evening, I found myself having to Escort... see what I did there?... a slightly wobbly girlfriend back to the hotel. We'd completely lost track of time, every decent restaurant had stopped serving and our glamorous evening meal ended up being a McDonald's. Oddly enough, even though I’m not a fan of the establishment, we laughed all the way through it, and I'd take that over overpriced food and forced sophistication every single time.

The following morning we headed over to the RS Owners' Club meet, and almost immediately I remembered why I've always loved these events.

Yes, there are immaculate cars everywhere you look, but that's only part of the attraction. Spend five minutes wandering around and you'll hear conversations about first cars, restoration nightmares, impossible-to-find RS parts and the Ford Escort RS1600i someone almost bought before deciding it was too expensive.

Looking back, "nearly bought one" and "wish I'd never sold it" have probably cost Gen X blokes more money than any bad investment ever has.

Walking around the displays felt less like visiting a car show and more like opening an old family photo album. Every Escort, Sierra, Capri and Fiesta seemed to unlock another memory from somewhere. Sometimes it was a car you'd owned. Other times it belonged to your mate, your neighbour or the bloke who always arrived sideways at the pub because confidence had considerably outgrown talent.

Then we reached the Focus RS section.

Fifty Shades Of Ford Blue

Before the Focus RS owners start sharpening their keyboards, let me make one thing perfectly clear. They're brilliant cars. Fast, capable and every inch a proper RS. I'd happily have one parked outside my house tomorrow if someone fancied buying me one.

The organisers had parked them together by owners' clubs. RS Nottingham. RS Essex. RS Kent. Club after club, row after row, stretching off into the distance.

There was just one slight observation.

Most of them were blue.

Not a few.

Rows of them.

Blue as far as the eye could see.

My “new” girlfriend, I’m trying to impress, stopped, looked along what seemed to be an endless line of Focus RSs and smiled.

"That's a nice blue one."

"It is."

We walked a little further.

"Ooh... another blue one."

I carried on explaining the history behind the RS badge as though nothing had happened.

A few more steps.

"Ooh... that's a lovely shade of blue."

By now she had that smile people wear when they know they're winding you up and they're thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

"Did Ford do a deal on blue paint and accidentally buy too much?"

I did what any self-respecting RS enthusiast would do and attempted a defence.

I started explaining production numbers, owners' clubs, limited editions and why enthusiasts love the Focus RS so much. About halfway through my carefully constructed argument another row of blue cars appeared, completely undermining everything I'd just said.

After spending decades learning obscure RS facts, engine codes and production history, I'd been comprehensively outmanoeuvred by someone whose entire analysis of the Focus RS scene could be summed up in three words.

"They're all blue."

The irritating part was that, standing there looking down row after row of them, she wasn't entirely wrong.

Looking back, I realised she wasn't laughing at the cars.

She was laughing at me because I'd spent years noticing the tiny differences between them, while she'd reminded me what they looked like through the eyes of somebody seeing them for the first time. Petrolheads have a habit of disappearing down technical rabbit holes without even noticing. Ask one of us why a particular Ford Escort RS1600i is worth more than another and you'll probably get a twenty-minute explanation covering production numbers, option codes and obscure bits of Ford history while everyone else quietly wanders off in search of an ice cream.

Thankfully, she found the whole thing entertaining rather than painfully boring, which I’m definitely taking as a win.

The atmosphere around the show was every bit as enjoyable as the cars themselves. Old friends were catching up over mugs of tea, fathers were passing bits of knowledge down to their sons and complete strangers happily found themselves chatting because they'd both stopped to admire the same engine bay. It never felt competitive or cliquey. Instead, it felt like a group of people who already shared a common language before anyone had even introduced themselves.

More Than Just Cars

The tea queue summed that up perfectly. Standing in front of us was a bloke confidently wearing a short skirt and black tights despite the temperature being somewhere between "pleasantly warm" and "surface of the sun". I was melting through a T-shirt and seriously questioning my life choices, while he looked considerably more comfortable than I did. Fair play to him because he'd clearly got the dress code sorted far better than I had.

By that point I'd already started thinking the RS Owners' Club wasn't really about the cars at all.

The cars were simply the excuse.

What people were really there for was the conversation, the memories and the chance to spend a day surrounded by others who understood exactly why an old Ford could still make a grown man grin.

Then I stumbled across something I'd never seen before.

For years I'd believed I knew the full story behind Princess Diana's famous Escort RS Turbo.

Turns out I'd only ever been told half of it.

The Escort I Never Knew Existed

The thing I'd never realised was that the famous black Escort RS Turbo wasn't the whole story.

Ford had actually built a second, almost identical car as a decoy.

I'd been around RS Fords for years, I'd read countless articles, watched documentaries and spent more hours than I'd care to admit talking complete nonsense with other enthusiasts, yet somehow, I'd never come across that little piece of Ford history.

Apparently, whenever the Princess's own Escort was being serviced or unavailable, the decoy car could be used instead. To anyone watching from a distance they looked virtually identical, but there were subtle differences between them that only a handful of people knew about.

I found that fascinating.

Not because it suddenly changed the history of the RS Turbo, but because it reminded me that there are always stories waiting to be discovered, even when you think you already know a subject inside out.

That summed the whole weekend up rather nicely.

I'd arrived expecting to spend the day admiring immaculate RS Fords and pretending to my “new” girlfriend that I possessed an encyclopaedic knowledge of everything Ford had ever built. Instead, I'd spent most of the afternoon being reminded that there was still plenty I didn't know, while also being mercilessly reminded that, to anybody outside the RS world, an awful lot of Focus RSs look suspiciously similar.

The older I get, the more I appreciate that.

You can spend years learning every production number, option code and engine variation Ford ever produced, but there'll always be another owner with another story you've never heard before. That's probably why events like this never get boring. The cars stay the same, but the conversations never do.

Driving home afterwards, I wasn't really thinking about Princess Diana's Escort.

I was thinking about mine.

My old RS1600i is still the one I'd buy back tomorrow if I ever had the chance. Selling it made perfect sense at the time because life has a habit of getting in the way of sentimental decisions. Looking back with thirty years of hindsight is easy, but nobody owns a crystal ball.

Even so, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wondered where it ended up.

Maybe that's why Gen X blokes never really get over RS Fords.

They remind us of a time in our lives as much as they remind us of the cars themselves. You can't buy your twenties back, you can't rewind Friday nights on car parks, and you definitely can't recreate the feeling of finally owning the car you'd spent years dreaming about.

Every now and then, though, life surprises you.

Sometimes something you thought had disappeared for good finds its way back into your life.

In my case, that turned out to be the girl I'd first met when we were kids.

Everything crossed and hoping my old RS1600i gets the same idea.

It was last spotted in a collection in Scotland but if anyone knows where it is, let me know.

Just don't mention it to my girlfriend until I've worked out how to explain another old Ford turning up on the drive.

🎵 Wango's Garage Radio

The Soundtrack to a Friday Night in the 90s

Metallica – Enter Sandman
Nirvana – Smells Like Teen Spirit
Oasis – Supersonic
Lenny Kravitz – Are You Gonna Go My Way
Haddaway – What Is Love
Faithless – Insomnia
Iron Maiden – Fear of the Dark