John Simister: The ill‑fated hunt for classic Italian spice

Reality bites, perhaps; you need to spend the money on a new roof, or pay a tax bill. You drive the car and you don't actually like it after all. You learn more about the pitfalls and take fright. Or a new lust surges forth and takes you off in a completely different direction.

A few years ago I had an intermittent longing for an Alfa Romeo Giulia GT in one of its many guises. It happened twice, the first brought on by disillusionment with my Lancia Fulvia HF's restless ride, misshapen body edges and excessive under-skin patchwork while still craving a compact Italian coupé with sporting genes. That disillusionment led to the Lancia's departure, to be replaced by the Lotus Elan I wrote about a few weeks ago which had its own snags, snags which set me on the Alfa road. 

One of the signposts for that road was a white Alfa 2000 GTV, one of the final incarnations of the Giulia GT breed, which I drove in late 1999 as part of a year-2000-themed group test for a classics magazine. It was one of those classic cars that had been meticulously maintained in a totally correct state and drove exactly as it should. Which meant rather better than the sum of its parts suggested it might, twin-cam engine and five-speed gearbox notwithstanding. A worm-and-roller steering box and a live rear axle were old-hat even in the 1970s, when this car was made, but it felt crisply yet fluently fabulous.

So I had a good mental template, a standard in my head by which other Giulia GTs could be judged. I looked at two during this first foray, starting with a Mk1 1750 GTV which the pundits say is the one to have (apart from the racy and mega-expensive GTA Stradale, of course). Its engine is the best combination of sweetness and pace, it has the later cars' slight suspension geometry improvements, and the skeletal seats with rack-and-pinion headrests are wonderfully wacky.

But this one felt a bit loose, a bit tired, and despite a past restoration there were worryingly bubbly bits of bodywork. It could have been encouraged back to pristine friskiness… but then I realised I'd driven this car before, I'd seen where it had been restored on a budget, and I had known the owner of the time well enough for me to not to want this car.

A week later I tried what had been a 1976 GT Junior 1600 (the other final Giulia GT model) but fitted with a 2000 engine, lowered suspension, GTA-look alloy wheels, a GTA-like mesh grille and a few more racy tweaks. It looked the part, drove with entertaining zeal and its body was sound, but the fibreglass doors were a step too far away from propriety not least because of the finger-sized gaps around their edges. So, no to that one too. 

And then I found my second Fulvia HF, with massively better bodywork than the first one, and I felt I'd come home again. That one, too, got sold after a year or so, partly because – yes – the ride was too annoying. Will I never learn?

A couple of years later, I inherited a sum of money sufficient for me to indulge in a more expensive classic car, around the £20,000 mark. Unbidden, thoughts of a Giulia GT once again snuck into my head, but this time I was drawn to the idea of a really early 'stepfront' one. A red example, for sale at an Alfa specialist now closed, caught my eye: it was a 1964 car, beautifully restored with perfect bodywork, and it came with a very detailed history.

Just one thing besmirched its 'correctness', something which would trouble a purist but which I didn't mind about. It had been fitted with a 1750 engine (actually 1779cc) in place of the original 1600 (1570cc). To drive, it was lovely, and I was greatly tempted. The slightly-vibrating propshaft and the mismatched rear dampers would be rectified within the asking price, but three things niggled: the ripply rear bumper, its ripples still evident even after attention at the rechroming works; the gaps around the frameless door windows which suggested a need for new channels and more; and the back-straining concavity of a driver's seat devoid of its original stuffing.

All could have been fixed, all should have been fixed within the asking price, but instead, the seller took it off the market, installed a contemporary 1600 motor and sold the now-slower, less-fun Alfa for an extra £2000 or so.

So that one slipped through my fingers. I looked at another 1964 example, in white and looking exactly like the car in Alfa Romeo's original publicity shots, but its panels didn't align too well, bubbles were appearing and the gearbox bearings were shot. Too much work to do at the high asking price and the seller wouldn't budge. So ended my Alfa quest. I bought the Singer Le Mans instead.

Now good Giulia GTs are moving out of reach, and you really wouldn't want a bad one for that way despondency lies. However, a friend has recently bought a low-mileage but rather rotten 1750 GTV, the desirable Mk1 version, and it's about to take up residence in a highly-recommended restoration shop. In a year's time, I'm hoping he might let me have a go. Will it trigger a third bout of Alfa-lust? We'll see.