I hadn’t planned on buying a small French hatchback. But then again, I hadn’t planned on falling quite so hard for the Festival of the Unexceptional, either.

I’m no stranger to old cars. Back in 2011, my idea of a perfect first car was a 1987 VW Golf Mk2. I covered 40,000 miles in that car, and it was a period of driving I’ll always look back on fondly. It’s been a few years since I’ve owned an old car, and I started to miss the experience.

Naturally, my attention turned toward Wolfsburg – but Mk2 Golf prices were getting silly. So instead, I pivoted toward another guilty pleasure: the small French hatchback. There’s something just so right about them. The no-frills build quality, lollopy suspension and rev-hungry engines make them a genuine joy to pilot down a narrow British B-road.

The Peugeot 205 XS immediately monopolised my attention. Think of it as a GTI-lite – maybe even a 205 Rallye in its plain-clothes alter ego. Where the GTI became the cult classic, the XS sat quietly in the shadows, building an underground following. I like that. I also like the fact it shunned fuel injection, sticking instead with a twin-choke carb and a wonderfully short-ratio gearbox. Its 85bhp output meant cheap insurance, which made it a hit with young drivers throughout the ’80s and ’90s.

Thanks to the 205’s penchant for lift-off oversteer – and the inexperience of many of its early drivers – a lot of them met their end years ago. Finding one was proving tricky. But one Sunday morning, while idly browsing eBay, I stumbled across a 205 Roland Garros. Not just an obscure special edition celebrating a tennis tournament, it was based on the 205 XS underneath. Bidding ensued, and before I knew it, I was driving home in a small green Peugeot with a short MOT.

A quick inspection revealed the bodywork was in OK condition. The driving, however, was a different story – the carb was massively out of tune, and a few electrical and mechanical gremlins were present. But it had potential, and at the price I paid, it was a steal.

I set myself – and the car – a challenge: get in shape for FOTU 2025, so I could share this little nugget of joy with other like-minded people. A winter of tinkering followed, and many hours spent on my back with spanners and rust flakes for company. But eventually, it passed a fresh MOT, and I had myself a solid, driver-quality 205 Roland Garros.

Driving the 205 is as much a joy as it is a lesson in patience. You can’t rush it: the engine needs a little warming up, and after about five minutes you can close the choke. From then on, it’s bliss.

Even at low speeds, the steering is immediately talkative and clear. No power assistance might seem alien today, but it was still commonplace in the early ’90s. The little TU3S engine loves to rev, and thanks to its rally-spec gearing, you’ll be three changes deep before you hit 30mph.

Heel-and-toe is a must, and double de-clutching isn’t a bad idea if you want to get the best from the gearbox. Chasing the 7000rpm redline feels a bit naughty, though a quick glance at the speedo will reassure you that you’re still well within the limit.

The chassis is supple, in a very ’90s sense of the word – with body roll that a modern car simply wouldn’t comprehend. To corner it properly, you need to lean in with conviction, then lift gently to help tuck the nose. Just be cautious in the wet, unless you enjoy unplanned excursions into adjacent fields.

The brakes are very ’90s – a fair bit of effort is needed on the pedal, but with only 825kg to slow down, they’re rarely troubled. Just keep your distance and remember: this car is pre-NCAP, and those A-pillars are Curly Wurly thin.

Before long, you settle into the car and find a rhythm. Low power and low weight demand momentum – and you’ll rarely be so engaged at such low speeds. The XS might be the GTI’s underling, but it has no trouble keeping up with modern traffic. Overall, it’s a refreshingly simple experience that reminds you just how fun basic cars can be. You don’t need the nostalgia-fuelled GTI – you just need a 205 Roland Garros.

Fast-forward to the morning of 26 July, and I’m about to embark on a 160-mile round trip in a car I’d resurrected myself. “Are you feeling lucky, punk?” springs to mind. Thankfully, the journey was trouble-free. The 205 weathered some horrendous rain but rolled into FOTU without so much as a hesitation.

The show itself was its usual ramshackle celebration of the forgotten, the oddball and the quietly brilliant. Everywhere you looked there were “What’s that?” moments, or cars you’d completely forgotten existed. A first-generation Ford Focus this clean is always a delight – it still looks sharp, still somehow modern. The Volvo 340 reminded me of being 17 and craving cheap rear-wheel-drive antics, while a panel-perfect Toyota Previa stopped me in my tracks. When was the last time you saw one that hadn’t been eaten alive by family life?

A VW Golf Country felt like the blueprint for what SUVs used to be – I couldn’t imagine a better companion for an Alpine road trip. And while a Golf G60 is stretching the definition of “unexceptional”, who could resist that brick-shaped aggression and a bit of supercharged spice?

Rovers are always well represented at FOTU, and the 800s in particular still tug at something sentimental. There’s a certain charm to their upright stance and executive ambition – they’ll always have a place in my heart. Not far away sat a Toyota Land Cruiser in full ‘Narcos spec’ – the sort of thing you expect to see on Colombian tarmac, not a Lincolnshire lawn. Most of them were long ago sacrificed to agricultural life.

A 405 saloon, boxy and beautifully basic, made me miss proper three-box proportions. Nearby, an Audi 80 2.6 estate proved that subtle old-school sleepers still exist. And for every understated hero, there was a ’90s flashback like the RS2000 parked proudly on Fifteen52 wheels – the kind of thing every teenage boy once wanted.

A real highlight was the 206 GT. With its Jimmy Hill chin and Kim Kardashian rear end, it was a crash course in early-2000s homologation priorities, all in the name of Peugeot’s WRC ambitions. Hard to call it pretty, but it had presence. Nearby sat an Audi A2, always a clever car but still underappreciated. This one was the ultra-rare 3L version, built to sip just 3 litres of fuel per 100km – the sort of thing we should’ve paid more attention to.

But my favourite car of the show? That would be the XJ Jeep Cherokee. Boxy, tough and totally unapologetic, it’s a proper SUV, with none of the sloping-roof, low-ride-height nonsense we’re surrounded by today.

FOTU remains a highlight of the year. There’s nowhere else you’ll see a gathering of cars quite like this. And if you’re thinking of going, I can’t recommend it enough. Buy something FOTU-appropriate. It doesn’t just make the day more fun – it genuinely enriches your life.