A couple of summers ago, some friends and I decided to buy four old Ford Capris, none of which cost more than £300, and drive them in teams of two to France. Don't ask me why. It's just the sort of stupid plan that blokes hatch after a night out. I won't bore you with the details but suffice to say that my car didn't make it further than the first mile along the motorway. If nothing else though, the RAC man was very amused by the "go-faster" racing stickers we plastered all over it. What was crucial to the trip, however, was the soundtrack. "Keep it Balearic" was our mantra. We wanted happy proto-acid house grooves - the sort of tunes made for grinning, not gurning.