Every May bank holiday, classic cars purr and roar into town for a pageant. This year, although there were other cars there, the spotlight was on America in the 1950s – think Cadillac; think Thunderbird and Mustang; think Giant Beasts of Power. I donned my best rock-out fifties swirl dress (in my head only as it was bloody freezing) and set off to admire the chrome.
I've decided 'just roam in your chrome' might be my new favourite saying in times of stress, replacing the usual coping tactic of quoting dodgy lines from the film Predator.
I was also over-excited to realise that 'hydra-matic' is a real word, and not just made up to rhyme with 'automatic' by the film Grease. But what is a hydra-matic drive? Is it one stage better than a dramatic drive? Is it somehow powered by hydrogen? Is it... *runs to google*... Ah. Automatic transmission. That was the next thing I was going to guess, of course...
At these events I nearly always get stopped by somebody (local press, organisers, old blokes with beards) who will tell me that it's quite unusual for a girl to be into classic cars. It’s true - you don't often see females wandering around admiring the dashboards. But they are so pretty!
It's the shapes, the styles, the throaty roar of engines – all the glamour and romance of an era long-past. For me this is the attraction with classic cars – these vehicles tell stories.
I am also rather fond of pondering over which classic car best suits a wicker picnic basket. I've now decided it may be this E-type Jag. Let's see it from the front...
Yup, that wins my Wicker Picnic Basket medal for this year. I bet the owner is well pleased. What better accolade could there be?
The other car that caught my eye was this bad boy below. Just what on earth is it? And where can I drive one? :)