I just thought I'd recount this little story to you - for what it's worth.
On Thursday of this week, I found myself (unfortunately) on the M25 in the
nether regions of London Heathrow. We were bowling along at about 55mph in
something of a ragged line, when my son's car (in which I was the
passenger) happened upon a Mazda MX5 in the slowest lane. We ran parallel
for a while and I looked into the Mazda's cockpit - at its oval instruments
and the now very bald driver who was probably much older than me. It was a
sunny day, cold but bright - the Mazda had its top down and I'm pretty sure
the driver was wearing his thermal underwear - though in view of the fact
we had not been officially introduced, I didn't think I'd better ask him.
Moments later, a too familiar howl of an exhaust (indeed several in very
quick succession) assaulted my eardrums from the right hand side.
Front of the pack was a TR6PI - injectors pumping, nose up, back end squat
to the road - and very clearly about it's business. Then came a late but
superb 3.8 'E' type roadster opulently following in its wake, making less
rorty noises but obviously enjoying itself. A brief interval then saw a
'69/70 GT6 doing its best to keep in formation - and finally a Mk 3
Spitfire, '67 Midget and a Frog-Eye having a wonderful threesome tailgating
battle and bringing up the rear. Judging by the racket those three were all
making, the revs must all have been at the 5.5 mark - and they all went on
their way nudging the 'nineties and totally ignoring the speed limit -
(which is what speed limits are for?)
About ten minutes later, we all ground to a halt (quite normal on the M25)
and found ourselves alongside the Mazda once more. I wound down the window
and said to the driver something like, "why didn't you go off and join the
'Classics' which went past a few minutes back?" He looked up, adjusting the
heater controls and just replied
"I wish I could but I know my place. I've had all of them myself and I miss
them more than anyone would know. All I can content myself with is one of
these - reliable, boring, utterly predictable and totally without any
character. I'd willingly trade it for any of those, but at 75, I think I'm
getting just a bit too old for the string-backed gloves and a tweed cap or,
for that matter, to spend my time under the bonnet or under the car each
weekend."
Just then, a rather smart Alfa Romeo Duetto (of The Graduate era) burbled
up on the far side. Mazda driver says to my son, "mind if I nose over in
front of you - this is an opportunity not to be missed."
I hope he had fun because when we got moving again, Nicholas told me the
Alfa was well in front even though the MX5 was in hot pursuit.
John Macartney
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