It was a glorious day and I happened upon Bude Motor Show yesterday, reminded by the convoy of classic cars travelling with me along the A39. It was busy, and I ended up in conversation with a total stranger about the Jensen Interceptor and the nostalgia brought about by Morris Minors. I saw a Triumph Stag the same colour as one owned by an early boyfriend. I used to feel pretty good riding around in that. A Ford Anglia like my Dad had. A Mark I Escort like I had. A Ford Capri, like my boy racer brother had. MGB GT like I had, and on it went. Also had a look inside Flossie the camper van, and ate a delicious pancake filled with Sargie’s fruit coulis and sticky chocolate.
The funniest moment was hearing some blokes saying: “Whoa, look at that” and realising they were talking about an engine rather than the colour. Strange creatures, men…I jest but confess to being uncomfortably, stereotypically ‘girly’ about cars. However, I am pretty sure there were lots of women there who knew an awful lot about what happens under a bonnet. For me, it was a trip down memory lane, and the memories were good ones.
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