There isn't the same compulsion to 'do' something on a bank holiday weekend when you don't have a job or regular commitments and when pretty much every day feels like a holiday. But we noticed there was a classic car show being held just up the road from here, in the field behind the village pub, aiming to raise funds to buy a scanner for one of the smaller local hospitals. So, leaving the Boo in charge of the cats, off we went.
Both my dad and my brother were passionate about cars. Although by the time I came along he aways bought new cars (every 51 weeks, for some reason, and mostly from a garage where they called him Les though his name was Harry), my dad was more interested in what was going on under the bonnet, never happier than sorting out a dodgy clutch, diagnosing the cause of that strange knocking sound with the help of a Haynes manual or going to the scrapyard to pick up some spare part or other which 'might come in handy'.
My brother, who never owned or drove a car because of a lifetime of living with epilepsy, was more interested in the design and the marques, particularly American ones. He used to build model cars, some with petrol powered engines, spending hours and hours gluing and spray painting and sprinkling some powdery stuff from little bottles that, once set, magically (or so it seemed at the time) resembled car upholstery. He even travelled to the US occasionally to buy kits which weren't available here and ended up with a substantial collection (which one day, without giving a reason, he gave away) and an article about him in a Pittsburgh newspaper.
The weather on Sunday was perfect for spending time outdoors and the car show was already busy when we arrived (after a quick visit to the market and the purchase of one of the tastiest sourdough loaves I've ever eaten).
With many more entries to walk around than we were expecting, there were some once familiar names
and cars like some of the ones my dad used to own (though his always displayed an RAC badge and he never ever chose red),
cars like the one I used to wish my dad owned,
cars like the one the son of one of my dad's friends drove which I always hoped I'd be offered a ride in but never was,
cars which look quirky even today,
cars with babies,
cars with Equity cards,
cars with iconic ornaments on their bonnets.
The mister was reminded of his days driving round town on two wheels,
I imagined life after the big lottery/premium bonds win,
and others just wished it was time to go home,
which all too soon it was.
I love a classic car show, me.