This mostly happened and mostly as described.....
I'd had a successful year at work and been given a bonus. This was the first time I'd had such a reward and it seemed like a wonderful surprise (later the yearly bonus became part of the work culture and you almost expected it as part of your compensation) so I was pleased and proud.
It was such a special thing that I didn't think it was right to treat it as normal and put it away as savings. A bonus should be just that, something that allows you to do something out of the ordinary.
I'd been fancying the idea of getting a classic car as a weekend hobby and fun machine but couldn't decide what to get. I liked the idea of a traditional British sports car like an Austin Healey 3000 or Triumph TR5 or 6 but I knew good ones might be out of my price bracket and fixxer-uppers would sit on the drive for years while I tried to do the work.
Still, it was a good dream. The bonus wasn't enough to get the car itself so to help me decide I decided to spend the cash on membership of a Classic Car Club which had recently opened in the city. The deal was that for your membership fee and annual payment, you got a number of points which you could cash in for a day or a weekend of one of the stable of cars they had.
The cars were loosely classified as "Tools" or "Toys", the tools being the serious motors like the Porsche 928 or the Ferrari 308 and the toys being the playthings, like the Alfa Romeo GT Junior or the "Frogeye" Sprite. Of course, there was always some discussion as to which category a particular car fell in. Was an AC Cobra Replica a tool or a toy? Was a Porsche 944 a serious motor or a plaything? It didn't really matter, as long as you appreciated the car for what it was, didn't expect it to behave like a modern car and used it for some kind of appropriate purpose. I took a "Morse" Jaguar Mk 2 to take my daughter and her schoolfriends to a prestigious function in the City for example - a touch of luxury and class.
Christine egged me on in deciding to join the club, as a bit of fun, as a departure from normal boring life and a chance to experience some of the things I'd only talked about before.
The first car I cashed some points in for was a LHD 1967 Ford Mustang 350 coupe. Not the Shelby variant, just a regular 4.7 litre V8 (289 Cu In) engine with 4 speed manual gears. It's worth saying that none of the Club's cars were concours; they were all working examples and had been driven quite hard. This Mustang was no exception. Compared to any modern car (even in 1995), it was basic in instrumentation, creature comforts and technology. Air conditioning? Open the window! Stereo system? Just listen to the engine, you'll hear nothing over that! ABS? Don't be silly, just be thankful you've got any brakes at all.
The car looked great. Not pretty but raw and brutal. It was in Ford Blue with twin white stripes running along the centre of the car from bonnet to tail. Acceleration wasn't as good as my modern BMW but the way it delivered it was deafening and you felt it in every part of your body. The car would do 120mph on a straight road. I know because I found one late at night. However, it would take about 3 miles to stop and would only go round corners at a walking pace. I found that out by experience as well and felt that in my nerves the first time I tried to stop from speed.
I'd borrowed it to drive Christine up to her parents in the north. Around 200 miles and 4 hours. As I found out as well, about 2 refills of the petrol tank. This is not an eco-friendly car.
But Oh, what a noise, and what a rumble! It really stirred the senses and attracted looks like nothing else on the road tonight. I was thoroughly enjoying the drive and Christine's company so much, I forgot what Keith at the CCC said about there being not much gas in the tank. I also didn't realise how much petrol this thing drank so that we ran out of juice about 20 miles up the A1. I pulled up on the hard shoulder; fortunately there was a garage less than a mile away so I walked and got a can, topped the beast up and drove carefully round to the station to fill the tank full.
Christine didn't seem to mind - all part of the adventure - and then we made good progress towards the north. Before long, we got hungry and found the perfect place - Ed's Easy Diner! Complete with Airstream trailers and bright red neon signs, I think this may have been the first in the UK of this now well-known pseudo-American Diner chain cashing in on the Grease movie atmosphere.
I pulled in and we stoked up on burgers and coke. It was fully themed and the waitresses were cute teenagers in red ra-ra skirts, white bobby sox and plimsolls and tight fitting, cowboy-check blouses with plenty of buttons undone. We and the car got plenty of attention; "Is that yours?", "It looks fabulous", "How fast does it go?" I was getting seduced by the fantasy of 1960's America when sex was safe and guys with the cars got the girls.
