I am not by any stretch of the imagination a petrolhead. I have never attempted to change the oil, or replace an air filter, and I always fuck up a windscreen wiper blade change, although to be fair I once swapped a set of spark plugs and have changed a couple of wheels in my time. Yet having passed my driving test nearly forty years ago cars have been a mainstay of my life and as I reflect upon the bangers, the beauties, and the beasts cumulatively they provide a fascinating record of my own social history. Changes in circumstance, including the relentless aging process, children, financial restrictions, and monetary muscle have not only shaped my life but my choice of wheels as well. I also acknowledge that my catalog of cars has been influenced by my personality and appetite for risk. ‘Why fucking not,’ has been a regular feature of my ultimate vehicle selection. On one spectacular occasion, this purchase became a, ‘what the fuck has happened’ and literally changed my life forever. Perhaps like the 1988 Billy Ocean classic, “Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car” my own dreams, aspirations, and achievements have been, in part, wrapped up in my adult life choice of car especially since I have never been without a motor. So here is my commentary of life narrated by a series of mechanically propelled motor vehicles that are a testament to, perhaps, the notion that you are what you drive…
1981, heralded my marriage to the motor car. Having passed my driving test first time, I was chomping at the bit to get
