SPECIAL FEATURE ROBIN ROAD TRIP
Helen Poon and I have some history with what you might call automotive daftness. We went on a weekend Vancouver Mini Club rally in her 1937 Rolls-Royce 25/30 with its old-ladyish Thrupp and Maberly body because it sounded like much more fun than doing the event in my Mini. As indeed it was. I bought my American car, a 1958 Chevy Delray hardtop coupé, because it was actually quite handsome with pleasing proportions that reminded me of the coveted Facel Vega HK500. But when Helen bought an American car, it was the biggest 1970s Lincoln available, a grotesque and comical overthe—top 7-litre, 20ft chromesplattered behemoth. It was the sheer monstrous ridiculousness of the thing that appealed to her sense of humour. She drove it ironically for a while and then moved it on.
I got my 1947 Bentley eight years ago from Helen after an evening on the single malts. She is the fine sort of friend who comes to visit bearing a bottle of something interesting in the way of malts, and after one such whisky-based virtual evening tour of the western Scottish islands ending up at Bowmore, we decided to swap cars. At the time I had a 1938 MG TA which looked pretty, but which had turned out to have previously been so neglected and bodged that it took a year to get it usable, after which it was not my favourite
