On any dry Sunday, I like to go riding. I am not alone in
this pursuit – there’s something about nice weather and the lack of deadlines
and pressure that makes the concept of the motorised equivalent of a Sunday
stroll very attractive.
Lynn generally agrees, so 2 weeks ago, we headed to
Brighton, chrome all a-sparkling and a-blinding in the sun. (I did finally get
around to cleaning the bike).
This being the first nice clear Sunday in a while, many a
classic vehicle had crept out of the garage for a spin, which is always nice to
see: a seriously vintage yellow Rolls Royce heading up a queue of cars around a
series of S-bends, a Diahatsu Copen which entertained me while I tried to
decipher whether it was Copen or Caper (I think Caper would have been a better
choice, but what do I know?) driven by a woman channelling Grace Kelly,
fashion-wise, a few Morgans enjoying the
looks they get, and when I got back to London, a classic American split-screen
convertible blocking the bus stop.
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