Emerging from the Bakehouse today, site of our clandestine coffee following the weekly three-mile saunter beneath the trees, it seems we had accidentally stumbled upon a car meet.
Out front, young twenty-something women were found drooling over a dark blue Golf GTI, SLR cameras at the ready to capture it from every angle.
Behind it, a pale blue M3 coupe. Over there, two Fiat 500 Abarths, and yet more souped up cars, celebrated with pride by their owners. As we wandered towards our own cars, a Nissan GTR arrived.
Glancing back, it struck me that this was a diverse gathering, united by a shared passion. Black and white, male and female, of different faiths and creeds. Young and, well, just young. Perhaps I should have dusted down my Qashqai to complete that absent binary.
Somehow, I don’t think the younguns would drool over my sensible middle-aged family crossover in quite the same way. No, but one day they will have to content themselves with one, replacing the sporty coupe with some frumpy car capable of accommodating the kids and all their junk.
For now, let these youngsters enjoy their youthful glee, united by their motors, so diverse. Perhaps it’s good that they have a hobby that brings them together. Maybe I should find one of my own. Perhaps we all need a cause to believe in.
Last modified: 26 November 2022
