The rain may have dampened spirits at the Irish Classic and Vintage Car Show, but Kilian Doylecould still dream, couldn't he?
THERE ARE few things worse in life than getting stuck in a downpour under a flimsy awning while helplessly watching some of the most beautiful cars ever made rust before your eyes.
Sadly, it has become something of a tradition that I will have to endure this particular torment every time I attend the annual Irish Classic and Vintage Motor Show in Terenure, run by the Irish Jaguar and Daimler Club. Last Sunday’s event, which raised money for Cheeverstown House, was no different.
As per usual, it bucketed down. Between intermittent bursts of sunshine, the horizontal sheets of rain sent the masses scurrying for cover. Not being waterproof, I too joined the huddling hordes. And instantly regretted it. For I found myself trapped between two tedious men heatedly engaged in a riveting dialogue about the valve clearances in a Mini Cooper. My eyes glazed over. I began to lose the will to live.
Faced with a choice of being bored to death or running away to get wetter than an oyster’s armpits, I chose the latter. Small price to pay. It didn’t take long for me, wandering among cars gathered for the event, to begin enjoying myself.
Not only did I get to see a grown man weeping into a pool of rubber, vinyl and red sludge – all that remained of the Alfasud which had dissolved in the deluge – but I got to slaver at length over Marty Fagan’s glorious 1970 BMW 1800 Neue Klasse, which, with just 23,000 miles on the clock, was a worthy winner of the Best Original Car prize, sponsored by Irish Vintage Scene magazine.
And, best of all, I got to indulge my imagination, deciding which of the machines on display I’d choose as my next car if certain conditions were met.
For example, if global warming were revealed to be a terrible mistake and we were all given our own oil-rigs as compensation for the years of guilt and worry, I’d go for the Dodge Charger R/T, which sounded like a volcano erupting every time its owner fired it up to annoy the hippies.
If I become a Satanist, it’d be the heavily modified matt black Studebaker 5.4-litre V8 hotrod. The most evil-looking flatbed truck ever, it was a direct copy of the one the devil does his weekly shopping in. Probably.
If I wake up tomorrow morning and discover I’m a 10-year-old, I’d opt for either the Lamborghini Countach or the Corvette Stingray, both of which look like they were designed specifically for selling posters to pre-pubescent boys.
If I wake up tomorrow morning and discover I’m a 10-year-old with taste, it would have to be Chris Jones’s silver 1974 Ferrari Dino, which won the Best Car of the Show award. Mere words cannot do justice to this jaw-droppingly sublime car.
If I fail to grow out of my BMW obsession, I want the BMW E28 M5, a car to turn even the most jaded petrolhead into a quivering wreck. It left me light-headed with lust. However, if I do grow out of my BMW obsession, it’d be a catfight between the luscious Alfa Romeo GT1600 Junior and the exquisite Lancia Fulvia Series 1. The two prettiest cars ever made?
Finally, if I do grow out of my BMW obsession and then win the Lotto, it’d be the navy Maserati Ghibli that had pride of place in event sponsor AXA’s paddock. Or maybe the Maserati 3500 GT. I see it at every big car show I go to. I’m beginning to think that’s a sign.