My mate drives a 1969 Triumph Vitesse.
He chopped the roof off himself and put in a soft-top, and it's impossible to just get in it and drive off without him first just having to quickly adjust something technical. It's absolutely bloody awesome and more dangerous than Mrs Vagabond after an office party.

Sadly with the arrival of Mate Jnr, I would think that increasingly the peoplewagon they've just swapped Mrs Mate's Mazda MX5 for will be used rather more, but it's a sight to behold, and it has a beautiful, beautiful sound.

Cruising 'round Bristle with the top down, shades on, playing tunes out of "The General" - his 1985 double-cassette player that now has it's handle wired with a coathanger, the batteries kept in with duct tape, and the cassette tray held in with a paperclip? Yeah, baby.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 9 Nov 2010, 9:38, 1 reply)

My Dad bought a Herald in the mid 70s
as a fixer-upper.

and an old split-screen Moggy 1000.

I'm ashamed to say that, in one school holiday, I spent several hours ruining the dash and fascia in both with a penknife and the ingenuity only possessed by small naughty boys.

Poor Dad. I feel really bad about it now.

Mind you, he was the type to buy a cheap car as a fixer-upper, and then leave it to rust because he'd never quite get around to it, so I think my Mum was secretly rather grateful.
( shinyshinyscalp less a man, more a way of life, Tue 9 Nov 2010, 15:02, closed)