Not me, but someone else...
Back when I was in my acne-ridden female-fearing adolescence, we were paying a regular trip to my grandad's in beautiful Kirklees when he enquired to me and little brother if we'd like to go to his mate's house to see his fancy new car.

Now, my grandad drove a Reliant Rialto 2 and generally obsessed over Reliant altogether, so despite our willingness to appease Grandad's obvious excitement, my brother had a sense of a dread over what would be the longest hour in the world spent looking at a classic 1976 Reliant Robin or something along those lines.

After about 20 mins walk through the hills round the back of the village we get to this shed/barn/garage thing.

Upon arriving, my grandad turns round to me and our kid and gives us 'the Scarborough warning' (if you're not from Yorkshire, look it up) and tells us that we're not to tell anyone about what we're about to see.

Now, if you're 14, in the middle of nowhere with your Grandad telling you not to tell anyone about what you're going to see, you'll be forgiven for trying to remember what the number for Childline is and questioning whether social services are really that bad.

Anyway, my Grandad's mate turns up, gives me and our kid a brief 'hey up, no word of this to anyone...' and opens up the front door to the outhouse.

And what do we see, but some blue rust-bucket car, clearly very old and had seen better days. Frankly unimpressed, the Scentless siblings go for a run round in the old banger, laughing at the feebleness of the engine and a ride that could only be described as traumatic.

So, the car gets put back in it's place, we saunter off back to my grandad's and we're reminded of our pledge of secrecy.

A month later, my brother and I are watching Top Gear (the old version) when what should I see but the very car we were scuttling about in being covered in a feature about classic British marques.

Turns out, the bloke we'd met that day at my grandad's wasn't some random welder that he used to work with, but the proud owner of one of the first TVRs ever built. Apparently worth millions, the car was, according to the programme, kept in a secret location in West Yorkshire, with a only a privileged few allowed to take a ride in the thing.

Now, there are prized possessions and there are prized possessions.

Funniest thing about it, I distinctly remember turning round to our kid upon our first view of the car and him saying...

"I know what you're thinking, it's a pile of shite, isn't it?"...
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Fri 9 May 2008, 23:04, Reply)