Reporting from the Festival of the Unexceptional, Patrick Crabtree doesn’t think so
“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there”, said L.P. Hartley.
He was right. They replace points and check the dwell angle on multimeters, gap spark plugs and routinely, lovingly, squeeze grease through myriad nipples; they repair prop shaft UJ’s and wheel cylinders and balance their carburettors.
With all finally fettled, they had come, in their hundreds, perhaps thousands, to congregate over the grounds of beautiful Grimsthorpe Castle. I fear that Henry the Eighth, in bestowing the title ‘Barony of Willoughby de Eresby’ on the estate over 500 years previously, might never have anticipated that the castle would ever be graced by so much camaraderie and enthusiasm than was here today.
The Festival of the Unexceptional pulls together that ordinary epoch in motoring that was perhaps the last refuge of the home mechanic, as cars became increasing smothered and lost to special tools and incomprehensible layers of electronics. The organisers promote it with a tongue-in-cheek jibe at its sheer blandness but for those in the know this is a little bit of heaven.
Mick tried out a Mustang for a while but traded it in for a Zastava. Nuff said. For the pragmatic and utilitarian mind there’s something compelling in the chunky knobs and switches, simple upholstery and having just enough go to get you where you need to be. Pop the bonnet and its all there for the asking, a DIY mechanic’s dream as she effortlessly maintains her pride and joy at the zenith of its efficiency.
Lift the hood on a contemporary Merc and you’ll be lucky to find a dipstick, and, sure, modern cars are far more effici- *yawn*… sorry, I seem to have forgotten what I was saying. It all smacks of a simpler time that, caught in today’s rat race and drowning in technology, is understandably alluring. Whilst nostalgia plays its inevitable part – from memories of riding in the back of his Dad’s Austin Maxi, John, thirty five years on, is driving one of his very own – these cars are compelling in their own right.
Whether it’s the Zastava (yes please, Mick!), a Cavalier, Talbot Solara or a Renault 4, when you’re behind the wheel of a car of this era you know you’re
driving something. And whereas their ancestral heritage might be prettier and characterfully more ponderous and unreliable, these motors will get you across the country in half a day in a vestige of comfort, and with a wide smile of appreciation for having got there.
Submitted by: Patrick Crabtree
