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The anticipation surrounding this show grows yearly, generated mostly by the previous years happy campers, chuffed to bits at getting a weekends dub fulfillment for 10 bob. This year was a proper population explosion, with over twice the amount of bods through the gate.
Last year, even I managed to sneak my Golf onto the show field on Saturday (just to make up the numbers), but this year it was a show field full of show cars, and a car park full of them, and most of the campsite, and any other bit of land you could park a car on. It was harder to find a crap car at E38, than it usually is to find a good one at some other shows.
Friday morning, and I’m sat in the hairdressers getting a head massage, and dreaming hazily about the coming weekend. It’s hot as hell outside even though it’s only 9am, but inside is cool, and buzzing with trendy people and the smell of overpriced hair gloop. I’m wished a good weekend by the girl with the magic scissors, who can’t believe that I’m going to a car show, of my own choice, and I don’t have a vehicle with either ‘one of them big things on the roof’ or ‘ some of them wheels that look like they are still going round even when you stop’.
With a freshly reconfigured bouffant, I’m stood out on the street waiting to be picked up. I see what looks like Lee’s mums Audi hareing up the hill, and wonder where she’s going in such a hurry, then realise it’s Lee making full use of somebody else’s petrol. He then makes full use of somebody else’s brake pads, and stands 2 tones of German metal on it’s nose. I get in, and tell him to chill out.
3pm comes around far too quickly, and with a bit of a frenetic burst, the last of the stuff getts stuffed into the freshly zymol’d Golf shaped dolop, and we are off down the M1 at a steady 56mph.
-Arrived at Overstone, grounded out on the front splitter, glanced in the rearview to make sure the gang were still together, handed Noddy £20, turned left at Mickey Marrows, spotted a top spot to pitch camp, fannied about with some nylon, pumped up the airbeds, broke out the deckchairs and beer, relaxed.-
Saturday is ‘10 of the best’ day, but the show field looked more like Club Lupo V’s loads of Corrado’s. The Lupos (and a Vauxhall) won. I can’t remember anyone who won a bit of silverware, but a MK3 on air and splitties was looking quite delicious.
Sunday is shiny shiny super gloss day, and boy was oodles of super gloss about. Despite all the preening and prinking activities, all desperately vying for me and my cameras attention, I was distracted by a little old truck looking pretty as a picture.
By mid afternoon it was time for an ice cream from a van sporting a curiously cubist depiction of a cat and mouse. The cats feet were on back to front, the mouse was more of a coco bean with testicle legs, but the well fluffed milky mass was heavenly. The last remaining crumbs of crumbling cone, combined with sunstroke, sunburn, sleep depravation and BBS blindness suggested it was time to get going. I stuck a fork in it, and called the show Done.
Supreme show’n’shininess, see ya next year.