This one’s for J.O., who is driving up to Scotland today, and it’s for Rocky too, who (natural mechanical) would be able to get it back on the road. It’s an Austin A35, found abandoned in a Hammersmith multi-storey car park this afternoon, and in the late 1950s this is the car that my brother and I went up to Scotland in from Yorkshire, with my mum driving and sometimes a basset hound called Roly folded up on the back seat. It’s probably why I still think of the journey to Scotland as being up-hill all the way.
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We too used to have an Austin A35, in the late seventies, my mother at the wheel. I still measure many sensations of cold, particularly in the feet and hands, against the coldness inside that car of a Stockport winter morning.
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