Cold dawn breaks over Hyde Park.
No missing of the modern, no conceit broken.
Dressed for the era and the elements.
Historic car engines steam and flood the start line.
Anticipatory chatter of automobile passion.
The welcomed wave of spectators.
Children grasp signs requiring a ‘toot!’.
The thrill on their faces when met with a croak.
Hot coffee delights at a road side café.
Wind-swept and weary, we finally cross.
The very Grand Hotel in Brighton, living up to its name.
Cold air and a...
The enthusiasm of the early starters.
Every second to squeeze out and soak up.
May these moments never end.
Boiler suit beauties, trilbies and tweeds, fanciful frocks, whirls and twirls.
St Mary Saloons push the pedal for medal.
Whitsun wannabees hurtle by.
Evening Sunshine as the heavy-hearted revellers spill home.
Goodbye Goodwood for another year.
Greeted by the singing Chalalas, cha la la ing.
Spitfires circle and soar.
Portraits styled, memories caught.
These are the halcyon days.
‘Give me Goodwood on a summer’s day and you can forget the rest of the world’.