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...
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’.
Transported and transfixed in a bygone era.
The chattering crowds glide by. Dressed to kill and thrill. Swirls and twirls. Admiring glances.
The distant, pulsing screech of the track.
Excitable crowds bound together through unconditional automobile love.
A cavalcade of Minis. Big fun in small packages.
The Settrington realises race car driver dreams.