Sunday November 7th
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 adventure-fuelled slumber never felt so good.
Starting up the engines as The Goodwood Revival begins.
Historic cars share knowing waves en route to Chichester.
At the helter skelter fairground, the trusty T Ford Charabanc awaits.
Familiarity breeds delight.
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.
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’.
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.
The splendour and glory of Blenheim Palace. Setting so sublime.
Taking to the stage, cars strike a pose.
Excitement revving in the air louder than the cars of the concours.
Ladies and gentleman dressed to impress.
Pleasantries conceal competitive spirit.
All eyes on the Best in Show Prize.
Hats that flower and tower.
A celebrated century of Bentley – Blowers, Bugatti’s and more.
Owner generations gather as engines sing.
Spilling out onto Woodstock’s streets.
Let the Salon Privé festival commence.
Anticipatory excitement for the Centenary Bentley Ball.
Guests glitzy and glamorous pour through the great hall.
Angelic opera performed from on high.
Endless laughter dancing through the night.
Morning sun. Cool and crisp.
Kaleidoscopic collection shown in its perfect light.
Straight off the start line, the crowds pour in.
Smiles and wonderment fill the grounds.
A flying car that beggars belief.
Unsurpassable McLaren Senna scoops the inaugural Lockton Club trophy
Crowds simmer, drivers saluted home.
The Palace is still and silent.
A la prochaine.
Up at sunrise. The route to Goodwood cloudless and bathed in sunshine.
Weather fears a distant memory.
Our faithful Ford T Charabanc waiting patiently at the Overtheroad crossroad. Ready to be dressed. The expectant buzz of a glamorous crowd flowing merrily along.
A Veuve Cliquot lunch with company as fine as its wine.
A cappella encore.
The great and good machines of the Kinrara trophy. The engines scream.
Ace Bristol loses a wheel. Comet Clyclone Crashes.
Evening sunshine. All the fun of the fair.
Sleepy start. Sharp, late summer sun.
The promise of breakfast in the air. All aboard the Charabanc. Glory days and glamour.
Kitten Von Mew’s iconic pose. Pin curls and satin swirls.
Tripping the frocks fantastic. Dancing to the orchestral engine sounds.
Sharp suits and boots. Sartorial seduction. Dressed for the Best.
Ecurie Ecosse dashing in blue. Berlinetta Lusso ravishing in red. Heart fluttering, nostalgia high.
Good Golly Miss Molly.
Autumnal anticipation in the air. That Final Day feeling.
Humbling tribute to Rob Walker.
Pedal pushing in the Settrington Cup. Clash of the Cobras. Barracuda chicane smash.
A portrait of three generations.
Policemen pose. Charabanc smiles.
Through sunset into dusk. The engine symphony silences.
Show Me The Way To Go Home. Tired and ready for bed.
Farewells fill the air. Until next time!