Buckley’s market matters
As usual, the Rolls-royce Enthusiasts’ Club AGM in Stamford was an education. Looking at the prices of some of the Silver Clouds, I wondered if a deal could be done on mine against a theoretically less valuable Corniche coupé that one of the dealers had for sale. It was only a half-formed notion, and I’m not sure I’d have done a deal anyway, even if the response had been positive.
I needn’t have worried on that score. It evolved into one of those conversations where, somehow, everything about my Cloud was undesirable. I don’t blame the chap – who was, after all, only doing his job, but once he had finished – I was thoroughly depressed.
So I decided to have a look around the auction where the only exciting thing was a project Sixlight S3 Flying Spur. Inspecting the interior, a friend, fingering the hinged loops of leather above the rear doors, asked me: “Do you call these princess straps?” “No, duchess straps.” “Oh well,” said the lady custodian of the Spur, “since that is my title, it’s rather appropriate, isn’t it?” That told me, didn’t it?
Inspired by The Barn Find Hunter on TV, the other night I decided to give the dogs a walk along a local road to see if I could spot anything. Trying not to look like a burglar doing his homework, I unearthed a Morris Minor, a Midget and a Beetle in various states of repair on people’s drives. Nothing I would feel moved to knock on a door about, but an interesting indication of what you can find without really trying.
You know summer’s here once all the VW Campers come out of hibernation, although I can’t see the attraction. It’s probably hippie connotations and a tired fantasy current ‘wacky’ owners have about driving to Glastonbury or wishing they had been at Woodstock – which, when you look at the reality of it, seems to have been little more than a giant traffic jam, bad food and dysentery. That ’50s and ’60s VW ’vans are now so absurdly valuable only adds to their charm. The love might be free, but these things aren’t, running at £30k+.