Author: Kim du Toit

The Real Grand Tour

Drive Time

You’ve just won the Grand Prize of a big raffle.  The prize is that you get to tour  the United States AND Western/Central Europe for six months (in any combination you wish, e.g. four months in the U.S, two in Europe).  All expenses and accommodation are paid for.  You have your choice of companion:  wife, mistress, girlfriend, best buddy, Carol Vorderman, or nobody.

You also have to choose only one car for each continental leg of this trip, which may prove problematic, because they’re all classic cars.  However, in the same spirit of the Clarkson trio, you will have a support vehicle driving a couple of miles behind you, so forget about car trouble.

Also:  because of the age of the cars, interstate highways and autobahns are not recommended, so you’ll have to use lesser roads e.g. US-50 or US-287, etc.

Here are your choices for the U.S. leg (pick one only):

1932 Stutz DV-32  (5.0-liter straight eight, top speed ~ 100mph)

1934 Packard 1101 Eight Coupe (319 cub.in straight 8, top speed ~ 120mph)

1935 Duesenberg J Walker Grand Torpedo (6.9-liter straight 8, top speed ~ 115mph)

1936 Auburn Boat Tail Speedster (5.3-liter straight 8, top speed ~ 120mph)

 

Now for the “European leg”.  You can choose to tour only the U.K. in one of the three right-hand drive cars — OR only the European continent in one of the three left-hand drive cars:

United Kingdom

1936 MG SA Tourer (2-liter inline 4, top speed ~ 80mph)

1938 SS-100 Jaguar Roadster (2.5-liter inline 6, top speed ~ 100mph)

1938 Alfa Romeo 6C 2300 B (2.3-liter inline 6, top speed ~ 105mph)

(I know, it’s not a Brit car;  but it is one of the most beautiful Alfas ever made, it’s RHD, and you’ll have a support team, remember?)

 

Continental Europe

1936 Horch 853 A (4.9-liter straight 8, top speed ~ 120mph)

1938 BMW 328 Cabriolet (1.9-liter inline 4, top speed ~ 110mph)

1938 Mercedes 540K Cabrio A (4.9-liter inline 8, top speed ~ 125mph)

Enjoy the trips…

Death By Covid

Tragedy

You know, it’s one thing when Olde Pharttes like me are whacked by the Rona;  but this is just horrible:

Britain’s oldest pub has called time after more than 1,000 years
— due to the Covid pandemic

Ale was first served at Ye Olde Fighting Cocks in 793 but sadly the popular boozer has been unable to withstand the struggles of the past two years.
The pub in St Albans, Herts, has survived wars, plagues and previous economic crises. But landlord Christo Tofalli said he was walking away because the pandemic had been “devastating”.
He added: “I have tried everything to keep this pub going. However, the past two years have defeated all of us who have been trying our hardest to ensure the pub could continue. It goes without saying I am heartbroken.”
The much-loved landlord, who has run the venue for a decade, has been inundated with messages of support from around the world since his company went into administration.

“Messages of support?”  What about financial support?

Here’s yet another reason I would like to win a huge lottery:  I’d buy The Fighting Cocks (was there ever a name better chosen to get the hippies upset?), run it at a loss until business picked back up, and then give it back to the owner, who seems to be more than a decent sort.

And don’t talk to me about having the National fucking Trust step in to save this historic building.  First thing these wokist twats would do is change the name (because animal croolty), and then ban the sale of booze on the property.  Fuckers.

No, the Brits need to get behind this most excellent cause, with the rallying cry of

It deserves no less.

Starved

Men & Women

Here’s one that should make you cringe:

Anderson Cooper on Thursday revealed he has welcomed a second son named Sebastian Luke Maisani-Cooper. The CNN personality, 54, announced the big news on his show on Thursday evening.
…
Cooper said that his ‘best friend and former partner’ Benjamin Maisani is ‘in the process of adopting Wyatt, whose last name will be changed to Maisani-Cooper as well.’ He added, ‘Wyatt calls me “daddy” and Benjamin “papa.” We’re a family.’

The newborn had this to say:

Poor thing.

In so many ways.

Use Enough Gun

The Gun Thing

…especially when you’re attacked by a moose:

“As he charged me I emptied my gun into him and he never stopped,” she wrote on Facebook. “I ran for my life and prayed I was fast enough to not be killed in that moment. He trampled the team and then turned for us.”

Yeah, well.  Read the piece for the details about her “gun”.

Of particular interest to me is this statement:

She said no musher would ever travel with a rifle or a large caliber gun, instead preferring to scare off animals with a flare gun. And with all the jostling of the sled, the larger guns could easily go off.

Firstly, if your gun goes off because of “jostling”, you need some training and/or a better gun.  The thought of something like this Ruger Redhawk .44 Mag going off by being jostled,,,?

Ain’t gonna happen.

As for mushers going out without a rifle or large-caliber handgun:   if what this idiot says is true, they’re bigger idiots than I thought.  FFS, even realtors carry a heavy gun when they’re showing cabins and houses in the Alaska boonies.

Nothing Sinister

Media Assholes

Bah.  Apparently there’s something “sinister” about The Villages complex on Florida, as though there’s evil afoot by hoovering up a bunch of old farts, letting them have a good time and putting them into the equivalent of St. Peter’s waiting room.

To the relentlessly positive residents who fill their days with keeping fit and socialising, it is paradise on Earth.
But the immaculate lawns of The Villages — a sprawling development in Florida — hide a “sinister” underbelly, according to a filmmaker who likens it to the fake perfection of The Truman Show.

It seems as though “day drinking” is a Bad Thing, as though booze should only be consumed at night [pause to sip on my breakfast gin].   And ditto having fun:

Cheery music is pumped 24/7 over loudspeakers but ambulances turn off their sirens and funeral cars are unmarked. No one wants to be reminded of death.

Really.

Of course, if you read the article, there’s actually no dark underbelly, try as they may to find one.

Had the “journalist” spent just thirty seconds on an Internet search — as I did — he might have discovered this “shocker”:   that The Jackals Of The Press cooked up a scandal about how The Villages is a hotbed of sex and venereal disease, when in fact it isn’t.

The entire motivation behind all this negativity can be explained by one word — ENVY — because gawd forbid that people who have led long, productive lives, raised families and paid taxes should now be allowed to enjoy themselves, in the twilight of their lives.

Rope.  Tree.  Journalist.  Some assembly required.