Tuesday, 19 February 2008
We've all been there. Those moments in our lives when we stop and think "Actually, what have I done to deserve this?". This Hillman Husky (rare estate version of the Imp that has a walk-on part on page 176 of More from Unmitigated England) was my second company car after a trouser-destroying Viva SL. The keys were handed over to me whilst my colleagues turned away and guffawed silently into their cupped hands. The time is 1970-ish, and the setting is Dunwich beach in Suffolk. The other slides in the yellow plastic Kodak box are of the last piece of masonry from the last church to fall into the sea from the clifftops. I'm also pretty certain that this is the only record of the car without big booted dent marks in the door. This must be the only vehicle on earth that filled up with carbon monoxide everytime you stopped at traffic lights, a kind of Hillman Russian Roulette where every journey was spiced-up with the odds of getting home without your eyes glazed over. I include it after the generous response to the Grazing Hunter, and as a warning to the curious. Don't even think of driving one, if indeed you could ever find an example, unless you're deeply depressed or have just finished listening to Alastair Darling's Collected Speeches.