The Goodwood Revival stands alone as the one petrolly event that you can take a muggle partner along without worrying about them getting bored. While we’re coming over all unnecessary at the rusty old Alfa in the car park, she’s eyeing the passing puffball skirt and wondering where she can get one.
I’d seen photos, of course, and I’d heard from people who’d been before, but I never really believed that three quarters of the visitors dress up in period costume. It just doesn’t sound very likely. I’d imagined it like a fancy dress party where I’d been told, “sure, EVERYBODY’S coming in costume, the bigger the better!” and then me turning up in my giant condom outfit to find everyone else in jeans and shirt with a mildly comic bow tie.
I won’t be doing that again.
So the first time I went, not very many years ago, I turned up in jeans and T-shirt and, I can tell you, I felt a right plum duff. It’s genuinely true – the vast majority of people do dress up, and you only feel part of the experience if you do too.
So, despite looking like this all day, I felt completely normal. That’s what context does for you.
Mind you, I did feel a little odd first thing in the morning getting in the car in rural Hampshire like that. My neighbours must’ve thought I’d gone funny in the head. Well they already think that but, you know, a bit more so.
Half the fun of the Revival is walking through the car park. I don’t know how many classics there are in the UK, but I’d’ve guessed at significantly fewer than the colossal flock that collects at Goodwood every year. There’s everything in there.
Alfa Zagato Junior
Me with one of my childhood wet dreams
“Glamcab girls” pretending to push the Rolls Royces being used as taxis.
Nothing car-related here but you can’t blame me for having a little fun J
Moo-Moo Ben with his current fetish – the Willys Jeep.
Get one of these and you can wander around the paddock, driver-spotting. You can see inside the paddock from the perimeter though, so it’s not really worth paying extra for.
The Rolls-Royce factory is just down the road (literally a mile away) – this new Ghost seemed to be ”coincidentally” making its way past … a likely story.
Oooo a little bit of wee just came out. The Dukes of Hazzard was my favourite programme as a nipper, therefore this was my favourite car. I must never, ever drive one, because they’re awful.
Tidy Elan Sprint – this would be in my lottery-win garage. I know its unreliability would make me hate it within a year but if I had a full-time mechanic…
A little size comparison… apparently that’s James Whiting’s Buick (he of Caterham development fame). It was in a bit of a state.
Renault Alpine … rear-engined, rear drive and Quite Interesting.
Hippy Alfa Spider
Weird Rolls-Royce with a Spitfire engine that was attracting spectators like Paris Hilton practising ping pong without a bat.
Marshals having lunch in a Jag. Probably not eating salad judging by that rear suspension.
Astons are ten a penny at the Revival but I particularly liked this one.
People playing golf with bowler hats, as if it was completely normal. (?!)
Period mod-flavour Tesco!
A race consisting entirely of Ferrari 250 GTOs, each worth multiple millions … makes your wallet shit a brick just thinking about it.
And here they are parked up in the paddock for anyone to lay their grubby mitts on. I didn’t draw a cock on any of them.
Can’t say I’m exactly sure what was happening in this little vignette. If you’re familiar with that famous psychology experiment where the participants were split into prisoners and guards, and immediately adopted the us-and-them hierarchy … this seemed to be happening here. The genuflecting tiddlywink was practically tugging his forelock.
Showing that a GT40’s roof really is only 40 inches off the floor.
GT40 Roadster? That’s a new one on me.
And apparently Chinook made cars. That looked like platypi.
Laurel and Hardy. With a chimney for an exhaust.
Surreal Desert Jesus. And then Steve Rider randomly walked past. (I found out afterwards that this was actually a Lawrence of Arabia scene)
Another David and Goliath in the assembly area.
The Spitfires were buzzing around at lunchtime with the Silver Arrows parade, that I completely missed. Doh.
In the end, I can’t remember ever before going to a car event and not really bothering with the track action. There was so much to gawp at off-track that the actual racing seemed to pass us by.
Looking forward to next year already.