So today, there was a Bentley Continental GT getting the treatment. When they came to move it outside to chamois it down, I was looking for the owner. Surely he wouldn't let one of these young vandals actually move it? But no, the head girl (who'd been barking orders at all the others but who still seemed to be only about 18 and, for what it's worth, looked vaguely Sudanese), jumped in and confidently moved it around to the vacuuming bay.
And my god did it sound great.
And then, all of a sudden (just like in Enid Blyton books I would imagine), the owner materialised out of somewhere, maybe a wicker basket or a cocktail shaker, and started applying the final polishing touches with a fine cashmere rag. I kid you not.
Then, he tries to open the boot. It obviously has an electrically-controlled mechanism for opening it, but he presses the button and - nothing. He presses again, similar result. A third time. He looks around and I silently go "yeah baby! schadenfreude!" and he leans against the boot like he's just pretending to stretch. Nothing! So he has to go into the cabin to press the inside button.
Schadenfreude is a despicable notion but by golly it feels good in the moment.
Anyway, what a car. Just have a gander at this red beauty. Wouldn't you look pretty damn flash taking one of these to Woolies for the weekend shopping?
Anyway, it's the same today with Jeremy Clarkson who has had a Jaguar revival and reckons it feels good. The man certainly has a way with words, such as I sometimes think that if you stole a Lexus, you’d be able to drive it around for a year or two before the owner remembered that he had one, and that it was missing.
The reference to Thia teenagers is way off, though, no wonder he attracts the attention of the half of the world who don't think like him.
This afternoon we had music at the Powerhouse, for now we have visions of Bentleys.
Tonight we have debate. I think we'll be watching Idol. Yes really. I couldn't take the cringe factor of the young pretender and the old