When I turned off the M6 on to the A45 for the Warwick and Leamington I began to meet more and more kit cars, all heading for the show. I began to cheer up, after a dull rain soaked journey, seeing and remembering many of these cars from my first foray into this strange world of eccentric anoraks, all possessing mutual desires to build their own ‘special dream’. The road through the village of Stoneleigh was humming from the various mixed engine sounds of Dax cobras, Marlins, Merlins, Minaris, Locusts, Scorpions, Spyders, JBA’s, NG’s, MK’s, GTM’s, Tiger’s, Teal’s, Eagles, Dutton’s, Spartans, Gentry’s, Ginetta’s, Caterhams and Pilgrims, but no Burlingtons.
I followed the signs for Car park 2, designated for non-kit car drivers, still clutching my master list eventually arriving on the ground at 11.00am. The showground was huge but I was provided with a show guide that contained a site plan, but I also hoped that my previous visits back in the early eighties would aid my navigation through the endless car pitches exhibition halls and burger vendors: I was very wrong. This was a much more professional production. There were permanent brick and steel exhibition halls, boldly and brightly signed. There were officials, of every conceivable sort, sex and nationality wearing colour coded ‘vizi’ vests, stewards, ushers, marshals, supervisors, presenters and even bloody broadcasters. ‘Vending’, likewise had grown with the rest of the commerce, not just burgers and chips anymore but, hog roasts, pizzas, kebabs, baked potatoes and pies. All of these I can accept but not crepes, sushi and fuckin’ ‘wraps’.
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