Froggy Went A Stonton

Seen here in the passenger seat of his Austin-Healey Sprite, as we bounced back to Stontonbury Fields earlier this summer, is my little nephew Will. My other little nephew Matt (1943 Jeep Rebuild) is close behind in Toby's 1948 Land-Rover. The Land-Rover is being driven by my very little nephew Ted. To Matt goes the credit for this shot. That's me in the hat.

I had only driven a Frog once before, about thirty years ago; a dreadful heap that a 'collector' was trying to flog near Melton Mowbray. He had a droopy moustache and, in his office, a ridiculous, red leather, deep buttoned swivel chair. The house, all of five years old, had far too many faux Georgian windows with wildly inappropriate bottle glass. He kept banging on about 'the collection'. Pushing him further, this turned out to be a Triumph Herald and a rusty V12 E Type on stands. His Frogeye drove like a bag of spanners. Stepping out of the Sprite, and back into my heavy, comfortable, quiet, Sunbeam Alpine was an enormous relief.

Will has done a much better job on the Sprite shown here. It felt fantastically direct and sorted. Like all Healeys it is also tiny; so tiny, we later calculated, that were the Fibonacci Peugeot Boxer van not full of my kit, I could have driven it straight in and taken it home. The thought certainly crossed my mind.

'Gamecock', The Hammersmith Queen

As I write, the Olympics are drawing to their close in Beijing, Lewis Hamilton is chasing Felipe Massa around the brand new Valencia GP circuit and, as it's Sunday, this lovely boat should be taking a well-earned break from whatever it is she does on the river.

I took this photo in July, I am standing less than two miles from the Bristol showroom. The city's capacity to surprise is without limit.

In The Window Bloke

Moved by recent posts on Peter Ashley's 'Unmitigated England' site, I thought I'd go and get some live shots of Bristol's wonderful Kensington showroom. So here you are. There are five cars just waiting to be bought; two Fighters, a Beaufighter, a Blenheim and the 408 shown here. I'll let the photo-copied 'Sales Literature' do the rest of the talking.

Wakey, wakey, Father Thames.

Another watery shot, remarkable at least for your reporter being around at this time of day. This is the Thames, taken from the corner of Oil Mill Lane and Lord Napier Place in Hammersmith. It's just before seven, and before the clocks went forward. It's still London Winter Time. I love the sense of anticipation; soon those benches will fill up with resting joggers, that bin will fill up with discarded sweetie wrappers and the yacht club look-out will fill up with earnest and super-fit sailing types, barking instructions at their charges out on the river. I make no apologies for the rough and ready nature of the shot: it's Mr Nokia's camera and he does what he can.

Chapman Spool

In Dorset with Fibonacci The Younger, two weeks ago. A view across Chapman's Pool. Getting to it is less easy than some other beaches, but worth it. Hardly any people, even on a day as glorious as the one coming to its close in the photograph. Just us and two other families; it felt like we had the place to ourselves. Couldn't find Colin Chapman's headstone anywhere; or a fraying Lotus Elite in a boat shed. The light was never less than fabulous. It really did turn to pewter as we walked back up the path. A swallow caught a moth four feet from my nose.

Later, at The Square and Compass, we had a pint, a pie and a Coca-Cola. In upended glasses, and with all his new best mates, Fibonacci Minor trapped dozy wasps. A girl turned up with a ferret peeping out of her blouse. She went inside to play in the band. Don't know what happened to the ferret.