Style.

I was  on my way to capture a planned WidWed blip on the theme of “shape” when I spotted this. Plans followed the baby’s rattle and, assuming that the usher was preparing to ush the congregation out for the obligatory photographs, I grabbed my picture as quickly as I could, swapped a few words with my longstanding friend, who was soon to do some ushing, about the merits and idiosyncrasies of the old (1989) “tin snail” and beat a hasty retreat to avoid becoming caught up in family proceedings.
 
The legend is that the original design spec of the 2CV was that it should be able to transport four adult men, wearing top hats, across a ploughed field while one of them carried a tray of eggs, and also be able to maintain a top speed of 100 kph on a straight, smooth road. There  is also the legend that the car finally went out of production when one of the fitters retired taking his size 12 boots with him; his boots, and the skills to apply them, being crucial to the fitting of various body panels.
 
It is fact that it gave a very comfortable ride and its spark plugs were wired in series while the suspension units were interlinked to try and reduce the roll on bends caused by its narrow wheelbase; it still managed to roll alarmingly to the uninitiated. It was the only car that I have ever been able to service myself; you slid the bonnet off, removed the side panels by taking out a handful of screws and removed the front wheels to obtain full access to the engine.
 
The car had its fans (it still does), it was a certain class of person; when we acquired ours, there was a fashion for adorning the windscreen with an anti-nuclear sticker just above the road fund licence disc; when a relation who worked in the nuclear power industry visited I made up a card bearing the message, “Anti-nuclear sticker in the post.” Unfortunately he doesn’t have a sense of humour, but his children managed to force a snigger.
 
p.s. I do like the shape of the car.