Balls to Monty.

Withnail's Uncle Monty died today. It was a film that I first saw about 20 years ago and then watched repeatedly in the years since. In many ways it defined an era for me and mine. We became so familiar with it that we could recite the script to each other, switching between the parts at leisure.

I also parted company with the MG today. Bought on a whim, it rattled along with a charm that (and I want to avoid being sentimental here) you don't find in modern cars and had a knack of making me feel like a small boy in an open top sports car. It wasn't all rosy though, it leaked rain onto the seat turning it into a sponge (an icy sponge during winter) and I always felt that a wheel might fall off given the poor build quality. To use a funfair ride analogy, it was akin to The Wild Mouse roller coaster: small, rickety, heart-in-you-mouth stuff, but all the better for it. And a final point, when modern ragtops specify that they can 'open up' in less than 10 seconds, the MG could do it in about 3!