SOME people are defined by their cars.
In the 1950s, our village GP drove around in an avocado green Allard.
This amazing motor had a bonnet like an anteater’s snout.
My school pals and I thought it the most exotic machine we’d ever seen.
Doc was supercool - because of his car.
I’ve known others over the years whose cars have reflected their characters.
There was an irascible old chap who owned an ancient Armstrong-Siddeley with a whining flywheel. You could hear him coming from a mile away.
There was a stately lady in a black Lanchester, and a sporting gent in a neat little blue Riley. The local squire’s missus drove a Daimler with while leather upholstery. It was like a mobile sitting room.
Allow me to introduce you to Gilbert Rigby in His Golden Sunbeam Talbot Convertible, a picture inspired by a chap I knew who owned such a car.
Here he is in traffic, surrounded by the general chaos of the urban scene.
The point of the image is to remind us how such characters stand out from the dreary commonplaces of modern life.
The world would be a duller place without them.