My Story?
What really?
You ask what has changed my environment the most?
Ok, here goes
Looking back there has only ever really been one constant fact
From the age of 5 months
Classic cars have held my heart.
How do I know?
Ask my mother if you dare
When others read Shoot or the Beano
I reread faded copies of Classic cars,
Until the images became the very things I dreamed about,
As I grew up other passions came along
Motorcycles rather than girls
Even so I sought out the older bikes
Arial, Douglas, BSA, all come to mind
Echoes from a time long since gone
But in the end classic cars returned to haunt my thoughts
The joy of chasing down some old obscure car that I adored
Meeting the people that you do
As you drive some faded memory of their youth
Showing that they too can have a dream and follow it though
The cost, often high,
Social life?
Not much chance passed a burger in a cafe,
Another blast down an empty highway
Escaping from the darkest part of the night
With the sound of the engine
The flash of the head light
Followed by a quick curse
Breakdown stopping the flow
Another explanation needed
Turning up late is not so great
Do I regret the cost?
Not single penny or thought
But in the dead of the night
The not so empty road, whispers
Haunting my dreams
Invading my thoughts
Calling for one more blast
But at what cost?
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