A short while later I learned there was a car meeting at Knebworth, at the end of '96, so the wife, Jackie, and I dropped in late in the day. It turned out this was a Motorvatin' USA meeting (who they?), and it was wet. Oh boy, was it wet. I was a bit miffed, after paying five squids, to see everything was just about over. There was this soggy field, a tent, a few stalls and just a few cars left. 'OK, soddit, let's go home'. But wait, what was that real neat, pearl white motor peeking out from behind the tent? Nice gull wings...nice twin headlights...a bit closer and spirits rose...closer still and I was sprinting. Sod the wet stuff, it was a '58!! 'Quick, get the camera, love!' I must have posed for about a dozen shots when a slightly concerned looking guy in a baseball hat appeared. Turned out he was the owner, probably thought I wanted to steal it (you were dead right, Simon!). So, back in the tent there was this real helpful lass in cowboy boots with a name which would have been just right for a Corvette, if I'd know what that was, who seemed to be running things. But why wasn't she a bloke in greasy overalls carrying spanners? Surely that's the type of person who runs a car club? I didn't need to think it over, I joined on the spot.

It turned out the Impala wasn't for sale, then it was, then it wasn't again. And just when I had the cash - you know the feeling, sometimes you have it and there's no car, sometimes it's the other way round. But suddenly I found I had some new friends, people who would take time to help me find a '58. There were highs and lows over the next year or so, a possible came up in the glorious name of a guy called 'Disco Dave' with a really neat blue '58 but it turned out he'd sold it to someone in Belgium. Finally, in Spring 1999 a green '58 was advertised in the Motorvatin' magazine as part of a tender sale of half a dozen cars up in Halifax - maybe you saw the advert? So I drove up to see it, toute suite, and it was a real beauty, turquoise green with rear wheel skirts and continental kit. This was a real car, it looked like a car should and it even smelt like a car should. I didn't know the car was so original - spinners, cross-ply tyres (tires?), tricolor upholstery, etc - I just knew it looked great. Cash being in good supply, I put in a decent bid in a flurry of faxes, but came second. And second doesn't get you the car. I had written it off with a heavy sigh when, a few months later, destiny beckoned again and it came back on the market. But, dammit, it was another one of those 'cash not in good supply' times and I nearly bombed out again, when Top Missus came to the rescue with a hearty 'Hi-ho Silver' (the Lone Arranger?), sold her windfall shares and gave me an early Xmas present, commenting: "enjoy it for a couple of years then sell it on". I let that one go for a few weeks before breaking the news 'a Chevy's for life, dear, not just for Christmas! Some swift e-mails to our friends in the North were followed by a swifter cheque and an even swifter me, off to darkest Halifax riding shotgun for Mike the mechanic in his embarrassingly-too-short transporter. The journey, and the people I met on the day, are a story in themselves. Suffice to say we got back in one piece with photos and a camcorder record for posterity (anybody want to see a grown man kissing a car?). Somewhere on the way back I started to ponder just how I'd bought a car I hadn't even been able to test drive (it was gridlocked in a garage with a flat battery and a blown silencer). But I guess it didn't matter any more since I hadn't the faintest idea how to drive a classic American car anyway! And, ohmygawd, it was looking a lot bigger on the transporter swaying along behind us on the A1. But what the Hell, I was a '58 Chevy Impala owner! It was mine, all mine!

Back home, 'The Chevy' needed a name, suggestions abounded from friends and family, someone even suggested 'Vlad' (think about it!). My own thoughts were some obvious Buddy Holly links - Peggy Sue, Cindy Lou, Buddy and Miss American Pie were hot favourites when I had a small cheque from my two daughters (I made them buy a wing mirror each) with a note saying, "Dad, here's our contribution to the Mean, Green Posing Machine, luv Emma & Kate". And so, a legend was born (well, maybe not a legend, but a decently cool name), and 'Mean Green' has stuck ever since. And my own Dad liked the continental kit so much, he bought it for me (cheers Dad, the kit stays!). First time out, after some work for the MOT, was late November '99. Words fail just how good it felt, then we were on that three lane blacktop they call the M11 and 'OK, let's kick rubber and burn ass!' (gimmie a break, I said I was learning!). Talking of which, I'm still grappling with such imponderables as 'What's a Mopar and where's it's muscles? And why are decals pronounced like freckles? And why is it Show & Shine instead of Shine & Show?'

So, here we are some ten months on in the first Summer of the new Millennium, with more rain than we need, and looking forward to the first hosepipe ban. But, coming full circle, at least the Rally of the Giants at Knebworth in July was dry and sunny and a great day out, even without Buddy Holly playing. It was the first show for me and Mean Green but it won't be the last. So if you see us, come on over and say 'hello', and maybe you can tell me where a Mopar keeps it's muscles. So, back to that song...maybe an Arabic version would work? So bye bye Miss American Pie, drove ma Caddy to the wadi but the . . . Hmm, still needs some work.

(With apologies to Don McClean. And how many Buddy Holly titles did you spot?)