Going clubbing

I BEGIN this week with a confession; I’ve joined a car owners’ club.

It’s not the sort of thing you tell The Champion’s 108,774 readers lightly, because it often seems in 2009 the only thing you’re allowed to be an enthusiast of is football, mobile phones and a spot of light fighting. Admitting to being such a car nut that you’ve actually joined a band of fellow fans is no easy thing.

Part of the problem, I reckon, are the people who join them. I say this as a car person myself, but far too many clubs are filled with people who have far too much time for carburettors and not enough for getting out more.

The problem is that I’ve been brought up with Trainspotting rather than train spotting, so even though I still get slightly giddy whenever a TVR roars up Lord Street, the idea of talking about its cylinder heads for hours on end in a country pub just doesn’t come naturally.

There’s also the trouble of owners feeling they have to play up to whatever image their car projects; Capri owners going all Bodie and Doyle on you, that sort of thing. Naturally, you’d expect any Mini club to just be full of people who’ve seen The Italian Job too many times.

Yet the club I’ve just joined isn’t too bad. Yes, most of the owners do turn up to country pubs in Minis, but the conversation actually covers things that belong at the bar, not the garage.

I also don’t have to make the unmistakable sound of someone pretending to be interested, which I usually have to when I’m forced to watch a football match. I’m sure the FA Cup makes for hours of interesting conversation, but you can’t blast it down a country lane on a sunny evening.

I’ve been to some unbelievably boring car clubs before but having found one with a sense of fun, I’ve realised it’s not the car, it’s the people.
A convert to car clubs? Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.