Mark Hedges, Editor
My first car was a Mini. Its brown colour made it look like a mobile cowpat, but it hid the rust as best it could. It was a gift from a maiden aunt, who pottered around Oxfordshire in it. She wasn’t one for modish things such as a radio, so my six-hour journeys to Durham University were spent staring at the mile counter waiting for round numbers or parts of the Fibonacci sequence to appear. I used to go everywhere in it with my border terrier and to horse events (and the pub) with my great friend, Rachel. The car had some magic —40 years later, Rachel became my wife.
Levison Wood, explorer, writer and photographer
Ah, my first car—a trusty old silver Audi A4 1.9 TDi, the quintessential ride for young officers in the British Army in about 2005. At 23, I finally felt like a grown-up after years of globetrotting and zipping around Stoke in my mum’s Fiat Punto. The Audi was a charming beast, complete with torn leather seats, questionable radio reception and an unparalleled ability to guzzle diesel. I cherished those two years, navigating the back roads of Camberley and Essex with a mix of pride and mild embarrassment. Alas, she met her fate in the Colchester Parachute Regiment car park, abandoned when I deployed to Afghanistan. A bittersweet farewell to my warrior’s chariot.
Paula Lester, Managing and Features Editor
This story is from the September 03, 2024 edition of Country Life UK.
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This story is from the September 03, 2024 edition of Country Life UK.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
Save our family farms
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