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Oh I hear you brothers and sisters. I'm certainly not blind to their, let's say, shortcomings. As you drive them along you can certainly appreciate that they are basically unchanged from that rushed and cash strapped design when the country was on the bones of its arse just after giving old Hitler a good boshing.
But.... There is something about them. Firstly, my experience isn't sullied by having to use one back I the day as a job, a tool or workhorse. I have vague memories of bouncing around in the back of an old series back in the 70's as a small child. Therefore my memories are associated with fun.
Yes, they are agricultural, the suspension keeps my osteopath wealthy, the engine has as much gusto as a Mediterranean country's economy, the transmission whines more than a sacked girl band member, and it leaks more than Aunt Mables knickers, but so does every venerated British sportscar ever made. And we love them don't we? A big Healy is just a Land Rover that gets stuck in fields.
Thing is, those British sportscars are puffs. They don't like anything other than a bimble to a pub in the cotswolds on a Sunday. They just like to look good and that's all they manage to do. A Landy on the other hand will do just about anything you ask of it. It's like a character in a Ted Hughes Poem. Despite being waist deep in snow and ice, it will take your kids to school. It will take a winters worth of fire wood in one go, it enables you to go to the local Pony Club meets without out looking like a new money twat. It can be fixed with bailer twine and twigs. It will run and run despite the fact it's not seen fresh oil in a decade. You can get away with washing once a year and you don't have to fret about stone chips, scratches or car park dings. They are probably one of the greatest cars ever made. And they are British. Like Concorde, the computer, the Industrial Revolution, the Mallard, the Forth Bridge, Grensons and Yorkshire Puddings, they are British icons that everyone can be rightly proud of.
I've got fancy sportscars. I've had luxury. I've had leather seats. Sat nav. Power steering. Blah blah. It's all good. But I can appreciate the rustic charms of a fusty old Land Rover too. Every journey is an adventure. You can peer over hedgerows and marvel at how pretty this country is because you are travelling slow enough to take it all in. Try that in your low slung E Type and you'll be Mike Hawthorn in a flash.
If i have failed to convince you so far, may i offer you their greatest attribute?
Despite being sat just inches away, at anything above 30mph I can no longer hear my wife. That my friends, is reason enough to love a Landy. Heavenly peace.
Long live the Land Pig.
But.... There is something about them. Firstly, my experience isn't sullied by having to use one back I the day as a job, a tool or workhorse. I have vague memories of bouncing around in the back of an old series back in the 70's as a small child. Therefore my memories are associated with fun.
Yes, they are agricultural, the suspension keeps my osteopath wealthy, the engine has as much gusto as a Mediterranean country's economy, the transmission whines more than a sacked girl band member, and it leaks more than Aunt Mables knickers, but so does every venerated British sportscar ever made. And we love them don't we? A big Healy is just a Land Rover that gets stuck in fields.
Thing is, those British sportscars are puffs. They don't like anything other than a bimble to a pub in the cotswolds on a Sunday. They just like to look good and that's all they manage to do. A Landy on the other hand will do just about anything you ask of it. It's like a character in a Ted Hughes Poem. Despite being waist deep in snow and ice, it will take your kids to school. It will take a winters worth of fire wood in one go, it enables you to go to the local Pony Club meets without out looking like a new money twat. It can be fixed with bailer twine and twigs. It will run and run despite the fact it's not seen fresh oil in a decade. You can get away with washing once a year and you don't have to fret about stone chips, scratches or car park dings. They are probably one of the greatest cars ever made. And they are British. Like Concorde, the computer, the Industrial Revolution, the Mallard, the Forth Bridge, Grensons and Yorkshire Puddings, they are British icons that everyone can be rightly proud of.
I've got fancy sportscars. I've had luxury. I've had leather seats. Sat nav. Power steering. Blah blah. It's all good. But I can appreciate the rustic charms of a fusty old Land Rover too. Every journey is an adventure. You can peer over hedgerows and marvel at how pretty this country is because you are travelling slow enough to take it all in. Try that in your low slung E Type and you'll be Mike Hawthorn in a flash.
If i have failed to convince you so far, may i offer you their greatest attribute?
Despite being sat just inches away, at anything above 30mph I can no longer hear my wife. That my friends, is reason enough to love a Landy. Heavenly peace.
Long live the Land Pig.
Amen to that
I can't do the poetic stuff but for us (well KK), it's about the challenge of actually getting the thing there, it's about having something that you can fix with a can of WD40 and a large hammer, the transmission talks to you as you drive.
Plus dear old Tinkerbell towed something like 5 cars, 4 caravans a campervan and an AA van at a very muddy Silverstone Marshals GP campsite last year - lets see yer bloody modern car do that....
Proof indeed (if you needed it) that Old Girls can pull
