I recently inherited my dad’s 1926 Ford Model T. And while I could write millions of words about the Model T in general, and this one in particular, I promise I won’t. With a 45mph top speed, the most arcane controls and more idiosyncrasies than BoJo, it’s not really what I suspect most people come to Ti for. But my dad’s old T, number 14,999,355 of the 15 million built, has reminded me of something that’s true for all used cars, be they five years old or almost a hundred.
And that is: all cars come with a story. Okay, not the boring new ones with zero miles on their clocks, sitting all shiny and coy on dealer forecourts. No, I mean all cars that have already had a life, owners, and have seen the seasons and the miles pass under their tyres.
Now, this is even more true in the land of my birth. Ireland is known for many things – saints, scholars, U2, alcohol and bar fights, for example. But to me the biggest trait that we Irish have is our love of storytelling. The whole ‘gift of the gab’ thing is no mere national stereotype – the Irish swap stories (or jokes, which are just funny stories) like people in other countries swap weather warnings or financial tips. We just can’t help ourselves.
