Maybe it could inspire a scratch build …
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Well, the MGB I had back in around 1976 was nothing like that. It was red, and that was about it; I poured more oil into it than petrol, it leaked, smelt like an old training shoe, and went like the wind. With the top down, and the wind in my hair (I had some then) I thought I was the coolest young Corporal in the whole of Divisional HQ!
I recall it had an ancient valve operated radio which functioned intermittently; it had an alarming habit of coming to life around a mile down the road. Mind you, there was nothing but bloody Abba on the airwaves – constantly.
Of course, the intention was to attract young women, but all I seemed to garner were those unhorsed members of my peer group who wanted a lift somewhere. We did spend several illusory hours on the beach at Bournemouth, often overnighting; we’d ram a crate of Carlsberg (the ghastly tasting UK-brewed stuff, not the excellent Danish original) and some sleeping bags into the boot, and off we went – around 4 of crammed in. 24 hours of unrequited ogling at the girls on the beach, followed by a pointless gate-crashing of their respective barbecues, and then just killed the pain with alcohol; there simply wasn’t anything else to do. We managed to sort of kid ourselves that we were happy.
Back then we were all too readily identified as soldiers; long hair was the fashion for any self-regarding young male and we all sported military haircuts. Our flared jeans, platform shoes and cheese-cloth shirts counted for nothing. We impressed nobody, certainly not the girls.
Come the post-mortem on a Monday morning amongst the other members of the clerical component in Div HQ we waxed lyrical about non-existent conquests, naturally. Why let the truth get in the way of a good story?
We did spend some time in enjoying that particular year – as the UK endured a heat wave of some magnitude. The nearby ancient monument of Stonehenge – back then, unfenced with free access for all – attracted hundreds if not thousands of the hippy community, the female component of which paraded and cavorted amongst the primeval stonework bare-breasted. In the interests of equipment recognition we drove, at some speed, out to the monument and feasted our 20-year-old eyes, all to no avail of course.
As a monument to relationship failure, my old MGB took some beating. I sold it the following year and bought a Mini van.
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The widened MGB managed to inspire one lyrical ode to a glorious youth at least
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My 67 was not of the same cloth as this one, however, any MG is fun to drive.
Like Greg, I owned a brand new 1967 Red with Black interior MGB that became the love of my life. I truly loved that car. By year 2 of our relationship, she had a modified suspension for time trials at Bridgehampton, a somewhat hotter Cam, ported and polished head, Abarth exhaust, air cleaners removed for the track with Aluminum velocity stacks bolted on, low restrictive ones for the street, but still those super heavy wire wheels. The windshield was always removed for track days. Still, my B had excessive body roll in the high speed corners but sounded great through Echo Valley. I did manage to win more then my fair share of trophies.
Now that insane super custom 530 hp MGB is mind blowing for sure. Living on Long Island, NY I can’t even imagine what the insurance would cost .
joel
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