Prescott hill climb, Gloucestershire -this weekend

What a difference a day makes. Brock & his good lady Lesley spent yesterday sat on the grass, eating ice creams & watching the racing in the sunshine.
You must go, he said. You'll love it.
So by 7.0.clock this morning I'd filled the truck with fuel & was on my way to the Vintage Sports Car Club's meet at Prescott. A pleasant drive in warm sunshine, from Hampshire, through Berkshire & Wiltshire to deepest Gloucestershire. With directions scribbled on an envelope taped to the dashboard of the Pop, I weaved my way through the lanes to Prescott Hill, between Gotherington & Gretton, near Cheltenham.
The black clouds had been quietly rolling in over the horizon for the last few miles & sure enough, the rain started literally as I stepped out of the cab & went from moist to soggy to torrential in the time it took me to walk from the truck to the entry gate. Strangely it didn't ruin the event though, but kinda added to it. The malevolently black skies & heavy atmosphere blended perfectly with the smell of hot Castrol R racing oil & smoke. I suspect it's actually created specially for the meet -having poured with rain non stop all morning, as the tannoy announced an hour's break for lunch, the clouds parted & the sun came out, just as the picnic hampers & wine were being unloaded from the backs of dozens of tourers. Those who chose to stay by the track, rather than adjourning to the paddock, were serenaded by a New Orleans style jazz band. Lunch over, the racing resumed & as the first car fired up, the rain started again. Rain doesn't stop play in this game though, the chaps simply wipe their goggles, adopt a determined expression & carry on. A truly British experience.
25 quid for the day seemed excessively expensive yesterday, but having spent the day wandering the pits, up & down the hill, the fire up lane, the sea of vintage motors in the members' carpark, & just breathing in the sights & sounds & smells of millions of pounds worth of beautiful museum worthy machines being mercilessly thrashed up the straight, around the hairpins & through the woods, it was worth every penny.
To quote my big bruv, Brock:
It's a fun and slightly strange day out. Mrs Brock couldn't believe some of the "cars" had been scrutineered to run. Barking mad at it's best. I also like the VSCC's original club ethos, "to allow the less well off to enjoy motoring" -something got lost somewhere along the way. On the top terrace of the pits yesterday was a line of nine 4 1/2 litre Bentley tourers with three blower cars amongst them and behind the track entrance a small paddock with maybe ten Bugatti's casually abandoned with half eaten sandwiches on the bonnet or wine bottles laying across the seat. Brilliant and the best part of three mil' sat on the grass. I missed a great photo while we were walking away- there were two young girls and a lad, all young teens, pushing "their" driver into position to join the track. The boy driving looked to be about ten, another type 35. Nothing says money and privilege more than a bunch of kids with a £300,000 toy.
There were classes & trophies for all manner of madness- cars under 1 litre, cars over 5 litres, cars over 100 years old. Not sure if there was a separate class for wimminfolk, but there seemed to be a lot of lady people driving -& driving hard. From the charming young University type in the Alvis to the genteel country lady in her 70s in a beat up big black Vauxhall tourer, they raced as hard as any chap, sliding sideways round the hairpins, wrestling with truck sized steering wheels as they reached out over the side of the bodywork to change gear. Splendid stuff. At least half the marshals organising the racing were women too.
As usual at race meets I go to, I've no idea who won what. I just love the atmosphere & enjoyed every minute of it today.
Yes, it's expensive, but go -you'll love it.