Whatever your opinion of dragsters, the 1st British International Drag Festival, sponsored by The People, has provided something entirely new and very spectacular. The opening rounds are covered elsewhere in this issue and the subsequent meetings will be reported next month. Meanwhile, you have had an opportunity to see the asphalt eaters clutch off to lay a batch, perhaps to a wheel stand start. You will have seen blown gassers consuming alky or other fuelies, including putting juice through the jug. There may be Chizzlers with bang shift hydros, dagoed flathead Deuces and other haulin’ Henrys, even some rail-jobs, perhaps Stove-bolt powered. You should have thrilled at the sight of pilots in gourd guards coping with big rumpers as they pop the clutch, the slugs oscillate and the skins spin, in a do or unglue attempt to become top eliminator before throwing out the anchors and chute.

The Finals take place at Blackbushe on October 4th. Me? In spite of having mastered the vocabulary, I’m a nurd. On that day I expect to be in some remote area of dim, damp, far-away Wales, watching vintage cars in the Prestigne rally…—W. B.

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Someone has been collecting Rolls-Royce hearsse. The Guardian reports him as having 40, ranging from 1922 to 1930, in one of which he took a reliable tour of Italy. He intended to convert them to “sports or estate cars,” apparently hasn’t time, and has had to rent a barn in which to store them. Can’t you see a rush on the part of the used Rolls vendors to secure such lucrative derelicts?