I’ve never considered myself to be into cars. They’re just things to get you from A to B, when public transport won’t do the job.
Jacques came for dinner recently and changed all that with one word.
Jacques owns a Morgan.
I’ve always wanted a Morgan. I know I’ll never have one, I know that even if by some miracle I got one, I probably wouldn’t even use it that much. But that doesn’t stop me wanting one.
There are some things like that, some objects that you want to own, not so much because of what they are, but more about what they mean. To me, Morgans represent craftsmanship. I have a romantic ideal that workers at the Morgan factory are happy with their lot. After all, they get to make cars out of wood. I imagine them smoothing and polishing the sub frame, the air heady with the scent of Ash wood shavings. In my reality there would be a powerful extraction system so the they wouldn’t have to breathe in the particles and damage their lungs. Better still, they’d be outside, in a forest with dappled sunshine and birdsong. The video on their website isn’t too far from my reality, so perhaps I’ve just bought into the advertising hype.
I imagine driving a Morgan in twisting country roads, narrow lanes with hedgerows, or open countryside. Never in the city. The Morgan isn’t a city car. But out in the countryside on a bright but cloudy day, that would be my ideal.
I have no way of knowing whether the Morgan lives up to all the hype. But I can tell you that when Jacques was asked how he was getting on with his Morgan, his eyes lit up and he smiled all over his face.