Là elle est
October 3rd 2007 12:57
Regardless of where on this planet you live, If, like me, you have to commute to the daily grind by car, the battlefield that is the mornings drive worsens with every passing day. The roads are becoming more clogged; the level of of driver skill displayed on some days makes you either question their lineage or their state of awakeness.
The endless procession of bland mechanised boxes that surround you, are pumped out by automotive sausages factories the world over; regardless of whether they are Salami, Bratwurst or Pork flavoured, it is sad to say that they do little to raise the level of inspiration.
But wait, through the fray rides the automotive equivalent of Joan of Arc. a shape that can only hail from France. All hail the Citroen SM!
Nearly every day it passes me, its form resplendent in a colour which Jaguar used to call "Tobacco leaf", a shade of mud brown so entrenched in the 1970's that you expect a man with a two foot wide paisley tie and sideburns to be driving it. But non! The woman behind the wheel more resembles Catherine Deneuve rather Kylie Minogue. Her long hair is held back under a headband and sporting large white sunglasses she is a refugee from Monte Carlo or Kinightsbridge rather than suburban Brisbane. Rounding a corner as she approaches, she centres the steering wheel as I watch the swivelling headlights return to the straight ahead position under their glass covers. Like the DS before it the SM exudes Gallic charm from every panel gap and all this from a vehicle that ceased production in 1975.
She drives this thing with verve, its rounded rump squatting as she accelerates away, the nose rising under power from the V6, it bobs slightly as she changes gears, up the hill to vanish from my rear view mirror.
It is over for today, perhaps tomorrow? Au revoir!
The endless procession of bland mechanised boxes that surround you, are pumped out by automotive sausages factories the world over; regardless of whether they are Salami, Bratwurst or Pork flavoured, it is sad to say that they do little to raise the level of inspiration.
But wait, through the fray rides the automotive equivalent of Joan of Arc. a shape that can only hail from France. All hail the Citroen SM!
Nearly every day it passes me, its form resplendent in a colour which Jaguar used to call "Tobacco leaf", a shade of mud brown so entrenched in the 1970's that you expect a man with a two foot wide paisley tie and sideburns to be driving it. But non! The woman behind the wheel more resembles Catherine Deneuve rather Kylie Minogue. Her long hair is held back under a headband and sporting large white sunglasses she is a refugee from Monte Carlo or Kinightsbridge rather than suburban Brisbane. Rounding a corner as she approaches, she centres the steering wheel as I watch the swivelling headlights return to the straight ahead position under their glass covers. Like the DS before it the SM exudes Gallic charm from every panel gap and all this from a vehicle that ceased production in 1975.
She drives this thing with verve, its rounded rump squatting as she accelerates away, the nose rising under power from the V6, it bobs slightly as she changes gears, up the hill to vanish from my rear view mirror.
It is over for today, perhaps tomorrow? Au revoir!
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