Dave McQuilling
I grew up during a bit of a motoring golden age. Top Gear was the best thing on TV, Colin McRae was ripping up rally stages worldwide, Schumacher was at his peak, the Bugatti Veyron wasn’t quite defying physics but it may as well have been — and despite that, the McLaren F1 was still the coolest thing on Earth. So with all of that going on, it’s hard not to like motoring. Unfortunately, I’m fairly talentless so I was never going to become a racing driver. I was also broke, but nothing quite teaches you about cars like providing life support for a total junk heap or two. Said junk heaps include a battered Vauxhall Corsa, an Audi A6 with a busted CCM (the passenger footwell flooded, and took both the electric windows and central lock-in with it), and the world’s pluckiest 2001 Ford Taurus. Professionally, I spent most of my career in news journalism before finally drifting into automotive and tech a few years ago. I’m now quite content with my day job, but still unable to nab the pristine Jaguar E-type of my dreams. Because why would I dream about something reliable?
