A luxury roll through time
I’m now reading recurring stories about Rolls-Royce “on the move”.
OK, but back when family silverware was mostly from the vending machine, I actually shared my excitement on day one of owning one Rolls-Royces. On day 10 – in the Coney Island Times, that was all I could get to write about at the time – I reported on the entire experience.
The car my husband bought? It quickly lay dead. A puff, a cough – and straight into the Rolls-Royce sky. Second best day? It stopped on a six-lane freeway, and Fords, Chevrolets, Volkswagens raced yelling, “Get a horse.”
Our salesman, so British that King Charles sounds southern next to him, said, “Merely a minor adjust, Moddom.” A month later, my husband climbed back in. Ignition off, nobody around and the rear window moved by itself. Both direction signals worked simultaneously. And the makeup mirror light on the right side of the rear illuminated the mahogany desk on the left.
Also, the air conditioner blew up the heating unit in January. “Minor adjustment, moddom,” leaked his vendor, whose HQ probably still has my Coney Island Times review hidden somewhere in his vault.
Car had 99 probs, I wasn’t one
Straight ahead on a country lane, late at night, no other car around, this Silver Shadow Triumph was doing up to 5 miles per gallon. In city traffic that fell off a bit. “You don’t buy a Rolls for thrift,” grumbled the salesman, looking at us as if to say, “If the pound hadn’t been devalued, we wouldn’t even be doing business with your peers.”
High Noon, on the 57th and Madison, that white dream car – JA4 license plate – had a crowd around. Photos were taken of it. The hood was up. Smoke rose from the engine. I got on the first thing that moved – a bus going into town – and my destination was downtown.
Next up is a brake pad problem and a post-heating situation. The radio also went off, the rear license plate holder fell off, the trunk locked – and the car stopped. IN THE TRAFFIC. But so chic that even when it couldn’t move, we, the owners, proudly came leaning against it to hail a cab.
They say the only thing that makes noise in a Rolls is the clock. Yes. Unless you count the owner who cries.
We hadn’t realized that ours was possibly one of the earliest Silver Shadow designs and might even have been a used store model. However. To tell you the truth, the thrill of owning even an asthmatic Rolls dies hard.
A HIGHLIGHT of Judge Judy’s devastating British press row In case you missed it:
“Prince Harry writes William “scared” by Meghan’s first hug. Biting the hand that fed him, he’s a selfish, spoiled, ungrateful, insincere grandchild. I would be angry and hurt if my child or grandchild did the same to me.”
The divorced Me-Me-Meghan has left her father, lashed out at her former best friend, fought with everyone else, just trying to make money and become famous, and will end up dumping body fluids on Prince Empty like his entire birthplace.
His name is everywhere except on toilet paper. Salt. . . Let us . . just. . . Wait.
Meghan’s piggy bank will soon learn that money can’t buy happiness. What it brings you is a richer class of estranged kin.
UK only, kids, UK only.