Thank you to the anonymous correspondent who sent me this:
‘Self Portrait. By Garry Miley’
To hell with the planning stuff for a minute. This is absolutely true.
A recently retired New Yorker wanted to use his retirement funds wisely, so he decided to buy a home and a few acres in Portugal.
The modest farmhouse he settled on had been vacant for 15 years; the couple who previously owned it had died. There were no heirs. The estate was being sold to pay back taxes. Several people had previously come to have a look but were put off by a big ugly barn...
... which sat on the property and which had had its steel doors welded shut. No one wanted to go to the extra expense of opening up the barn to see what was inside so, until our New Yorker came along, there had been no offiers.
The New Yorker took a flyer and bought the property as it stood, paying just over half of the asking price. Shortly after the deal was done the new owner got some local lads with angle grinders to open up the barn.
What did they find inside?
A $35 Million collection of vintage and classic cars to which they were found to have full title!
... Formula racers and Chyslers...
... and a Porsche 356!
I always presume that Dispatch readers like to consider themselves Cool Moms and Dads who, despite signs of wear and tear, embarrass their kids in front of their friends by knowing too much about, say, Queens of The Stone Age, right? I guess I have this impression because I know, for example, that Tom Byrne after having inappropriately body surfed to the Zutons at Oxegen a few weeks ago had to be helped to a comfortable bed at a nearby relative's house by his teenage sons for a lie down. And also that each time Mike Maher hears an Allison Goldfrapp tune (like, for example in that bar in Cardiff (after which, because he had no accommodation, he crashed out on the hotel bedroom floor of some Toulouse fans before hitching his way back to Pembroke (hiding in the boot of an Opel Astra en route in an effort to get on the ferry without a ticket AND THEN GOT CAUGHT BY THE COPS!))) he ends up having key hole surgery on his knee.
(What I lose in fabrication of the Tom Byrne story, I make up for in understatement of the Mike Maher story. Believe me, its all true.)
Anyway, as soon as it stops raining, I’m going to drop the roof on the Eos and cruise around east Clare listening to this. Don’t try telling me it isn’t cool – she kicks bottom. And, besides, they’re in the desert:
There’s a ghost in me
wants to say I’m sorry.
Doesn’t mean I’m sorry.
Let's all have a BRILLIANT weekend!