Yesterday I ventured South of the M42 to pick my wife up from Wimbledon, only to discover that they have this strange stuff called traffic and an apparent shortage of Land Rovers. Down in the Chilterns, surrounded by red kites, (Yes,the things people off roading in Wales look out for! These have been released from Spain and I'll bet no on asked them for photo ID) there are plenty of Land Rovers.
In London I only saw two, an '88 driven by a black guy who drove round an island twice to wave and a 101 shoe horned on to a tiny drive near Wimbledon(This was probably one of Martyn's lot as it had stickers on it, but I was too busy trying to avoid the manic London drivers to read it.
Look out for my forthcoming article in Land Rover World on the first solo crossing of Southall High St. by 110, ninety minutes for about 2 miles, in fact I almost got out at one point to get new number plates from the little local car spare place I was stuck outside for 30 minutes. In Wimbledon itself, most of the population seemed to be Australian, which was fine, as at least they knew what a defender was, although I did get asked a few times why the roof tent was on the bonnet and whouldn't it be better on the roof rack instead of the canoe!
Anyway, I'm back in the civilised surroundings of Cannock, or Craddock, as it seems to be marked on some specialist Land Rover maps, and about to sally forth again to continue the number plate saga, there must be somewhere round here which is not staffed entirely by pre-pubescent idiots.
Cheers, John