I feel a little nostalgic. I suppose with the big four-zero closing in rapidly one would suddenly feel that life has just passed by in an instant. Just fifteen years ago I was at the prime of my life, just starting out my career in. Just twenty two or so years ago I sat for my SPM or MCE for those older than I. It is of this period in my life that I believe is pretty interesting on several levels.
But then again, I have always had a pretty interesting teenage and very interesting twenty something life. It is indeed a blessing and a whole dose of luck that I am still, relatively speaking, in one piece. Aside from a weak left knee, some broken bones and a nice scar on my forehead I am glad to report I managed to survive my school and college days. In fact, I should be extremely thankful. Which I am.
Now one incredibly interesting story that had happened in my past was the fact that I happened to end up at the St. John's Institution, Kuala Lumpur in 1988 and was to sit for the SPM the following year. So at SJI I was put into the last class as it was the only one that offered arts as a subject. I couldn't count properly at that time so I basically hated accounting. Nothing balanced and before I ruined my SPM I had decided to take arts as a subject. And being in the last class this meant that we were the black sheep of the whole school. It also meant that it was a bloody fun place to be when you are 17.
It was so much fun that almost all the teachers hated being there as no one wanted to study, except of a few of course. Of course, teachers those days were really teachers. These were teachers that were totally English educated and actually upheld certain standards. But there were those teachers who were real characters of their own and there is this one teacher that I will never forget to this day. This teacher is of Indian descent and looked like a real bruiser. A burly chap of about five-foot-nine with a beer belly. The beer belly must have actually come from those after school drinking sessions with some of his regulars at the Colleseum bar which is just a short walk down the stairs beside the AIA building and onwards towards Jalan T.A.R.
This burly teacher must have been at least fifty in '89. He should be in his seventies if he is still around. He taught us science and basically ran through the syllabus whether we wanted to listen or not. Of course he'll lose his patience with the motley crew occasionally. This one time he lost it is the story I am willing to share. Five minutes into his science class he basically decided that we weren't paying attention. He then started his lecture that basically stated that we had 'no future'. He kept on repeating the word 'no future' and he was gesturing at all of us, waving his hands and telling us that we were on a road to hell. And after that he left.
But actually the reason why most of us wasn't paying attention was actually down to the fact that beneath his quite enormous beer belly, his zip was undone and the tail of his shirt was peeking out from the nether regions. Luckily it was only the shirt and nothing more. Anything more could mean permanent psychological damage to the minds of already corrupted seventeen year old boys. I suppose it already left a lasting effect on one of those boys as I am writing this after a good two decades or so. Imagine a burly, fat, pot bellied man with curly hair gesturing wildly shouting “you've got no future, no future at all!”.... with his fly open.
And twenty over years or so later I am where I am today. So lets talk about a car that someone with a future can drive, a Rolls Royce Corniche from the 1970s. It may not be the latest Rolls Royce, but it still is a great car. A two door coupe of immense proportions that is actually is still incredibly comfortable and surprisingly quiet by today's standard. I had a chance to drive one sometime last year and like the story above, it isn't something you'd forget easily.
You get into the Corniche like you would get into a W140 Mercedes S-class, but then you notice the upright dash that's plastered with acres of walnut and that thin rimmed steering wheel. You also notice the smell of old world leather. It is totally unlike what you'd find in a German Uber saloon. So quaint and so utterly bespoke. The next thing you'd notice is that everything is lined up on the right side of the steering wheel (in this right hand drive car). The ignition key-hole is to the right of the steering wheel, so is the handbrake and so is the gear shifter. So you start the car up, it starts up easily and settles for a smooth, silent idle. You reach for the hand brake lever to release the park brake while you are stepping on the brake pedal, select 'D' and you're off. Note that the Corniche has a three, yes, three-speed automatic transmission. But for this car, and its 6,750cc, three gears is actually all you need for the purpose that it was made for - wafting in sheer comfort and luxury.
And piloting this pretty well kept 1975 Corniche is actually quite easy. That thin rimmed bakelite steering wheel is actually quite light making it easy to place such a large car. On the 'kampung' roads, the car makes smooth progress and you waft along like it would do in the English countryside on the way to the golf club. And it does wafting better than most cars in my opinion.
Ride quality of this car is good. I would say it is smoother riding than most modern luxury saloons that would have to cope with over 300bhp these days. Try tuning a car to float over humps and crests on a modern sports saloon and you're bound to have conflicts in suspension settings. Not quite the case in a Rolls Royce from the days gone by, where power output figures are not shared by the manufacturer to the general public. It is also of the self leveling kind, so it stays nice and level even with people and shopping in the boot.
The 6,750cc V8 power output is quoted as 'adequate' and it truly is adequate. Punting a Rolls Royce around like a sports car is unbecoming. Try to even prod it harder than you should and it doesn't do anything. It is like a boulder, slowly gathering momentum. Try throwing it into a corner and it will groan like how the Titanic groans after hitting an iceberg. It will send you into the nearest ditch if you try much harder than you should. You waft in a Rolls Royce. Nothing more. Period.It's not like I didn''t try. Look at me trying to give chase to a Jaguar XJS and failing.
The newer Rolls Royce are so 'bling' compared to the subtlety of this old girl. This was from a time when only royalty, dukes and lords as well as the occasional multi-millionaire (there were not many those days) could afford one, or two in Malaysia. The Parthenon grille is all that really shines and no other funny jewellery anywhere, that traditional British smoking room smell as well as the cosseting ride and that purring carburetted V8 engine. This is why I love old British classics. No one really builds them like these anymore.
And one of the people with no future is at where he is today. A happy camper.
Note: I drove this car a while back (Nov 2010). But due to a busy schedule it stayed in my notes until now.....as somehow things have fallen in place for one of my stories. My thanks to the owner of this car for allowing me to commandeer it for a short spell.
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