It’s 17 April, 1964 and the first generation Ford Mustang has just gone on sale.
Over the next 24 hours Ford will sell almost 22,000 units – thanks to publicity generated by the car’s launch at the 1964 World’s Fair. Over the next year, the Blue Oval will sell more than 400,000 Mustangs.
That was Genesis, but the next big event in Mustang history, for me at least, happens 32 years later. It’s 1996, and I’m seven years old. I’m on a family trip to see my grandparents in Warwickshire, and a ’67 Fastback has just driven past us on the motorway. My jaw hits the floor, and the obsession of a lifetime begins.
I fell head over heels in love with the Mustang, and I knew then and there that I would make it my mission to own one. Now, at the age of 23, I’m doing well – I’ve got the show numberplate.
The trouble is, I don’t want to be let down. I don’t want to finally get the keys to my very own ‘Stang and find it to be a slow, cramped, very expensive wreck. They say never meet your heroes, and I’m worried 'they' might be right.
I don’t fancy a modern Mustang, like the one coming to Europe in 2015, because while I still love the looks and the performance I think it may have lost some of its charm over the years. No, I need a classic. In particular, I fancy a Shelby Mustang.