The Adventures of Malcolm MacDoogle, British-Scottish Driver

Aye, it's me, Malcolm, and I'm at the Detroit "North American" Auto Show, observing the oddities that the world's carmakers are churning out this year. I started me tour of the floor with my dear friends and fellow Brits at Aston Martin.

Now there's a beauty, laddies. True craftsmanship. Made by British hands, a gift to the world from God and the Queen. The curves! The lines! The despicably British beauty that only me home can put out. Take that, Tokyo!


Now here's something that made me spew me Earl Grey all over the convention centre. What is it, says I? Is that a Mini? A big Mini? Isn't a "big Mini" sort of like a buttugly Aston Martin? It just doesn't work, me thinks. And what's with that flattish bonnet? Looks sort of like somebody at the clay modeling department at Mini worked too late a night. Blimey!


Wowie, now here's a car I've heard a lot about. The "American Muscle Car". The brash, crass, thuggy, unrefined, attitudious "American Muscle Car". It took a wee bit getting used to, but I can nicely say I like the tuffyness of this automobile. Something to relieve me of the hoi-polloishness of such cars as Aston Martins and Jaguars. As they say across the pond in America, "Nice Wheels".

Tune in next time for Part II of the Adventures of Malcom MacDoogle, reporting from the Detroit "North American" Auto Show. Toodles!