On an amble round the shiny shops of W1 in London today a Morris Minor parked in the window of one of Britain’s premier lifestyle stores was a nostalgic surprise. As one raised on the back seat of a green Morris 1000, held safely in place not by state of the art child seats but a grandparent sandwich, or a pile of pillows to place in tents (and a hamster) fond memories were evoked. Memories fogged by well meaning suffocation, the anaesthetic scent of Murray Mints or clouded by the fug of parental cigarette smoke and the comforting whiff of lead filled fuel.
But health and safety hadn’t been invented then, and as our means to escape suburbia and reach the Sussex seaside or soggy camping fields beyond, we loved the friendly curves of Morris Ponk. Even today the almost extinct growl of throaty exhaust announcing a Morris is underway is unmistakeable from half a mile away.
On closer inspection of the car on display today, a sticker reading ‘I survived the scrapage scheme’ is in the rear window. Maybe, but this poor Morris did not survive some vicious visual merchandiser who has seen fit to saw its aging body in half. Looking innocent from the street, inside the shop we find the car has been carved in sacrifice to a pseudo vintage fashion montage. This poor moggie’s carcass is on surreal safari. Perched on the seat a beast – half giraffe (a comment maybe on ill advised giraffe genetics?), half lady, accompanied by a crocheted chimp with nuts. Wicker man meets retro style on the trip of very strange dreams indeed.
So, be warned keepers of the last surviving Morris’s out there – you might have escaped scrapage but you aren’t safe from the whims of fashionistas.
However we are heartened to see this Minor Documentary demonstrating not all young(er) folk are Morris molesters.