Much is being said of Eric Bana's Love the Beast.
As a fan of muscle cars, I can understand this.
(And J. Clarkson can go stick the gear shift of his Mercedes up his arse -- except he'd probably enjoy that.)
I once nearly bought a 64-and-a-half Pony: pale blue, all original right down to the spare Cal number plates.
Only held off when it turned out to be a right-hand-drive conversion.
I had visions of learning to play guitar left handed, sitting there in the passenger seat with the neck out the window.
Some skinny blonde with big tits driving me up and down the Caves Road all weekend.
Several cases of Woody Nook in the back seat.
Heaven.
There's a big yellow Monaro comes up the street every now and then.
It's owned by Eric's brother Ike who lives just outside Minjup on his fruit farm.
Ike is a nice bloke and, as well as growing luscious grapefruit and roaring along with those single piston shots audible on the odd Sunday morning while all the friggin' christists are in church, has a passion for flower arrangement.
Masculinity ain't always what it seems.
