Mustang
My last experience of driving the Ford Mustang was on the Pacific Coast Highway from Los Angeles to Napa Valley and back. I vividly remember stopping en route at Pismo beach, to dig holes in the sand, rather childishly with the big V8 and its rear tires. I burnt badly in the sun with the roof down, ensuring I wasn’t the only lobster for dinner. And there was a gap between the rear and front windows wide enough to get your hand in to lift the locks. Some prodigious stops at wineries led to my precious cargo of some sixty bottles of wine to be locked in the boot whilst the luggage travelled in plain…