For you North Americans not familiar with the British phenom of Chavs, you can think of 'em as rednecks crossed with gangstas, but with pinches of Russian mobsterism and soccer hooliganism sprinkled in for flava. Lots of Burberry, too. And pregnant 15-year-olds in half shirts that twaddle about with bottles of vodka. While smoking. We mention this because if you watch Top Gear — and we know you watch — you're probably thinking that most Britons are like Jezza and May. Always, constantly dreaming about wingback leather chairs and a proper cup of tea. Ha! Ha, we say! Not that comfy leather chairs and appropriate libations aren't sufficiently English but, well old chap, time for you to jump.
Today's winning Commenter is none other than one of our resident Brits (the good one), Rust-MyEnemy. You no doubt recall this morning's post from that sultry skank Murilee with all the pretty pics of the Jag XJ6 in the junkyard waiting to get crushed. Well, here's what Rust-MyEnemy suggests:
Murilee, do yourself a favour. Get the seats out of the XJ, nominate a room in your house as the Jaguar room.
Mount both the seats on rocker bases. Purchase a pair of leather/wool slippers, and a smoking jacket.
Purchase a pipe, and look around for some good pipe tobacco. If you don't smoke, find somebody who does to imbue the Jaguar room with the smell of rough shag, Churchill style.
As a finishing touch, obtain a 1966 Blaupunkt Paris valve table-radio. Try and find some Elgar on AM, and sit back in the XJ6 chair and relax. At this point you may require a good single malt. Chivas Century (not Regal) would be my choice.
If Clarkson and May reproduced, the offspring might... perish the thought.