a hatch full of chavs round and round a housing estate keeping everyone awake in the early hours
I think this probably lies at the heart of my dislike. When I was a kid, the backfiring smoky old nails that some people used to drive around in were universally derided by those who took a pride in tuning their engines correctly.
We were all as skint as a family of travelling rabbits so we all worked on our own bikes and cars, and getting your carburation/mixture wrong was one of the cardinal sins, probably because getting it spot on in the days of simple carbs was a bit of a dark art and so seen as a badge of honour in the home mechanicking brigade.
Fair enough, it's difficult to stop unburnt fuel getting into the exhaust when one slams the throttle shut after a full-bore run down the Mulsanne straight or wherever, but is it quite so cool to do it when you slow down for the traffic lights outside Sainsbury's?
