Over here in what for all intents and purposes, might as well be Narnia with CCTV to most of you lovely Opponaughts, we have a road called the M4.

This road contains many challenges, some great and some small. Some you will be familiar with, as yes, the UK, contrary to what that chap and his girlfriend thought upon engaging me in conversation in an Ashville bar once, does actually have a modern functioning infrastructure that doesn’t look like the set of WWII: This Time It’s Personal, which is a real film in my head.

Anyway, the world being what it is, people have got to get places, and some of these people, some of which have magical fuel cards or, perhaps, have a long commute, have got to get to places at least twenty-three times quicker than everyone else. And that means doing at least warp 9.6 on said M4. About a foot from your rear bumper.

A bumper, by the way, is a spell dating back to Saxon times when Merlin ruled the sea, air and land (his standard was later copied by Mercedes-Benz) with a series of ever more unlikely contraptions. To save the locals from forever getting in his way he developed a jumper stitched with the finest bumblebee fur, so that people would forever be questioning the validity of science instead working out ways to be free. So you see, the word ‘bumper’ is not derived from the word to ‘bump’, but from a portmanteau involving the word ‘bumble-bee’ and ‘jumper’.

I digress.

Vauxhall, being somehow both one of the highest selling but also least profitable GM subsidiaries makes up a considerable proportion of these, shall we say, ‘bumperphiles’ and in honour of this said subsidiary have created a faithful reconstruction of these unsung heroes of that great road to London/Ammanford. What better way than to celebrate these ‘bumperists’ than to do it at the FoS.


Vauxhall we salute you.