| Who Are We? |
| "He increased his pace, and as the car devoured the street and leapt forth on the highroad through the open country, he was only conscious that he was Toad once more, Toad at this best and highest, Toad the terror, the traffic-queller, the Lord of the lone trail, before whom all must give way or be smitten into nothingness and everlasting night. He chanted as he flew, and the car responded with sonorous drone; the miles were eaten up under him as he sped he knew not whither, fulfilling his instincts, living his hour, reckless of what might come to him." - "The Wind in the Willows" by Kenneth Grahame, Chapter 6 |
| Toad is truly the patron saint of all enthusiasts of British motorcars, whether they realize it or not. The ignorati consider "The Wind in the Willows" a child's book, an amusing Disney fable updated from its 1908 origins. They are sadly mistaken. It is a dark, dark book, which lives on many levels. For all us Toadistas it is equal parts inspiration and diagnosis. Almost 100 years ago, Kenneth Grahame had already fully understood and painted the scope of our mutually shared dementia. If you read Chapter 6 of Grahame's masterpiece, cycling between feelings of triumph at Toad's endeavours and of outrage at Toad's shabby treatment, you are already...yes...a Toadista, whether you realize it or not. This ain't no stinkin' kid's book. You probably came to this link "Who Are We?" expecting the usual website's flabby description of the people behind the site, vanity and puffery all. The eminence grise in this case prefers to remain in the shadows. No urine test has yet been developed to uncover the Toadista. Even your secrret is safe with us. The attitude/philosophy behind this site is best summarized by recalling an incident from Greenwich Village in NYC in the '60s. The police arrested an individual for being a public nuisance, for harassing tour buses. The buses were taking tourists through The Village so they could look at the local freaks. The arrested perp would wait on the sidewalk with an extremely large mirror. As the buses drove down the street, our hero would run alongside, holding the mirror so that the tourists could observe themselves. So, who are we? Look in the mirror, gentle Toadista. |