Last month the Autopian attended the Goodwood Festival of Speed, an epic car show that takes place at the Goodwood House, a humongous 11,000 acre estate in Chichester, West Sussex and also the home of the Duke of Richmond. Each year, the Duke puts on an extravagant party for Festival of Speed drivers and also for select wealthy folks who can afford the absurdly-priced tickets. I am a cheap bastard, and thus the least likely human on earth to be at a literal Duke’s Ball, and yet I managed to weasel my way into the most mind-blowing party I’ve ever even imagined. However, while everyone showed up in Rolls Royces and designer suits, I chose to remain true to myself. Here’s how that went.
Let me just get it out of the way: The Who was the guest performer at the Duke’s party. Yes, The actual freaking Who. Roger Daltrey. But that’s just the tiniest fraction of what made this ball so ridiculously absurd.
First, let’s take a step back. The Goodwood Festival of Speed is a world-renowned automotive event in which lots of extremely cool cars drive up a roughly 1-mile-long hill while thousands of fans watch from grandstands and rooftops and people’s shoulders and on wherever.
(BTW, Here’s the YT version of the video)
(Ok, carry on – MH)
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Over the years, and especially after auto shows fell off during COVID, Goodwood has become one of the go-to spots for luxury automakers to debut new vehicles.
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That’s why The Autopian attended; we were there to get that sweet, sweet automotive content for you, our dear reader. The crew that went included yours truly, Publisher Matt Hardigree, cofounder Beau Boeckmann, members of the Galpin Media team, and some of Beau’s family members. (Jason was meant to attend, but he got sick).
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Beau, a true car enthusiast, just loves being around cars and people who love cars, and he loves sharing exclusive experiences not just with us slimy journalists, but especially with you, our readership, so when the opportunity came to attend The Duke of Richmond’s famed Goodwood Ball, he invited me to join. This article is my futile attempt to communicate the ridiculousness of this Duke’s Ball.
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I Bought My Tuxedo For $35 Out Of A Grocery Store Parking Lot In LA
As the Goodwood Ball is a black-tie event, Beau told me to prepare a tuxedo. As I don’t own a tuxedo, I had to figure something out and quick, since by the time I got around to tux shopping it was just two days before my flight to Europe.
Jason Torchinsky, The Autopian’s Chief Creative Officer, told me not to worry. “It’s fine! I actually got you a tux. A jacket, pants, a shirt, a vest, and a bowtie for just $100!”
While I am a proponent of buying pre-worn clothing, as Jason did from a tux rental spot near his house in North Carolina, I do know one thing about Jason: He has absolutely zero knowledge of fancy clothing. In fact, I recall back when he and I worked for Jalopnik that he was being interviewed by, I think, CNN, and he had no idea what to wear. So he tried a bunch of stuff on and took photos for the rest of us writers to evaluate, and his cluelessness could not be overstated (and I say that respectfully). So even though Jason said he had me covered, I decided to buy a backup tux just in case Jason’s generous $100 tuxedo contribution turned out to be garbage.
I managed to find a tuxedo on Facebook Marketplace for what seemed a too-good-to-be-true price: $35! I messaged the seller, who told me to meet at a Von’s grocery store parking lot in Van Nuys, so I drove there and met the seller’s husband, who handed me the Tuxedo. The fabric looked quite nice, though I unfastened one of the two buttons and it immediately broke off. “Well, guess I’m buying it,” I joked. I paid the man — who had told me he’d bought the Tuxedo for his wedding — and then I drove home a bit confused by why someone would sell their wedding tux for so little. Seems like a sentimental thing to hold onto and certainly not sell for just 35 bucks!
Anyway, I’m glad I bought that backup tux because, as expected, Jason’s contribution was basically unwearable:
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Sadly, my own $35 tux, while perhaps not as enormous as the one Jason had kindly given me, had its own issues. First, that button that had broken off was now glued back together, and I can’t say I had a lot of confidence it would hold for the entire ball.
The bigger issue, though, was the pants, which were so tight at my hips that the pockets were basically opening themselves, looking like wings as I walked. What’s more, bending over would be an impossibility, and I was worried about sitting — two tasks fairly important when interacting with society at a party.
Showing Up To A Duke’s Ball In A $600 Minivan
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The Goodwood Festival of Speed is a really, really swanky car event, so it shouldn’t be surprising that the swankiest event associated with this already swanky car show is filled with the most incredible automobiles one can even imagine. What you show up in is a big deal, and our team was made aware of that by our Goodwood chaperone, Simon, who told us where to be and when that entire week. Simon said people would be showing up in one-of-one hypercars, and suggested that it might be cool if we shipped a car from Beau’s incredible collection.
We decided against shipping a car from the U.S. solely for a single party in England, in part, because I told the team I had them covered. “I’ve got the ideal vehicle for us to show up in. It’s going to blow everyone’s mind. Don’t you worry.”
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That vehicle is my 1994 diesel manual Chrysler Voyager. Now, if you haven’t read my work, you might think I’m having a bit of a laugh, here, but in truth, I really do think the Voyager is one of the greatest machines that have ever graced this earth.
Think about it: This is a 3,500 pound (quite lightweight!) vehicle that can score 30 MPG while transporting seven people, plus it has a turbodiesel engine hooked up to a lovely five-speed manual transmission. With 265,000 miles on the clock, the thing has proven itself absolutely unstoppable; it’s comfortable thanks to essentially La-Z-Boy-like seats; it’s efficient; it’s spacious; it’s rare; and heck, it’s a car engineered in America, built in Austria, and powered by an Italian engine — talk about exotic!
I so love this van that I’ve driven it over 10,000 miles across Europe since it became my COVID project in 2020; I once drove it from Nuernberg, Germany to Cappadocia, Turkey and back. Yes, I drove from Germany to only a few hours from the Syrian border!
Anyway, to get this magical machine to Goodwood, I had to drive from my parents’ place in Germany, through France, and then across the English Channel (via a Ferry).
This was a beautiful drive that involved me spending the night in Verdun, home of the costliest battle of World War I, and one of the most simultaneously charming and sobering towns I’ve ever visited. I wish I had more time there, because Verdun is both beautiful and spiritual, with historical landmarks that instill in your mind so much about the human condition.
After my drive through beautiful pastoral France, I would up at the Ferry in Dieppe, where I handed the checkpoint guards my U.S. passport, listened to them tell me I was screwed for reasons I did not understand, and then handed them my red German passport, only to hear them recant everything they just said and to tell me to have a great voyage.
Then I was directed to drive in one of several lanes filled with cars:
And one after the other, each lane headed onto the Ferry:
Once aboard, I parked the van in the cargo hold, and the staffers shoved wheel chocks behind and ahead of my rear wheels:
I got some work done and rested in the seating area:
And then I enjoyed the view off the ship before arriving in the town of Newhaven, in the UK.
Upon arrival, I disembarked and quickly had to figure out how to drive on both the left side of the car and the left side of the road.
Anyway, let’s get back to the day of the party, which was to take place here, at the Goodwood House:
The Goodwood House is basically a castle that has housed various Dukes of Richmond for over 300 years. The interior, which Goodwood calls the “magnificent Regency interiors,” is filled with “one of the country’s finest art collections.” I snapped a few photos of it the day before the ball:
Anyway, the day of the ball, getting ready took a little while, and I had to ask Beau’s son-in-law and Galpin Media professional Levi (a fantastic dude) to tie my shoes since the tight pants that came with my $35 tux weren’t really allowing me to bend over.
Eventually, we — Beau, his wife Mary, Levi (who is missing from some of these images since he was behind the camera) and I were ready to head to the ball right after I presented them with their exotic chariot — one that I knew would draw even the most discerning eyes away from the fancy supercars:
Behold!
That’s Matt Hardigree, The Autopian’s Publisher; he was the driver, and after he slid open the side door, I carefully climbed in, trying my best to avoid ripping those cheap, cheap pants that I’d just realized likely had never been washed after the seller’s wedding:
With Levi filming up front and Beau, Mary, and me in the back, Matt jumped into the driver’s seat, and we hit the road to the Duke’s Ball:
 
During this drive, Mary — whom I had a great time hanging out with at the show — answered Beau’s question “Honey, What do you think?” with “yes.” That was it. “Yes.”
That means “yes, I love it, right?”
Sure, we’ll go with that.
Beau was definitely on board with my vehicular choice, as he — owner of an absurd number of microcars — is the King of the Quirkmobiles. “This has character. There’s very few things you can be 100 percent about, but I know 100 percent, we are gonna be the only diesel Chrysler minivan stickshift showing up, without question,” he said.
The van’s VM Motori turbodiesel was singing, and everyone was having a great time as Matt — looking like a Secret Service agent with his earpiece and dark sunglasses — piloted the most unlikely machine on the fabled Goodwood Circuit while driving past priceless hypercars and  making quips to pedestrians like “Work hard one day, and you can afford one of these.”
Eventually, we arrived at the Goodwood House, and it became immediately apparent that the value of our vehicle was literally one one-thousandths of the value of many of the other cars rolling up to the event.
Yes, one one-thousandth!
I wonder if that gentleman’s tuxedo was 1,000 times the price of mine. A $35,000 suit? Probably not, right?
Anyway, while pulling up to the entrance, we received some looks. And I mean looks. People didn’t know what the hell was going on; why was an obscure American minivan heading to this party whose tickets cost multiple times the value of the machine? Folks took photos, stared, and this man went absolutely bonkers:
Whoever this mysterious gem of a human being is literally walked up to the van and said the following:
I was about to say a Volkswagen Transporter was the best car in the joint, but holy shitballs!
Is this a Juicy Couture velour vehicle?!
Look at the quilted roof; oh my golly gosh!
Can I touch your seat?
[touches seat]
HNNNG!
You’re gonna cause some shit in there, aren’t you?
Fuck. Shit. Up in there, ok?!
And then he just…walked away! It was bizarre, but completely hilarious. Especially when you consider that when he said “quilted roof,” he was referring to a drooping headliner held up by some round tacks:
With all attention on us, Matt stopped the van in front of the Goodwood House, ran around the van, and opened the sliding door:
Pleased that I hadn’t ripped my pants while alighting, I headed into what would be the most out-of-this-world, bonkers, over-the-top, epic party I’d ever seen.
The Party Was Indescribably Absurd
The party started out with a cocktail hour on a giant lawn with a very prominent tree at the center; delicious drinks — both alcoholic and non — flowed as folks warmed up their social muscles before dinner. And that wasn’t just any dinner, it was one of those that featured so many courses that understanding which silverware to use when required a Ph.D. What’s more, that dinner involved us hanging out with five-time Le Mans winner Derek Bell!
That’s Derek between Beau and Mary, and that’s his wife Misti to my right. She’s hilarious — super energetic and fun, and has a fascinating backstory. Imagine growing up in North Carolina, meeting and marrying a legendary British race car driver, then traveling all across the globe, living simultaneously in the U.S. and the U.K., and actually developing a British accent!
As you can see, the guests were arranged such that nobody was seated next to members of their own party. I’d never seen this setup before, but it encouraged commingling, and made for one of the most memorable meals of my life. Sharing a table with Derek Bell was already absurd in my eyes, but what came next blew my mind. It would have blown anybody’s.
Misti gave us a top-tip: As soon as dinner and coffee are over, figure out how to gracefully end whatever your conversation you’re in, and then get the hell out of that room and onto the back lawn. If you dilly-dally too long, you’re going to be at the back of what will be an apparently impressive fireworks show.
That would turn out to be the understatement of the century.
What we — Beau, Mary, Levi and I — witnessed wasn’t simply a fireworks show, it was … well, I’m not exactly sure what it was. It began with a bunch of oddly steampunk-y dressed men riding what looked like ancient steam-powered contraptions.
 
One gentleman appeared to be standing atop a miniature tank with a missile on top, one was on a penny farthing, another was actually in the center of a giant motorized ring gear (?), and sat about 12 feet in the air on a vehicle whose wheels looked like huge green and blue orange slices with ridiculous camber:
The machines drove around on stage as steam shot into the air and mysterious music played over the speakers.
And then the pyrotechnics began. It started with a huge spinning fiery flowery-thing:
And then came a stunning fireworks show:
As the steampunk-y gentleman finished their show, a car raced onto the stage, along with some women with flamethrowers:
Music blasted through the speakers as the car conducted absolutely absurd maneuvers on the stage and the performers danced and shot fire way up into the air.
Then BOOM!
Humongous columns of fire shot way up into the sky:
The car shot huge sparks from its rear end as it spun around in impossibly tight and impossibly fast donuts and the driver left the vehicle:
Yes, there were flames everywhere, loud music, women shooting flamethrowers, and an unmanned car ripping nasty donuts on stage:
The driver eventually jumped back into the moving car, and more women entered the stage with even more fire as even more, even grander fireworks were pumped way, way up into the sky:
Massive fireballs shot up next to the performers as they twirled fire in circles, all to a brilliant musical score:
Eventually the performers began dancing with rotating flaming cubes (???):
 
More fireworks painted the sky as lights mounted atop the stage created almost hologram-like images onto the smoke:
Here you can see a woman spinning fire on her back:
The scene ended with a bang!:
But there was no lull, because right after the steampunk, right after the acrobatic fiery car, and right after the flaming cubes and the performers spinning fire and right after all the unbelievable fireworks and columns of flame came THE FREAKING WHO!
Roger Daltrey stood just a few feet away from Beau, Mary, Levi and me, on a stage situated about 15 feet off the ground. The 80 year-old greeted the crowd, and then proceeded to put on the most insane private concert I could even have fathomed. His performance was so flawless it completely defied his age:
That organ that we all know and love began one of the most recognized intros ever, slowly building up and up, with drums gradually joining in, then a guitar; the beat remained steady until:
“I farm for my meals!”
“I get my back into my living!”
“I don’t need to fight to prove I’m right. I don’t need to be forgiven yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!”[The guitar jams]
[the song slows a bit]
Don’t cryDon’t raise your eyeIt’s only teenage wasteland…
[the drums hit, the guitar jams as the song builds]
Sally, take my handWe’ll travel south cross landPut out the fireAnd don’t look past my shoulder
The exodus is hereThe happy worlds are nearLet’s get togetherBefore we get much older[the song slows and then…]Teenage wasteland!!It’s only teenage wasteland!!!Teenage wasteland!!Oh, yeahTeenage wastelandThey’re all wasted!
Absolutely epic.
But that was just the beginning. Huge flames burst into the sky as Daltrey filled the air with sounds of a generation:
I’ll tip my hat to the new ConstitutionTake a bow for the new revolutionSmile and grin at the change all aroundPick up my guitar and playJust like yesterdayThen I’ll get on my knees and prayWe don’t get fooled again!
Song after song, Daltrey reminded the relatively small crowd of the profound impact he has had on music over the span of over six decades. He sang timeless classics perfectly, and chatted with the crowd as if each of us were sitting with him one-on-one having a cup of tea:
His delivery was perfect, and his energy palpable:
No one knows what it’s likeTo be the bad manTo be the sad manBehind blue eyesAnd no one knows what it’s likeTo be hatedTo be fated to telling only lies
He danced and told us about his band:
He’s a pinball wizardThere has got to be a twistA pinball wizard’sGot such a supple wrist
How do you think he does it? I don’t knowWhat makes him so good?
Ain’t got no distractionsCan’t hear no buzzers and bellsDon’t see no lights a-flashin’Plays by sense of smellAlways gets a replayNever seen him fallThat deaf, dumb and blind kidSure plays a mean pinball
My favorite number of the night, though, was his most popular song.
Whoooooo are you?Who, who, who, who?
Whoooooo are you?Who, who, who, who?
Whoooo are you?Who, who, who, who?
Whooooo are you?Who, who, who, who?I really wanna know!!!
The crowd was mesmerized, even if some of the pyrotechnics appeared to be sprinkling the entire crowd with gas.
When the concert ended, we headed back into the building where we’d had dinner, and we briefly cut a rug:
And that was it. We walked out of the Goodwood House with our minds thoroughly and permanently altered by conversations with Le Mans winners, absurd pyrotechnics, weird steampunk performers, dancers twirling flaming cubes, cars doing autonomous donuts while shooting huge flames, and The Freaking Who showing us what agelessness truly is.
As for my $35 Tuxedo? It lasted exactly one single Duke’s Ball, and then one of the two front buttons broke off. But it did the job, and not a single person at the swanky party gave a damn that I’d bought it from a Vons parking lot or that I hadn’t washed it, and not a single person cared that my van was worth literally one one-thousandth what their car was worth. We were all too busy having our minds blown.
The rest of my trip back across the English Channel, through Paris, and to Germany in my unstoppable $600 five-speed diesel minivan is a tale for another day, as right now I need to recover from this recounting of one of the greatest, most fake-it-til-you-make it nights of my life: A literal Duke’s Ball in England.
I suspect they didn’t play my favorite song, Eminence Front. Might be too on the nose for that audience.
I would vote for ‘Just a quick one while he’s away’
Mind blown and I’ve only seen the pictures. I have been fortunate enough to attend a private Roger Daltrey concert a few year ago. Roger does not phone it in. I once listened to Who’s Next from Butte to Seattle in the 80s because we left the rest of the 8 tracks at home.
Steven Wright: “Last year we drove across the country. We switched on the driving… Every half mile… We had one cassette tape to listen to on the entire trip… I don’t remember what it was.”
awesome story
The best part is that Beau is a billionaire, has more money than many of the others attending, yet he’s in the $500 minivan with David Tracy!
A) These are not your people, David. Enjoy it, but don’t forget that they will chew you up and spit you out.
B) No, his tux doesn’t need to cost 1,000 times more. 100 is fine.
C) I’m insanely jealous of all of this. Thanks for writing it up for us!
D) You deserve it, man.
The funniest part is the hillclime video. Not only does the crowd go
wildmild, but David speaks of Beau having his ways and finagling a ride, as if Galpin wasn’t likely to sell more of those Lotus Eletres than anyone else.You know what would really be the chef’s kiss for that van with its Juicy Couture velour headliner?
A fake sunroof!
Nice callback!
Damn! Great story, start to finish. I do think you need to complete the van by getting sufficient thumb tacks together to complete the quilting of the headliner. It’ll be a legit custom van at that point, and therefore even cooler.
This piece did not dissapoint. “Epic” tends to be an overused word, but I can’t think of anything more fitting here! What an incredible experience! And, you did it in the most “you” way possible 🙂
You gotta add “Juicy Couture velour” to the membership hierarchy.
Where does that fall into the hierarchy? Paying with Monopoly money for random, unpredictable access to members’ spots?
“Will I be able to read today’s Tales From the Slack? Time to find out!”
THE pinnacle of sophistication! Surely you jest!
“Hollywood” David Tracy. It was just a matter of time. He’s no longer like the rest of us. His PB&J’s are crustless and his milk comes from plants.
“Hollywood” David Tracy is dead.
Long live Lord David Tracy of the House Autopian!
Tracy, David Tracy. He suavely bows to kiss the duchesses hand- Riiiiiip
Good thing you got out of there before your carriage turned into a pumpkin. Now, be ready, because a beautiful princess is going to show up at your door with the lost tuxedo button ….
Unless Elise is not her real name that might be a problem.
This was amazing. Reading this was exactly like listening to my 7-year-old’s 25-minute description of the new waterslide at daycamp. The enthusiasm. The commitment to detail. The APPRECIATION.
Also, David, you are fucking rocking that tux. Well done, dude.
Aw, shucks! Thank you!
Beau seems like a great friend to have. I imagine he enjoys giving people a slice of the cake that is his life. What an epic experience.
I’m surprised you didn’t get busted for not covering part of headlamps in the UK…
They’re ’90s Chrysler minivan headlights, you have to shine a flashlight at them just to see if they’re on.
Damn, that’s funny!
David: I wore a $35 suit I got on FB Marketplace LOL
Some random butler a week later: Wheresoever did we get bedbugs?
In all seriousness, this whole story is awesome! Good for you guys! I love this content because if I tried to go to something like this I’d be shot dead on sight.
This is way beyond epic. So did The Who look at you guys and ask, “You’re Who?”
I was just thinking it seemed strangely like he was singing the song directly to me!
You couldn’t wash it in the ocean, David?
He only washes himself in the ocean (technically, the sea).
You bought used clothing off of Facebook marketplace and did not wash it or have it cleaned?!?
Is “Elise” aware that you almost certainly have cooties now, and she is at risk?
Wash it? WTF?
That would cost money…do you not know who this guy is? / s
David does have a pretty public persona, she probably did her research and decided he was worth the risks to life, limb, and home decor.
They DID meet for the first time post-shower spaghetti.
AND he brought his co-founder and employee for backup! I still love how Jason and I got to go on David’s and Elise’s first date. 🙂
Okay, this is a story we all want to hear!
I mean, I get it if it’s none of our business, but throwing it out there like that is ref meat for us!
Sounds like a bad sitcom episode.
Now “shower spagetti” is date night.
Or an only on your birthday thing.
He didn’t give himself enough time for dry cleaning, so he was kinda SOL. I can’t imagine going to something like this without getting my tux tailored, much less skipping the dry cleaning, but it’d be hard to get enough of a rush job to get this cleaned in less than two days.
I mean, he had plenty of time to run it through the dishwasher.
Dammit, that’s too believable. And microwave it dry, probably.
Like on Uncle Buck!
Or wear it to a fancy shower spaghetti dinner. Triple efficiency!
Elise tolerates my flaws, and it’s not entirely clear how. But I’m not questioning it!
One thing I’ve learned after attending numerous black tie events:
Unless you’re wearing a statement dinner jacket – Nobody remembers what car you arrived in after the appetizers.
Not even the valets.
Couple things to unpack here:
Exactly.
One would hope not
I dunno. Zombie Keith Moon can still crush it.
I have never met your wife but already like her, solely because of that anecdote.
What’s really atypical here is that he seems to have bought it just for that. I’ve known people who just used a tux or suit they owned and people who took the opportunity to buy one because they wanted to have it for future use, but I don’t think I’ve ever known someone to buy one and not get some other use out of it.
Personally, if I ever get married, I think I’m going to take the opportunity to get something bespoke, but that’s just using the wedding as an excuse.
I’d guess they planned to get future use out of it, then changed shape enough that it was no longer possible. Wonder if I would still fit in my wedding suit…
That’s the most likely scenario. Come to think of it, I think my dad’s wedding suit never saw any other use and may still be in his closet. He just never has need of a suit and it is now horrifically dated.
I know someone that could make a blouse and curtains out of it if you’re interested.
I bought a suit coat (mandarin collar), matched it to a pair of slacks I also bought, then had a bespoke Satin sidebutton vintage military style shirt with 4 cufflinks per wrist made for my wedding. I’ve worn the suit numerous other times, but I bought it specifically for my wedding.
That’s the sort of thing I had in mind: get something bespoke that could last for many years of use. Sounds like you got exactly what you wanted and enjoy it, which is good to hear!
I bought a VERY nice suit for my wedding, and the *@&%ing moths got to it. I did at least get a few wearings out of it…
When I saw Roger at a private concert he was billed as ‘Not Quite The Who’ and Pete Townsend’s son was on guitar with the other band members being part of Pete junior’s band.
The guy with the Telecaster could definitely be Pete’s son. Does he look familiar?
You guys rolling up in that van was awesome.
I say this in all seriousness: That. Was. Epic. The ballers balled at the Ball.
So it’s essentially a Harbor Freight tuxedo. That works. 🙂
I very much relate to the “Wait, this thing is black tie???” panic.
My wife responds “yes” to non-yes or no questions when she begrudgingly intends to roll with what’s going on around her, but expects you to not ask anymore questions about it.
But was Matt upbraided for not wearing the appropriate cap? This is Britain after all, not the Continent…
JASON WASN’T THE ONLY ONE WHO COULDN’T GO BECASE HE WAS SICK. JFC.
I don’t deserve this shabby treatment he hissed cattily.
I just assumed you didn’t go because you would have been loudly and creatively insulting car design and perhaps other design choices.
People who spend 7 figures on a car don’t want to know it’s hideous.
Only 7? Fucking plebeians.
The ones spending 8+ figures are beyond giving a shit about design. They just want everyone to know they can throw that money around.
You mean they don’t want to hear the 17 reasons why their Aston Martin Valkyrie is visually inferior to a 1994 Chevy CK1500?
I was invited and it was all planned. Sadly my gastritis had other ideas.
I’m sorry. I would have loved to read all your critiques and impressions about and around this event. Especially if you got colorful about it.
So David could have borrowed your tux and saved even more money?
Next year Adrian? Please? We want, need, your take on events like this!
I wondered where you were through the entire article!
Your Doc Martins would of clashed with a tux 🙂
I had my whole outfit planned, and it included my £1000 boots.
And that’s why you weren’t invited. You exceeded the set budget for clothing. It was a bit of a challenge, you see.
The value of one piece of clothing isn’t supposed to eclipse the value of the magnificent Austro-Italian steed for the evening.
Did you splash out on some gawdawful CCP monstrosities?
Not quite:
https://www.richardsoderberg.com/product/dsmo-boots/
Going by these boots…are you trying to tell us that you’re BATMAN?!?
We’re both odd and wear a lot of black. That’s all I’m saying.
Your secret’s safe with me 😉
That’s got to be quite the leg workout!
I’m used to it now, when I started wearing calf high boots I was walking like Neil Armstrong.
” my £1000 boots.”
You don’t have £1000 footwear? Peasant.
I have some old steel toe and shank factory floor required boots, but doubt they weigh more than a pound.
You missed wheelbarrow shrimp and you missed this. Stupid, flipping Universe!
I wasn’t invited to the wheelbarrow shrimp because we didn’t have enough frequent flyer miles to fly me over for nothing.
It’s probably for the best. Gastritis and wheelbarrow shrimp are rarely happy bedfellows.