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About Mons

This ain’t no Rolls-Royce, nah, it’s a workin’ man’s chariot. Born in ‘68, Ford chucked it out like a feral cub into the wild streets. Little known fact – they raced these bad boys, rally champs screamin’ through mud like lions chargin’ prey. Me mate Dave had one, swear it smelled like fags an’ regret, but that engine? Roared like a bleedin’ tiger! Made me happy as a pig in shite, drivin’ that rustbucket round. Surprised me too – thought it’d croak in a week, but nah, tough as nails.