A Road Less Ordinary
We sit down with British model and self-confessed petrol head, David Gandy to discuss the bond between man and machine, honouring the greats, and satisfying man’s appetite for danger
interview by Will Halbert & Thomas Sumner photography by Patrick Gosling
The dimmed lights and Dickensian décor of Shoreditch’s Bull in a China Shop is a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the busy streets outside, to be sure. But for a man as in-demand as David Gandy, it provides the perfect calm before the inevitable storm of London Fashion Week: A whirlwind of sights and sounds that, despite his busy schedule, David wouldn’t miss for the world.
But we’re not here to talk about London Fashion Week, necessarily. No, we’ve tucked ourselves away in the East End whisky den to discuss David’s now-infamous Jaguar XK120, lovingly restored in collaboration with the crack team behind the Jaguar Classic department.
Gandy’s restoration has garnered an awful lot of interest from pistonheads and relative pedestrians alike. A fine case in point comes in the form of Bull in a China Shop’s eager and able bartender. With an almost uncanny sense of timing, the bartender delivers three tall measures of Kentucky’s finest to the table and, as if plucking the words straight from our mouths, politely asks David how the Jaguar build is coming along. And that, dear reader, seems like as good a segue as any into the conversation that quickly followed.
Bartender: So, it’s safe to say there’s been a fair bit of interest around that old Jag of yours, then?
David Gandy: You could say that! The support and attention that the XK120 has received has been amazing, it truly is a testament to the allure of the classic car. I suppose a car like that holds a lot of magic for a lot of people. I think people from all walks of life can really get behind the journey of the XK120. The project itself comes from a very genuine place, a place of real passion and interest. There’s a lot of heart under the hood of that car. I mean, I have some pretty high and exacting expectations. But Jaguar Classic really did exceed those expectations at every turn, if you’ll pardon the pun.
EJ: Speaking of what’s under the hood, how did it drive for the first time?
Looking back at the footage, it certainly looked more straightforward than it was. There really was no time to shake the car down before we hit the road. So, let’s just say that the settings were a little rich when I first took her for a spin. She took a little taming. But those little adjustments are to be expected, and it’s in adversity that you find the story, I guess. There’s no fun to be had in a road trip if it’s plain sailing from start to finish.
But it’s safe to say we made quite the entrance when we rolled into Monaco. The last few kinks are being ironed out as we speak. And you should be able to see the Jaguar up close at the St James RAC club at the end of July.
Were there ever any ‘pinch me’ moments on the road to Monaco?
A fair few, to be honest. The Jaguar Classic Department has done an incredible job with the fitout, so even laying eyes on the thing constitutes something of a ‘pinch me’ moment. There was one instance that sticks in my mind though: I was heading down the motorway towards Monaco, flying at a good 90mph, passing between two trucks either side of me. They’ve got no chance of seeing me. In something like the XK120, you can feel every nanosecond of that pass, and finding that bite between 3rd and 4th gear to get me ahead of them both, becomes a much more involved experience.
But that’s the beauty of a classic car: each has its own intricacies and idiosyncrasies that you must come to understand and overcome. From the lack of power steering, servo brakes and ESP, to mastering the gearbox transmission and double-clutching. There’s no hand-holding, it’s just man and machine. That becomes apparent very quickly in a car like the XK120.
Obviously, the XK120 is a performance car, built for racing. Is that something you’d be interested in doing?
Absolutely. I mean, the XK120 is a thrill to drive under optimal conditions. Can you imagine letting it loose on something like the Mille Miglia? Brescia to Rome and back? That sort of race adds a whole new element to the driving experience. It’s not just you and the car anymore: it’s the ultimate test of trust between driver and co-driver. Who you have at your side for a race like that is vital: you need absolute faith in that person. When they say ‘go’, you can’t question it, you can’t hesitate. You go. Whether that’s heading around a hairpin bend or overtaking another racer. I’ve been that person, the guy who shouts ‘go’ only to have my driver hesitate and miss that split-second window. Your lives are in each other’s hands for 1000 miles of road. Thrilling stuff.
We were sad to hear that Norman Dewis [Jaguar’s most distinguished test driver] passed away recently. Did you ever have the chance to speak with him?
Very sad news indeed. I had the pleasure of speaking with Norman a number of times. He was an absolute legend: A Jaguar test driver extraordinaire. When the E-type was launched in Geneva, Norman drove it 600 miles in just over 11 hours to get it from London to the stand in Geneva. He had to drive like a bat out of hell. But that was his speciality. After all, he is the guy who took the XK120, adapted it, and pushed it to an average of 170 mph to break the production speed record. His was a 33-year career that helped make Jaguar what it is today. A great guy with one hell of a story behind him. In the times I met him I’d sit down for hours and just listen to the man, such incredible tales.
Of course, we’re guessing you didn’t always drive a classic Jaguar. Can you recall your first driving experience?
I remember it was during the summertime. Just me, my 1988 Ford Fiesta 1.1 L, and a mixtape cassette of songs I can’t really remember now. I do, however, distinctly remember not really caring where I was headed, nor did I really care what I was driving. It wasn’t about the car, it was the freedom that came with it. The simple act of driving just felt like complete freedom to me. Obviously, my taste in cars has changed somewhat over the years, but that feeling of freedom that comes with driving hasn’t changed much at all.
I suppose I’ve always had a bit of a fascination with cars. It’s just ingrained in me. I remember as a child I’d just sit in the back of my friend’s parents’ Datsun for hours and hours, playing car Top Trumps. If we weren’t doing that, we were attempting handbrake turns on our go-karts. As a kid, everything just seemed to revolve around cars.
I don’t know where it comes from. Certainly not my parents. I could roll up in a Lamborghini and leave the next day in a Vauxhall Nova and my father wouldn’t notice. When I was 18, I managed to crash my Peugeot 106 into a grassy bank near my parent’s house. My father had to come and collect me as the car was winched onto the back of a tow truck, and he’s never let me forget it. Even to this day, regardless of what I’m driving and despite the racing licence in my pocket, I hear him telling me to ‘mind the grassy banks’ as I leave. If anyone ever accuses me of being humble, I’ll certainly have my parents to thank.
What do think the allure is behind a classic car like the Jaguar XK120?
I don’t think anyone truly knows the answer to that question, even those heavily involved in the classic scene. I think, to some extent, that childlike marvel comes into it. There’s certainly a nostalgic element to seeing the cars that populated the magazines and movies that you watched as a kid come to life again.
There’s also the fact that contemporary cars have gotten so incredibly good nowadays: They’re hitting faster speeds and achieving much smoother rides. You don’t even have to be that good of a driver, as newer cars do an awful lot of the work for you. That’s great, but it does take the art out of it a little. Hitting those top speeds in a classic car is a much more physical experience for the simple fact that the classic isn’t holding your hand the whole time. It takes skill, concentration and more than a small appetite for danger. That taps into a way of driving that is now lost on a lot of people. It’s more akin to race driving: the stakes are higher, there’s an element of risk. I think it goes back to that age-old power play between man and machine.
Do you think there’s a difference between learning to drive and truly mastering a car?
Of course. You only have to look at the likes of the WRC drivers to be sure of that. When I think of those who can truly be called drivers, it’s the likes of Colin McRae and Richard Burns that immediately spring to mind. We’re talking about guys that were controlling something to the very limit, the very edge of what’s humanly possible, and they were doing that amidst a host of adverse conditions like rain, mud and ice. One wrong move and that car is spitting you out. Nothing but road, rock and 400ft drop. I’ve always had a tremendous amount of respect for those guys; their peerless, razor-sharp skills; and their utter defiance of the odds. That is mastery given form: if you ever see a rally driver in action, you can see it’s a question of instinct more than anything else. The car becomes an extension of the driver. It’s a level of skill and mastery to which I could only aspire.
Was there an element of that peril in the road to Monaco?
I wouldn’t say there was too much peril, not nearly on the level I’ve just mentioned. But there was a real rush to taking on those mountain passes of Monaco. And in a classic car, no less. You’re tapping into a singular heritage, and you gain a whole new appreciation for the skill of those legendary drivers who did it all first.
Just look at Stirling Moss, averaging on almost 100mph across 1000 miles during his 1955 victory at Mille Miglia. Not hitting the hundred, but averaging on that speed over the duration of the race. It’s the stuff of legends, absolute madness. I can’t even comprehend the level of skill needed to pull that off. But therein lies the charm of the classic car, I guess: It’s a blend of passion, madness and the constant demand of absolute and unwavering skill.
The restoration of a classic car is no easy process. It’s very much a labour of love. Why do you think so many people choose to go through it?
We’re living in a digital age, I suppose. We don’t really feel like we own very much anymore. There are certain groups of people resisting that drift. Vinyl record sales are up by record levels. Film photography is experiencing a renaissance. People are investing more in their clothes based on the fabrics they’re made up of. We’re seeing a return to the tactile, and a fascination with the older ways. We want that tangible, physical element back. Which I think explains people’s fascination with the process of restoring a classic car like the Jaguar, but it also explains why a lot of people don’t quite understand it.
In a world where everything is immediately accessible, people expect things to happen overnight. Oftentimes, we’ll see a car restored in the space of a one-hour TV show, which doesn’t really attest to the time and effort that probably went into it. We restored the Jaguar XK120 in around ten months, and even that is fast by most people’s standards. Some 2,800 man-hours. Exceptional work. And it’s clear that Tim Leese and the Jaguar Classics team understand the sheer joy of building something, not to mention the oddly addictive nature of it all. I often tell myself that the next restoration will be my last. And then I find myself, gin and tonic in hand, looking up piston heads. Or talking to Tim to see what we can work on next.
What is it about the 50s and 60s that never goes out of style? Do you have any style icons yourself from that era?
That’s the eternal question, isn’t it? We just can’t let it do. But if you think back to the style icons of the time: Paul Newman; Steve McQueen; James Dean – All speed freaks themselves, of course – it’s easy to see why. James Dean lived and died by his Porsche 550 Spyder, ‘Little Bastard’. Steve McQueen had this Mini-Cooper S Mark II that I was always particularly fond of. I’d love to get a hold of a Q-car like that myself for runs around London. Paul Newman was a renowned racer in his own right, but it’s his sleeper cars that always intrigued me. He once decided to fit a Volvo 960 Wagon with a 380 horsepower Ford Racing V8 engine, topped with a Kenne Bell supercharger. I love that, it’s the sign of a true racer at heart, trying to hit top speeds in just about anything.
Do you think that explains our obsession with the styles that came out of that era?
I think so. But of course, it wasn’t really a question of style at the time, was it? These guys simply wanted to race. So, when you see them in their Belstaffs and their Barbours, you can see that they’re not wearing them for style necessarily. There’s a more utilitarian mindset to the whole thing. There’s no denying that the likes of Dean, Newman and McQueen were true arbiters of style, but that was never really their goal. They were lauded as the most stylish men in the world, but I don’t think style entered the equation for them, not to any major degree. Theirs was a legacy of authenticity to which we can only aspire nowadays. I think the Jaguar Classic department understands that. They’re trying to keep that authenticity alive. There are less people learning to drive than ever. Shared taxi services are on the rise. The generation we grew up in, its interest in those classic driving experiences are waning. Jaguar Classics have given petrol heads like me an outlet in an increasingly driverless society.
