On a visit to Bourton on the Water in the Cotswolds I visited a Motor Museum, rammed full with engineering stretching back to the 1800’s. You step through the door out of the reception and you are instantly transported back in time, the sights, the smells and the sounds of a time long ago, your senses bombarded by wave after wave of nostalgia. Cars sit nestled among the memorabilia of yesteryear, appearing almost to be waiting for their owners to turn the crank or key and fire them into life, caravans from the early 1900’s adorned with window dressings and strewn with clothing abandoned by their holiday making visitors, convertibles with picnic hampers and leather gloves yearning to feel the wind and the sun on their leather seats as they fly through the open countryside lanes to the sounds of laughter and chattering occupants. Look up and see bicycles and toy aeroplanes suspended in permanent animation, venture through another door and find yourself in the blacksmiths barn, sweating over the fires making ready the shoes for the working horses that pulled the heavily laden drays through the cobbled streets. Another turn and you are in a rally car, streaked with mud and debris, hurtling through the forests at lightning speed, on to another room full of motorbikes and mopeds of the 60’s and 70’s a hint of rebellion and disregard for convention now evident. Finally you wander into the toy room, bears and trains, prams and carts, roller skates and marbles of every colour and size and memories for everyone fill the air and you are a child again, wonderous and tempted by the things that make your memories come alive. How magical that place is and how easily you forget the here and now, a real escape in this modern world.