The Goodwood Festival of Speed is everything a motor show should be. Motoring Editor Michael McAleer reports on a car buff's dream weekend in deepest Sussex
As the muddied masses gathered in the mud at Glastonbury music festival, some 120,000 car enthusiasts of another sort wandered through the grounds of Goodwood estate in deepest Sussex for a different sort of aural feast.
No less star-struck, they were there to see - and hear - this unique event in the motoring calendar, a mix of classic car concours, racing and garden party.
In 12 years, the Goodwood Festival of Speed has evolved from a picnic for a privileged clique of classic car enthusiasts to a major international event, the biggest and best of its kind in the world.
The idea of charging people to see a collection of classic racing cars hurtling up a driveway, with a classic car concours on the side, may seem to be stretching things a bit. Yet Goodwood is now the model upon which other car events around the world aspire.
Slowly the car firms are coming on board as well, not just parading their historic wares and racing cars, but increasingly setting up stands worthy of the best motor shows to display current models. If there is to be any future for a British motor show, this is it.
But Goodwood is so much more than a glorified showroom. Where else can you see a 19th century steam carriage in action minutes before a current Formula One car comes screaming past? All this expensive metal on the move is watched by crowds rubbing shoulders with the likes of Stirling Moss, Emerson Fittipaldi and Jenson Button.
For the fans, one of the best aspects of the Goodwood weekend is that barriers and restricted areas are kept to a minimum. The knowledgeable crowds can mix with racing heroes and the cars that made them famous. It's an autograph hunter's dream.
As you wander through the paddocks of classic cars, the deafening growl of the brutish engines and the smell of the fumes hark back to a time when racing was far more than the high-pitched whine of the modern racing cars. This was the age of true grunt machines that rumble like thunder. This is the music which the motorheads gather in the fields to hear.
After much tweaking and polishing - and answering hundreds of questions - the drivers and cars make their way to the start of the hillclimb, before racing up in single file to the finish line.
For our part, we were lucky enough to get a call from Porsche inviting us to take a spin in the supercar run, a recent addition to the event.
This year's line-up ranged from a McLaren Mercedes SLR to a bevy of Lamborghini Murcielagos, to the very weird Maserati Birdcage 75th, a Pininfarina designed concept based on the Maserati MC12.
There were the specialist models as well, such as Alpina BMWs, an Ascari KZ1 and a Zonda. Then there was our own carriage for the day, the Porsche Carrera GT. Behind the wheel for our run was Richard Attwood, 1960s Formula One driver and Le Mans winner in 1970.
As you line up in the traffic waiting access to the track, the sheer enthusiasm of the crowd becomes apparent. It's only here that you realise the difference between this and the average static motor show: it's about metal on the move, the reason for its success and something car show organisers constantly forget.
Kids edge forward to touch the cars, ask questions through the open windows and join their fathers in what seems like a grinning competition. In the Carrera GT, every flick of Richard's right foot brings a howl from the 5.6-litre V10 followed by a cheer from the crowd.
As we approach the start line, the Carrera bridles to be let loose on the track, the clutch jerking slightly in the eagerness to get moving. With the wave of a marshall's hand we're away, forced back into the seat with the g-force and hurtling towards the first corner and a set of haybales. Richard never flinches. Nor does he brake. Instead he flings the car around the first corner to the sound of the high revving engine and the screech of Michelin rubber. It's a hair-raising ride - Richard wasn't about to be seen as the slouch of the show.
The festival is more a parade than a race, though that doesn't mean the crowd's eagerness for some high-speed action goes unfulfilled. Nobody wants to putter along in these cars, be they the 1955 Mille Miglia-winning Mercedes 300 SLR or the 1970s Le Mans-winning Lolas. They were never designed for anything but full-speed, certainly not with Sir Stirling Moss behind the wheel.
There's always someone who lets the attention of the crowd get the better of them. The result is normally a very expensive repair job and, more importantly, serious embarrassment for the person involved. Last year it was a Lamborghini Murcielago in front of the main stand, along with a Dodge Viper. This year, the supercar run offered the unfortunate driver of the Zonda behind us the chance to eat some hay from the tightly packed bales between driver and ditch.
However, the festival is not about the prangs or accidents. It's all about cars, old and new. It's a celebration of the automobile. Sure, for the spectator there's a great deal of waiting around, but compared to the static fare one gets at either a car museum or a motor show, the festival brings memories to life for one short summer weekend.