Davide la Locomotive

This is the story of my dream watch.
How I found it.
And why it doesn’t matter.

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What’s the oldest things you are wearing today?

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Did you ever watch the 1965 not-very-good James Bond film Thunderball? If not, don’t bother. Anyway, in that film, the eponymous James Bond wears a Breitling Top Time watch. It looks a bit weird.

It might sound odd that he’s not wearing a Rolex, but they sold the watch rights to the highest bidder. Worse? Seiko paid for four films. Bond wore a petrol-station Seiko.

I always found that a bit jarring. Because it just doesn’t look right.
But how do we define what “looking right” actually means?

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Horologists (yes, that’s really what they choose to call themselves) love to talk about their “grail watches.” The ones they’ve dreamed of for years, lusted over, and finally spent an absurd amount of money to buy.

But most of them have multiple grails.

Let me be clear—there was only ever one Holy Grail.
You can’t own three Holy Grails.
You don’t say, “I’m popping to Tesco for some milk and a grail—want one?”

That’s not a quest. That’s just shopping.

A true grail isn’t about money or brand.
It’s about the search.
About knowing exactly what you’re looking for… and not knowing if it even exists.
That’s what makes it special.

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I think my whole life I’ve been searching for the perfect example of different things I’m interested in.

I always start by defining the attributes that are important to me. Then I look for something that satisfies those criteria.
Sometimes I find it. Sometimes I don’t.

I spent years looking for the best propelling pencil.
It’s a Rotring 800, by the way.

And I didn’t realise it, but since I was about ten, I’ve been on a real grail watch quest.
I just didn’t know if my grail really existed.

I started with the criteria.
I wanted an analogue watch. No petrol station vibes for me, please.
A silver case, clean silver dial, silver hands.
No numbers—just some subdials.
Something simple. Elegant. Sharp.

I searched for years.
Decades.

Every time I walked past a jewellery shop, I’d look through the window.
Scanning. Hoping. Wondering.

If I’d found a Casio that matched, that would’ve been my grail.
It wasn’t about prestige.
It’s about that moment I see it and say:
That’s it. That’s the one.

I wasn’t even sure if it existed.
But I wanted to look for it anyway.

Eventually, late one night…
I found it.

On eBay.

It was a Breitling Top Time.
Not the version Sean Connery wears in Thunderball.
Mine looks good.

It was the most perfectly perfect watch ever.
I loved it.

The glass was scratched, the face was corroded, the chronograph didn’t work, and the buttons fell off.

But apart from that—it was perfect.

I sent it off to Breitling to get serviced.
It took them two years and cost more than the watch itself.
I didn’t care.

Now it works as well as it looks.

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The thing about that watch is…

I don’t really wear it.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s still flawless. I still love it.
It is still my grail.

I no longer look in jewellery shop windows.
I don’t need to.
I did it. I found it.
The search is over.

It’s just—I have a Garmin smartwatch that does notifications and sleep tracking.
Also, I’m worried about scratching the screen or damaging it.

So I wear the Top Time on special occasions.
When I do, people often notice it.
It really does look unique and beautiful.
It’s not just me that thinks that.

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So was it a waste of time?

Hell no.

Because it was never really about the watch.
It was about me.

It’s about the way I am.
The way I think.
The way I seek.

It was about the challenge—to define, to refine, to chase.

To figure out what “looking right” meant to me.
Then go hunt it down.

It was always about the thrill of the chase.
The uncertainty.
The hope.
The moment of finding it.
Of realising all that searching had been worthwhile.

It was nice that I found it.
But I don’t think it’s necessary.

It’s like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade — he doesn’t walk out of the temple holding the Holy Grail. But you wouldn’t say that film was a waste of time. The grail wasn’t the point.

People spend their whole lives chasing an idea.
Doing what they love.
They might never get there.

But it doesn’t matter.

What matters is the journey, and the stories they pick up along the way.

Now if you’ll excuse me…
I think I’ve just found the perfect spatula.