For complex reasons involving the fact that I forgot it was a Bank Holiday weekend, here’s a post from way back when I’d just started blogging, and it was true that nobody was reading me.
I can indeed look foolish, and this sad story is the tale of one of those many, many occasions when I have done so. I once had a rather nice Nissan 200 SX sportscar. It was psychotically quick, hence the first episode, and a lovely car.
It was one of the only two cars I have ever spun, and as you may remember I did it in a petrol station. http://wp.me/p2C8Zz-hN
It was also fiercely reliable, and very good tempered for a turbo engined vehicle. It never even fluffed when I did something of quite remarkable stupidity in the wilds of Norfolk one midsummer night. It was my habit in those days to go to the 24 hour Willhire saloon car race at Snetterton circuit, to watch the nuts being thrashed off ostensibly ‘showroom’ cars (‘showroom’ being a bit like the ‘showroom’ of the 5/6th scale NASCAR racer –see above) for 24 hours, or on one momentous occasion, in the 25th year of the sponsor company’s being, 25 hours. I loved this as a day out. By the end of the race the pits and paddock were full of real roadcars that had been butchered for spares. God alone knows how the owners, who often were members of the spectating fraternity, who willingly allowed their transport to be used for organ transplants, got home on the Sunday evening after the race. Anyway, even in the depths of summer it can get a bit nippy in Norfolk in the early hours, so I sat in the car, fired it up, and put the heater on full blast. I got out for some reason, and somehow managed to lock myself out of the car. Hmmm. A friendly burger van proprietor allowed me to use his mobile phone – mine was in the car of course – and I called the cavalry, or at least the AA. Now Snetterton is a long way from anywhere, as indeed is most of Norfolk, and it took the patrolman the best part of one and a half hours to find me, then another hour or so to get into the car without breaking the windows to do so. Funny that. A guy with a shedload of hi-tech tools takes 60 minutes to do what it takes the average Twocker about 20 seconds. But when he did get me in, after the best part of three hours, old Bloody Mary was still humming quietly to herself, no oiled plugs, no overheating, no oil pressure below the ‘0’ stop on the gauge. It was lovely and warm, if smelling slightly of very hot window seals and heater vent plastic.