I had a very educational weekend, motorsport loving people of the world, as I have managed to obtain the services of a race driving trainer: My beloved’s younger brother, who is a proper gear head. He can pop a hood without trouble and fix things beneath it with little to no difficulty. He also owns a very loud red car with funky – oh blast, it’s not spokes when it’s a car, is it? – wheel-applicationy-type things, which he can drive so well that his driver’s license is in a perpetual state of peril.
His car is so manly the motor continues running after the engine has been switched off and the key taken from the ignition, just for a little while. One hour in the driver’s seat of this machine is enough to make anyone grow balls so large you could remove them, coat them in silver and hang them off the rear of the car with pride. And, best of all, the owner of the man-machine thinks the Reasonably Priced Car Project is the very best idea in this world. Making me no longer the sole believer in this grand plan.
(Actually, this is a lie. My sister’s boyfriend also said that this was the second most awesome way to utilise the internet. The first – because of course I asked – is porn, according to him. How could I compete?)
So yes. The proper gear head has offered to teach me the appropriate clutch control and stirring skills I will need in order to defeat the mighty Stephen Fry. I am so set it’s not even funny.
Now, if I can work out how to bring this project to the attention of more people, as the powers of online streaming to the evil world of Facebook are deserting me again, again and again; we should be all good to go and rumble on the track.
If anyone has any suggestions, by all means let me know. You hear that, Top Gear Talent Scout? I’m ready to be recruited now, if it’s not too much to ask.
No comments:
Post a Comment