More 'essence of driving' rapture...
Discussion
These little bastards should be on the NHS!
Honestly, I continue to be enthralled by the lunacy of this firecracker and revel in my burgeoning ability to provoke that into which God intended it to indulge.
Tail end of last week, a mid morn, no vermin abroad, just Flossie, friends and a few nags au trot.
Prosecuted with increasing vigour, moorland Bs were sythed over like a bow's fleeting contact with the strings of a Paganinic Strad, the wonderlunge and ceremonial bark precursors to what seemed a variable but oh-so-joyously recovered slippage on every bend and well sighted curving dip or veering crestaway.
It wasn't so much driving as motorised surfing: no slack, no pause for thought, just lightening telepathy followed in the acrid afterburn by brain fazed incredulity at such balletic infusion and yet all conducted at less than 70mph!
The shakedown from such an unbelievable high was the signature deployment, a small paddock of deserted and freshly laid bitumen, away from the disapproving glare of any roaming veganvolk and the consummation of a perfect hour with the screaming of a dozen, perfectly formed, smokey circles.
I am 8 years old and Alan Clark is PM...
Honestly, I continue to be enthralled by the lunacy of this firecracker and revel in my burgeoning ability to provoke that into which God intended it to indulge.
Tail end of last week, a mid morn, no vermin abroad, just Flossie, friends and a few nags au trot.
Prosecuted with increasing vigour, moorland Bs were sythed over like a bow's fleeting contact with the strings of a Paganinic Strad, the wonderlunge and ceremonial bark precursors to what seemed a variable but oh-so-joyously recovered slippage on every bend and well sighted curving dip or veering crestaway.
It wasn't so much driving as motorised surfing: no slack, no pause for thought, just lightening telepathy followed in the acrid afterburn by brain fazed incredulity at such balletic infusion and yet all conducted at less than 70mph!
The shakedown from such an unbelievable high was the signature deployment, a small paddock of deserted and freshly laid bitumen, away from the disapproving glare of any roaming veganvolk and the consummation of a perfect hour with the screaming of a dozen, perfectly formed, smokey circles.
I am 8 years old and Alan Clark is PM...
Perfect.
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