Step back in time with me for a while.
No, it's OK, don't be afraid, this won't hurt.
Much.
Back in the early days of Channel Four (1983-84), they showed a poky little TV show called The Prisoner.
This show was all about rebellion against the establishment and individuality, and as my headmaster at the time was a Delius worshipping twat (Christopher Redwood - lets hope he Googles this) who fully deserved rebellion, I lapped it up.
There have been two major upshots of this show. Firstly, I can think of no finer place to be on this planet than Portmeirion. Secondly, I always wanted a Caterham (Lotus) Seven.
Today, for the first time, I sat in and drove a Caterham Seven.
This has left me broken.
I always thought that I could run one as my sole car, but after todays half-hour blast around Leicestershire, I realise I cannot.
The reason? It is too focussed, too harsh, too noisy. Too utterly brilliant as well.
I am, alas, taller than the average Colin Chapman, so I can only really fit in the SV version, so I tested one of these with a 150BHP Ford motor. Now my car produces 231BHP and is no slouch, but the Seven....
You pour yourself into the leather racing seat, and strap up the 4-point racing harness, you feel like you are wearing the car rather than sitting in it. You press the big red button that must never ever ever be pressed, and all of the 25 years of anticipation for the moment you actually drive the car of your childhood dreams crystalize.
You tentatively find the clutch's bite-point, find out what the (un-servoed) brakes are like, get a feel for the steering and probe the throttle gently as who knows how this compares with the other cars you have driven.
Well, it doesn't compare, not to any car you have ever driven. Maybe your first biike when you were a kid, you know, that feeling of freedom, and effortless speed you got when your Raleigh Chipper was new.
You have a Porsche Boxter behind you and the Stig next to you tells you to boot it. You, for the first time, plant your right foot firmly against the bulkhead.
The world goes a very special kind of noisey-blurry.
You open your mouth to gasp but your breath is taken away by a violent rush towards that distant point on the horizon. Basic perceptual
processes are rendered useless by the unearthly forces at work. As
quickly as it's begun, diminishing road and a knowledge of your own particular speed/talent equation mean it
simply has to stop. Brake down, change down, glance in the mirror, a
fraction of lock and brake hard into the sanctuary of a dusty lay-by.
The exhaust cracks one more time before power is cut, and in the
ensuing silence I felt like weeping.
It takes a while to order your thoughts, but hefty doses of adrenalin eventually allow for moments of crystal clear reflection.
I can't drive one of these every day. It would ruin me, physically. I can't afford one as a second car, they are just too expensive for that. I can't afford a second hand one, they hold their value too well.
I want to own one, no stuff that, I want to build one.
But I can't.
Yet.
But one day... one fine day....
