A drive – one way from London

Yesterday the guy I used to work for gave me a shout and asked if I fancied a small job. Right there and then. I said yes without even wondering what it might be, and I’m glad I did. I had to take a car over to York, then catch a train to London, where I was to check over another car, and if it was OK I had to drive it back.

OK, that’s good enough already. That and the fact I’d be paid a hundred quid. And get lunch thrown in.

But hat’s not the good bit, the good bit was the cars.

I had to take a 1996 Porsche 928 to York. It was old, nearly as old as me, and bloody demanding to drive, you couldn’t relax. But the noise. And the poke. Wow. It was completely amazing. It had a weird gear arrangement where first was where you expect second to be, then the handbrake was strange too, but what the hell it was the fastest feeling car I have ever driven. I guess it’s no faster than dad’s FD’s Range Rover, but that is so smooth you don’t really know what’s happening, but in the Porsche your ass is nearly on the ground.


I’m on the tube now on my way to an address in Chelsea to pick up the other which is even older. It won’t be fast, but I think it will be cool. It’s a 70’s Mercedes coupe, in yellow! First though I want to find an Arab café for lunch, Roger said there’s one on the Brompton Road to look out for – big kebab with foul medames here we come.

Bloody hell London is busy. Mad but lovely place.

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