Speed King

Speed is not something generally associated with me of late, being much reduced with broken bones and coughs. 

Well, times they are a’changing. I’m moving from Bob Dylan to Deep Purple…

Goodbye “Knock-knock-knockin’ on heavens door”’ - Hallo “I’m a speed king, see me fly”

Last Xmas, Sophie & Ulrich surprised me with a voucher to drive a Ferrari. OK, I know, you guys have all done it before, but for me; a first. 

At the time, my health wasn’t up to sitting in a car and moving at speed, so I waited cautiously until last week - coincidentally the 200-day anniversary of continuous hacking thanks to the old whooping cough. I’m fine, thanks for asking…

It was well planned. Setting off hesitantly, I soon mastered keeping the engine running for several seconds at a time. Heading off in the direction of Toulouse, I rapidly made the speedo register above zero. Closer examination showed the minimum speed available was 50 kph. There was a lot of space left on that dial.

“This is Jolly” I thought. “I’m really going for it now”.

I was beginning to relax. “This is easy” I thought. Not too fast, load of noise. Simple.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, my team of experts were scanning the local neighbourhood for police radars.

We turned off towards Albi, still pootling along but making a great deal of noise about it. A passing car flashed “all clear”, my copilot, studying his radar detector told me to turn back toward Montauban, then “floor the accelerator".

“OK” I said in my best French. “Did you mean push that flappy thing all the way down?” I asked. 

He said something that I presumed meant yes, so I did.

SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT

Those things can go really fast. I mean Really. Fast. Really. 

Thankfully I was wearing my brown trousers.