WHEN IT’S MAGIC TIME
One of the real pleasures in my life is to be sitting in a race car at eight thirty in the morning, sun rising, on a false grid full of historic racing machines, all revving, hungry to get on the track. As they’d say in Hollywood, it’s “magic time.”
There are so many wonderful characters to get to know. (Also some miserable twats, usually Porsche drivers. Just kidding?) There’s Ward Witkowski, in his Alfa-engined bobsy; over there, Super Dave Bondon in his beautifully prepared Morgan; another Brit, Dave Hinton, in his glorious scarlet-red Jag 120; there’s Ken smiling away in his snot-green 356. Les, the pit marshal, smiles and gives the five-minute warning. If there is a heaven, then this is where I want to spend eternity.