Spirit of ecstasy

As I noted the other day, there is little quite so offensive as the current rash of 'Rallies' infesting Europe and America these days. "You're just jealous" some may say, "you can't bear to see rich young things enjoying supercars". And I suppose I am jealous to be honest, jealous of the opportunity to spend time driving for the sheer bloody hell of it.

I'm certainly not envious of the participants. I mean really - what the fuck is the point of having a fat bankroll in your back pocket if you are so lacking in imagination that you need some other wanker to organise a drive through France for you?

I don't want to stump up an eye-watering entrance fee for the privilege of spending an evening with a braying shitneck telling me between lines of racket all about the Ferraris he's crashed.

Real petrolheads just do it - alone or in groups and it's got nothing to do with the tackle that you use, just the good times you have. And to prove my point - that some like minded hoons with £25 between them can have about twenty million times more fun. I give you m'lud... Exhibit A.