Campbell Cassidy's blog

Brands Hatch ? Testing

A Thursday night first date with a hot lawyer was not supposed to impact the weekend racing however things went astonishingly well and it was only at 2am that I realised that an 8am sign on was starting to look a little tight. A fitful few hours of sleep before the alarm went off and a high speed warm up drive through central London saw me at the leafy Kent circuit with whole minutes to spare. Talking of spare, Tony was edging towards going spare at me being late, yet again, but once behind the wheel things seemed to calm down and the benefits of preparation started to become apparent as consistency, slow but consistent, started to come.

Brands Hatch Qualifying June 2009

My education as a driver continues with lessons in humility and superstition. You may have read that our first visit to Brands was less than successful for me and the paddock wisdom suggests that drivers have lucky and unlucky circuits. I?ve always leaned towards Jackie Stewart?s view here: he was adamant that his only superstition was to be completely un-superstitious but this weekend has had me questioning the great man?s dogma. Last time we were here Matt rather famously wrote that Paddock Hill was ?a lot quicker than it looked? and rather failed to demonstrate this as he binned it into the gravel on his first qualifying lap. Having taken a fair amount of ribbing for this, his jaw was set fairly squarely during qualification and set right behind him on the start finish straight was mine. We pelted down to Paddock and I was determined to follow him directly but at the short braking zone I pumped the middle pedal once and the brakes locked up for a couple of meters. As Matt nailed the turn in point like a rock star at the prom, I sailed straight into the off cambered half of the turn and the marshals hunkered down behind the Armco. Another pump unlocked the brakes and I tried to turn in. For a very brief moment the car was straight and I tried tickling the accelerator. It was going to be okay but then the momentum caught up with me and after an enormous tank slapper I shot backwards into the kitty litter exactly replicating Matts performance of the previous meeting.

I then had to sit and watch the remainder, nearly all, of the session with the august men of Post 4 who gave me the honour of being their first chalk mark of the day.

Brands Hatch Race 1 & 2

Keen followers of this blog will be aware that my starting performance has not been great. I lost 15 places off the line at Anglesey however starting from the back here today would offer up another challenge as the back of the grid is on a downslope which requires the driver to hold the revs and brake with the same foot before releasing the clutch. By the time the red lights went out my calf was cramped and it was with some relief that I was soon charging past a couple of cars. A very, very soft brake pedal prevented any further heroics and it was simply a matter of claiming the odd place here and there and waiting for the natural Locost attrition to lift me up the order. Started 32nd finished 22nd not a bad result overall but not really that satisfying. Not remotely satisfying compared to the howling banshee of a performance put in by Matt. Seven years of Locost and finally he meshed with the black beast to record his maiden victory by the grease on the hair of a gnat?s chuff.

Its rare that you see someone get what they deserve, politicians spring to mind here, even rarer to see someone get something positive but in the short while I?ve been racing with Matt I don?t think anyone has deserved quite so much. Tony too should be mentioned in these dispatches, he?s put more broken Locosts back on the track than mere sporting etiquette would demand, and this is as much a team victory for the Cherringtons as anything else. In fact it was difficult to say who had the bigger grin at lunchtime.

Race two was a similar affair for me, minus the good start. Got a couple of places back in the race and finished 23rd from 32nd. Hardly setting the world alight but from the cockpit more satisfying as for once I could actually see where the speed was coming from and where it was simply desperate ragging it. The former is something that can be built upon whilst the latter is behaviour of Yoofs.

To confirm my suspicions that Brands might be becoming Matt?s lucky circuit, both his first podium and his first race lead were here, was an immediate follow up to his maiden win with another win. Stunning result for Matt, Tony and TMC Motorsport (www.tmcmotorsport.co.uk) and the black beast never looked better with two winners cups and garlands.

In order to make up for not getting an upgrade signature on my licence due to the over exuberance of the marshals at Snetterton, I made up for this by standing on Post 2 for the day on Sunday, resplendent in Orange. Of the plaudits headed Matt?s way the most sincere I was witness to was the senior marshal, himself a former F3 driver, when he said that both Locost races were easily the best sporting spectacle of the weekend and by far the most intensely fought races on the card. They all loved it, I loved it, congratulations Matt.

Anglesey 7th June Race 2
Despite the borderline, brummie, poofery in the adjacent tent, I managed a decent nights kip and woke to another dreech welsh morning. Our race was not scheduled till after lunch and this gave me time to tour the local villages with a bootfull of soaked nomex searching for a beautiful laundrette. My luck was finally in at the local village, a place named without the use of vowels, where somebody had set up a shop specially for me, a combo espresso bar, restaurant and laundrette. I proceeded to invest a tenner, to relieve my Sunday morning misery, on 30mins of industrial dryer, two bacon baps, a Sunday Times and an espresso so very, very large that it would take some hours to recover from. Welsh entrepreneurs take note: at that time I would have happily shelled out 500quid on a 200quid suit if that beautiful laundrette had been closed.

Yesterday?s inundation had now been supplanted by a howling wind that dried the welsh asphalt in no time at all and it wasn?t long before the sounds of squealing tyres and twisted metal rent the tranquil landscape in twain. There was a very nasty looking high speed shunt in the bike powered RGB class that thankfully resulted in nothing more than financial pain and a similarly fortuitous result from an upside down sax max at Rocket. Lap times were finally back around the same times as Friday?s testing and it was with some determination that I formed up on the gird. Yesterday I lost 15 places on the first lap today I was determined to keep station. The red light went off, my wheels spun like politician trying to explain his expenses and the field zipped past me. I?m not normally given to the use of f**king foul language (sic) but anyone with a nervous disposition would have given thanks for my helmet at this point. I doubt that there has been such profanity on the Sabbath in Wales since the All Blacks put JPR Willams nose out of joint.

Three laps in and I?ve found my natural level, in front was the 54 car of David Morrow, which appeared to be wider than the Menai Bridge, and with every desperate lunge into rocket the blue striped livery of Victoria Pickles 71 car filled my mirrors. I was quicker in places but I was neither quick enough nor smart enough to get past the 54 car. I hadn?t eyeballed the last lap board however it was quite clear that my time was running out and I lined him up for a pass into the first half of the corkscrew. He wasn?t as quick as he had been out of the previous corner and I managed to get front wheels halfway up the side of his car before age and experience (beauty too probably) stepped in and told me to get out of it and my race was run. Placed 21st, not great from 13th on the grid but given the catalogue of learning experiences to date, I was still on a high as this was the first real racing for places that I had experienced. I pumped the hand of the man who beat me and despite my lowly result I had Matt sized grin to chum me down the motorway and back to the Slum.

Anglesey 6th June Race 5
Miles of tailbacks and rain like curtain rods followed me back from the mainland and by Saturday morning there was the nasty air of an English bank holiday brewing. The track was wet for qualifying. Wet as in, that?s not dry it?s wet, wet. Lap times were around 10secs off dry testing and some of the ?not so locosters? were fiddling around with special wet tyres. When asked if I would be running wet tyres, ?well, yes of course I am, my car?s been parked outside all night and the whole thing is wet? this didn?t go down too well with the purists but an all time best 11th spot in qualification was my reward and with a second best spot for race 2 in 13th it appeared that my first time out in the wet was not such a bad showing. Pleased with my efforts I repaired to the bar for some rare welsh bit and a bit of a dry out.

The driech drizzle continued thru lunch and after some hand wringing from the stewards, our race was on. Conditions had deteriorated and helicopters had been dispatch to Snowdon to rescue the fell runners engaged in their masochistic footrace up the fell. No such luxury for us and barely able to make out my air filter during the green flag lap, we were launched like herring into the first corner. Unable to distinguish grass from asphalt, either by sight or grip the only method to determine wither you were on track was if you were luck enough to feel the rumble of kerbs before swapping ends. Conditions were marginal at the good bits and after a few quicker laps I finally found how bad the bad bits could be. Whilst happily aquaplaning toward the run up the hill to rocket, I cleared the lee of the hill and was blasted straight into next week by powerful gust of wind. I was actually surprised to see a number of cars barrelling behind me at full gas up the hill. I pressed all of the pedals, pushed all of the buttons and levers however it was now quite clear that I was simply a passenger and the little wheel in front of me was about as much use as an ashtray in a thunderstorm. Coming to rest near the marshals, huddling in their hut, I considered shutting the whole thing down right there. Something that a number of my fellow powerboaters owned up to after the race, my confidence knocked I toured round the welsh countryside trying to remember where the track was and what the view looked liked till someone waved a chequered flag and then we could all go home.

Pulling up in parc ferme the locosters looked like Manx boat people who had been recently pulled out of the Irish sea. Robert Palin was shivering uncontrollably and clearly in the early stages of hypothermia. Matt was doing a creditable impersonation of an epileptic chesire cat but with the warming effects of adrenalin waning, the rain slacked off to a torrential downpour and it was time to slip into something a little less damp. My race suit is normally a bit of a struggle to get in and out of but disengaging the zip the sodden nomex split and slid to the floor like a banana suit and as I sat naked in my steamed up hire car with the heater on full blast, quizzical locals peered in looking for evidence of sheeping, (the local equivalent of dogging I?m reliably informed by the Birmingham Two & a Half). On the upside, I was still alive and despite much circumstantial evidence to the contrary, I had not driven blindly off the headland into the Irish Sea. I had come second last but like the first beast to crawl from the sea to the land I now had a dry tomorrow to look forward to.

Brands Hatch ? Race 4
Despite 80 reasonably event free laps on Monday one tour of the indy circuit during qualifying was enough to tell me that we had a problem. The 74 car now sounded like a raspberry being shot out of a canon and despite being normally aspirated had developed a chronic turbo lag. Coming out of Graham Hill bend I took a bit more kerb than normal resulting in a minor tank slapper however a missile appeared in front of my head and without the time or possibility to duck (you try ducking in a six point harness!) I was struck in the head by the only survivable component of a locost, the air filter. Without the air filter the car was now devouring air like student at an all you can drink buffet and sounding like orgasmic death throes of a blow up doll, not good.

Qualifying was a wash out for me with a 62sec lap and 20th on the grid. The remaining question was could we find the problem and the air filter and fix both of them in the three or so hours before the race? My air filter last seen by me at Graham Hill bend, and was rumoured round the paddock to have made it all the way round the lap to Clearways, which was a lot further than Matt had in the belligerent black beast. Quoting from his excellent circuit guide Matt had declared that Paddock Hill bend was ?quicker than it looked?. He went about demonstrating this by chucking it backwards into the kitty litter on his first lap. Whilst no doubt fuming to himself in the gravel Matt was rapidly joined by another locoster, pointing forwards this time with the steering wheel in one hand and the other fully engaged in a titanic struggle to deviate the car from a potentially ankle snapping nose first entry into the tyres.

My errant air filter was finally recovered somewhere around Maclarens but was, even for Locost, in pretty poor repair. Tony called in a couple of the, perhaps, millions of favours he had performed over the years and found us another. A quick check of the engine compression and spark plugs found a bizarrely damaged plug and the 74 car, resplendent in her new mud guards was once again ready to race.

I?m yet to get anything like a good start and this is something that I should definitely practice, I thought as the field inched away from me down to Paddock Hill bend. No sign of the black beast as yet as we all dived into Druids (spoke too soon below) and I managed a rare pass down the hill into Graham Hill bend. Right were on here I thought as two white Locosts (you know who you are) touched and started spinning in front me of me. A gap appeared between the revolving obstacles and it was only at the very last minute that I realised that by the time I made the ten meters up to the gap it was going to be firmly shut. I took to the kerb and the grass on the right easily avoiding the spins however with the rest of the field, including the black beast disappearing up the road, I pointed the car back down to the track and nailed it. Bad move. I was at the centre of the world for a what seemed like ages, as brand hatch gyrated round me a few times and the engine coughed and died. I was now sitting in my own little crop circle, dead last, whilst the motor race whined on somewhere out of my sight. Bugger.

Back on track and giving it more than was sensible or quick I managed to catch up some of the back markers after a couple of laps and a few hairy moments. Finally with someone to race, I charged up the inside of Druids hoping that the car, who thought he had the inside line, would recognise the hopelessness of his position and give me some room. A micro second later that car was sideways in front me at the apex, after being tapped, and my nose cone was under his front wheels with the two of us locked in an L shaped tangle. I could hear sniggering from the boys in orange as I reversed out of the lovers clutch and roared back down the hill looking for black flags that would tell me that I was depositing fluid on the track from a surely gashed radiator. No black flags and the rest of the race was a lonely struggle with two bent lower front wishbones that converted the normally predictable little car into a end swapping monster and quite the biggest armful of understeer I?ve ever had to contend with. Finished next to last but with a number of cars lining the Armco and looking like a locost showroom I?d only lost 2 places on my qualifying back to 22nd and got my couple of points for showing up.

Brands Hatch ? Track Day
The return of the Sean-miester, Mr Laconic was back and sad to report yours truly had not as yet pulled his socks up. We had sneaked onto a novice only track day under the premise that with Sean in the car this was an instructional day. Credit crunch attendance left the circuit blessedly empty barring some yoofs in their M3s and the Caterham driving experience lorry, which I?m sure would have given some of the Caterham clients a run for their money if they let it out on the track.

This was my first time at Brands and I stuck in a ca 62sec lap first time out. This would have put me bottom of the bottom half of last year?s grid and as such was a very encouraging sign, especially with 90kgs of industrial grade talent mumbling away in the co-pilot?s seat.

The wind rush in the open topped car was a bit of problem for our 20quid intercom and despite a bootful of helmets we were unable to get a working set of full faces with intercoms. The next best option was the open face rally style helmets with the sun visors down. I could tell that the ethos of locost was finally getting to Sean as he manned up to the challenge by gaffa taping his gloves to his chin and sun visor to the gloves, which made him look like a safety conscious, if somewhat startled, Bedouin. Bound and gagged thus it was only by some negotiation that the marshals actually let us out on the track but on the plus side, cockpit comms were now restored and my final excuse for mucking around was gone.

Brands Hatch Indy is basically a four corner circuit that is fairly straightforward to learn and naturally subtly difficult to master. After a few sessions and the inevitable skinned knee, I was out on the track on my own trying to get it under 60secs (Locost lap record here being 58.4sec, set in 2004) when an eagled eye clerkess in race control black flagged me for undertaking an XR2 doing about 30mph up the hill to Druids hairpin. Back into the pits for a talking to and a slap on the wrist (XR2 man had just slotted in a new gearbox and was taking it easy for a few laps, could have stayed off the racing line, no?) Matt went out to set a ?data lap? at 59.8sec but even with a few more laps, and a couple at 60.0 I couldn?t get anything in the 59s but another 0.5sec improvement would put me into the top ten grid slots for the first time and with the possibly to draft other locosts during qualifying I was happy enough to spend the rest of the day pestering the yoofs in their M3, unable to pass them with 90hp under my command but unable to be shaken with 615kg lightly kissing the track. Nice to see that youth of day out playing with the oldies though

Cadwell Park ? Test Day
Head for Grimsby and turn left. It is my custom to head for any port in a storm but in this case I would have been quicker trying for Dieppe. It took an age to arrive at Cadwell but immediately the impression was that it was worth the journey Cadwell park is known as the mini-nurburgring, a complex and tight track weaving through the Lincolnshire trees and up and down the mini-mountainsides. Compared to the elegant O-level simplicity of Mallory this test was more akin to sitting A-level maths in Cantonese but what fun. The slow corners are faster than you think and the fast corners are much faster than you think. With the aid of Matt and our GPS data logger we were able to take 13 secs off my original lap time in the duration of the day. As this was a track day rather than an official test day the was a motley assortment of machinery, from mighty minis, to MR2s and a weapons grade Caterham R500 which put out more horses than ben hur.

The day did not lack drama, a well prepared racing Caterham made a mighty mess of the back end of a stationary Lotus Exige in the mountain complex and a MR2 was reduced to scrap after rolling out and over a few times. The thing was flat as a pancake however both drivers limped away with nothing more serious than giant holes in their wallets. I did what I could, narrowly missing the barriers, trees and a slow moving Seat Leon to damage the car but with the light fading and a very, very enjoyable day drawing to a close, it was determined that lack of talent was again holding me back. In the final session nothing seemed to be going right and it was only later that we discovered a small hydraulic leak on the back brakes that squirted a small but critical amount of fluid onto one the back tyres every time I stomped on the brakes. As it was only one of the tyres, the excitement was limited to corners when that wheel was fully loaded, going the other way there was less of an issue. At the time this knowledge was beyond us and with lap times on the increase we called it day.

Often a driver, or more often a pair of drivers will be brought before ?The Man? to receive anything from a tender ear to points on their licences, which transfer into time penalties and eventuality exclusion from racing. In some circumstance the entire field maybe called to discuss, standing water on the track or other hazards but in this case it was for a bollocking, which is a lot like a rollicking but hurts more. Seeing as how I had blown the motor in the 74 car I walked in feeling fairly bullet proof. Val started the show off by explaining what measures, censures and other penalties, up to and including a kick in the teeth, she could bring to bear. We were described as dangerous maniacs, intent on clearing the locost spirit from gene pool with every turn of the wheel. The normally taciturn chief scrutineer (only a certain type of man strives for this title) even pitched in with a less colourful but more damming pr?cis of the driving to date. The drivers attempted to mount a defence but once this temerity had been put down the Clerk of the Court Course read out the charges, ?The 74 car??? I slid down in my seat and tried to look like someone else. The assembled drivers nodded like penitents at a lynching. Val concluded the first charge and moved on to the second charge, ?The 74 car, retired from the race?..? by this time I was ready to retire to Brazil. Mallory was a couple of dot balls on the score card but three valuable lessons came out from this little oasis firstly don?t try and impress younger women in your car, secondly don?t get done up the bum in hairpin and secondly always wear dark glasses (and a false moustache if available) to compulsory drivers briefings.

Update: I recently saw Sarah Moore win her Ginetta Junior race on TV, she had not only thumped her brother but had also put the hammer on her boyfriend who finished off the podium and was not available for interview after the race. So boys its not only me??

Mallory Park ? Race 3
Being a relatively small circuit with a large entry of locosters, the day was split into qualifying, heats and a final. Matt and I were in different heats which gave me a chance to actually watch my first locost race. My heat was a rough affair and with a horrid mess heading into the hairpin for the first time, I took the conservative option and tapped the brakes some 10-15m early. They say that no good deed is left unpunished and it was only a couple of heartbeats later that Mr R. Dixon delivered my punishment to the rear quarter of the once achingly beautiful 74 car. With a swift kick in the pants to sharpen up my drive I was full gas down the start finish straight when I noticed that engine temperature was a touch high, which is like saying that Keith Richards may have been a touch high, the engine lasted to the start finish line before expiring in a black cloud and pulled off to the marshals post on the left and watched my second locost race.

The 750 Motor Club is composed as far as I can make out of exceptional human beings. Compared to the lifeless robots that populate my part of London they are, to a man and a woman, kind, friendly and well disposed. None more so that the Clerk of the Course, Val, but as the tannoy pinged the locosters heads sunk into their collective chests, like puppies sitting next to a pile of pooh, ?All Locost driver to a Compulsory Driving Briefing?

Snetterton ? Race 1 & Race 2. ? Weather: Bruce Lee (nasty nip in the air)

Objective: Survive. Secondary Objectives: Qualify without breaking anything, finish a race without breaking anything, get an upgrade signature on my licence, try not to come last.

Outcome: Primary Objective: Met, Secondary Objectives: Partial Success?

A true competitor would have come down the night before and acclimatised to the carrot crunching ways of East Anglia but getting up at 5am to drive to the race seemed like a good idea at 5pm the night before, a night in my own bed, etc, etc, but twelve hours later with my phone sounding like the nuclear fallout warning alarm the rationale behind the early start was exposed in all it?s stupidity. By the time I?d packed the car and got past, un-pinged, by the London surveillance systems I was sweating like a geordie at a spelling test.

07:30 Snet, Tony was up and about as it was too cold to sleep without the huskies, and he had the cars up on axle stands and the kettle on. Turns out that the kettle was the key piece of the black beast?s ignition system and therefore racing equipment but strong black coffee was readily available from the caf? at Snet as more stimulants on top of first race nerves was clearly the route to success.

Qualifying, my first outing in anger; jacked up on gallons of coffee and torqued up to a thrumming tension in the assembly area caused by a misplaced scrutineering ticket. Lit up the tyres and let it rip. It?s quite amazing how slow a car rotates on grass and that amazement doesn?t diminish with the second, third or even fourth rotation. I failed to manage anything close to a clean lap but still managed to qualify in the middle of the field with something approaching my quickest lap. The relief was physical and probably my ?play of the day? was to stretch out and fall fast asleep for a quick power nap to the amazement of the TMC gallery, sang froid or 5am start, you be the judge.

It was about this time that it suddenly occurred to me that I?ve only ever entered the track from a rollout and that some knowledge about race starts might be helpful about now. The Tony, as ever, was on hand with the required info, ?pin it at 3500rpm and dump the clutch? ? yes sir.

After the potential minefield of forming the grid and with the red lights on, I did just as Tony suggested and with a small porky squeal watched as the cars behind me became the cars in front on me and spread across the track four, more?, wide into the onrush of the first corner. Hold your line and hold your breath: and we were through. Disappointingly I had forgotten to stop holding my breath and it was half way along the back straight when my helmet started shrinking or perhaps my head was expanding and I remembered to breathe out. A nice pass in the esses and this racing thing was starting to look good. Round Coram and a nice tight line through Riches and it looked like I might be in a race, not at the front of the race but in an interesting pack of cars mainly flying the yellow and black mark indicating: Danger! Beware! Avoid! Pass! this yellow square with a black cross indicates that a novice, which is actually an anagram of many interesting words, was behind the wheel. Off at the esses cost me all of the handful places that I had made up and in an attempt to regain some ground, I out-braked myself into the final chicane, Riches, and straight-lined over the grass, no spin this time, and back on to the start finish straight. Red Flag! back off and coast round to the start/finish line. Paranoid about restarting the car and in the full expectation that the red lights could come on at any time, I kept the engine running and watched the temperature climb into triple figures. Now paranoid that the car would overheat I shut it down but without a fan and motionless the little lump in front was pretty good at retaining the heat and when the red lights went out, I managed to reach the first corner where accompanied by an enormous crack the car spat out all of its fluids, I steered the smoking remains round the back of the marshals post and got out for a fag.

Humiliated by lack of a result due to being too stupid to switch the engine off, race 2 would be a new dawn. A similar starting slot on the grid and another attempt at Tony?s starting formula resulted in predictable results. I remember hearing that Albert Einstein?s definition of insanity was repeating the experiment without changing the variables and expecting a different result. I climbed up the order as locoster after locoster catapulted themselves into the kitty litter but without anyone to race I toured round trying to concentrate on not joining them. This proved to be a very astute strategy for the first race meeting of the season as it landed me a result and a few points in the championship for 15th a hair ahead of Steve Kirby in the 88 car.

Very pleased with myself with this performance, it only took 30mins before the results were posted and my presence was required by the stewards. First race and I?m up in front of the man already. An extremely ambitious entry to the final chicane had led me to cut across the grass before rejoining the main straight and the clerk of the course informed me that I was to be docked 5secs and relegated to 16th place due to corner cutting. I explained that I had relinquished any advantage I may have accrued however to my astonishment this was not my crime. Apparently I had cut the chicane itself too many times and together with my co-defendants, who included Matt, would be subject to a time penalty, much finger wagging and no signature on my licence upgrade card. Robbed! See below for photographic evidence to the contrary.
Nevertheless big fun, if a little scary, and one hook well and truly planted in this aging guppies mouth?..

Snetterton ? Race 1 & Race 2. – Weather: Bruce Lee (nasty nip in the air)

Objective: Survive. Secondary Objectives: Qualify without breaking anything, finish a race without breaking anything, get an upgrade signature on my licence, try not to come last.

Outcome: Primary Objective: Met, Secondary Objectives: Partial Success?

A true competitor would have come down the night before and acclimatised to the carrot crunching ways of East Anglia but getting up at 5am to drive to the race seemed like a good idea at 5pm the night before, a night in my own bed, etc, etc, but twelve hours later with my phone sounding like the nuclear fallout warning alarm the rationale behind the early start was exposed in all it?s stupidity. By the time I?d packed the car and got past, un-pinged, by the London surveillance systems I was sweating like a geordie at a spelling test.

07:30 Snet, Tony was up and about as it was too cold to sleep without the huskies, and he had the cars up on axle stands and the kettle on. Turns out that the kettle was the key piece of the black beast?s ignition system and therefore racing equipment but strong black coffee was readily available from the caf? at Snet as more stimulants on top of first race nerves was clearly the route to success.

Qualifying, my first outing in anger; jacked up on gallons of coffee and torqued up to a thrumming tension in the assembly area caused by a misplaced scrutineering ticket. Lit up the tyres and let it rip. It?s quite amazing how slow a car rotates on grass and that amazement doesn?t diminish with the second, third or even fourth rotation. I failed to manage anything close to a clean lap but still managed to qualify in the middle of the field with something approaching my quickest lap. The relief was physical and probably my ?play of the day? was to stretch out and fall fast asleep for a quick power nap to the amazement of the TMC gallery, sang froid or 5am start, you be the judge.

It was about this time that it suddenly occurred to me that I?ve only ever entered the track from a rollout and that some knowledge about race starts might be helpful about now. The Tony, as ever, was on hand with the required info, ?pin it at 3500rpm and dump the clutch? ? yes sir.

After the potential minefield of forming the grid and with the red lights on, I did just as Tony suggested and with a small porky squeal watched as the cars behind me became the cars in front on me and spread across the track four, more?, wide into the onrush of the first corner. Hold your line and hold your breath: and we were through. Disappointingly I had forgotten to stop holding my breath and it was half way along the back straight when my helmet started shrinking or perhaps my head was expanding and I remembered to breathe out. A nice pass in the esses and this racing thing was starting to look good. Round Coram and a nice tight line through Riches and it looked like I might be in a race, not at the front of the race but in an interesting pack of cars mainly flying the yellow and black mark indicating: Danger! Beware! Avoid! Pass! this yellow square with a black cross indicates that a novice, which is actually an anagram of many interesting words, was behind the wheel. Off at the esses cost me all of the handful places that I had made up and in an attempt to regain some ground, I out-braked myself into the final chicane, Riches, and straight-lined over the grass, no spin this time, and back on to the start finish straight. Red Flag! back off and coast round to the start/finish line. Paranoid about restarting the car and in the full expectation that the red lights could come on at any time, I kept the engine running and watched the temperature climb into triple figures. Now paranoid that the car would overheat I shut it down but without a fan and motionless the little lump in front was pretty good at retaining the heat and when the red lights went out, I managed to reach the first corner where accompanied by an enormous crack the car spat out all of its fluids, I steered the smoking remains round the back of the marshals post and got out for a fag.

Humiliated by lack of a result due to being too stupid to switch the engine off, race 2 would be a new dawn. A similar starting slot on the grid and another attempt at Tony?s starting formula resulted in predictable results. I remember hearing that Albert Einstein?s definition of insanity was repeating the experiment without changing the variables and expecting a different result. I climbed up the order as locoster after locoster catapulted themselves into the kitty litter but without anyone to race I toured round trying to concentrate on not joining them. This proved to be a very astute strategy for the first race meeting of the season as it landed me a result and a few points in the championship for 15th a hair ahead of Steve Kirby in the 88 car.

Very pleased with myself with this performance, it only took 30mins before the results were posted and my presence was required by the stewards. First race and I?m up in front of the man already. An extremely ambitious entry to the final chicane had led me to cut across the grass before rejoining the main straight and the clerk of the course informed me that I was to be docked 5secs and relegated to 16th place due to corner cutting. I explained that I had relinquished any advantage I may have accrued however to my astonishment this was not my crime. Apparently I had cut the chicane itself too many times and together with my co-defendants, who included Matt, would be subject to a time penalty, much finger wagging and no signature on my licence upgrade card. Robbed! See below for photographic evidence to the contrary.
Nevertheless big fun, if a little scary, and one hook well and truly planted in this aging guppies mouth?..