An old Sierra, a disused runway, a bitter cold winter’s day. Into reverse, foot down, gearbox howling. Dump the accelerator. Fling the steering wheel round to the right, clutch down, into neutral. The front whips round, the tyres scream in protest. Smoke and gravel; melting rubber. Clutch in again, first gear, straighten up, drop the clutch, paint black lines on the surface.
Second gear, third. Haul the wheel over again, jerk the handbrake up, flick the back end round. I knew how to do these already. I taught myself long before I had my first driving lesson, at 15 in a Mini I bought for twenty quid. I have grown up a little bit since then…but not too much.
(c) Richard Senior 2014