"Come down to Brands Hatch on Tuesday and get a ride around the circuit with Ray or James."
"OK I'll be there after two."
"Fine, see you then."
Thus my fate was sealed. Martin Allerton, PR man For Gulf Racing, had ensnared me. I had just agreed to be taken on a roller-coaster ride round the tight Kent circuit in the 1996 GTC/Gulf Racing McLaren F1 GTR by either team owner Ray Bellm or hired gun James Weaver.
What had seemed a jolly good wheeze, a few stylish action shots from the cockpit as my chauffeur twirled the wheel began to fade in appeal as the day drew nearer. First, I am one of the world's worst passengers and gradually have grown to dislike intensely being driven at high speeds and yet I volunteered for this... .
Secondly after weeks of bright sunshine the weather was on the turn with great electrical storms illuminating the horizon as dawn broke. Lunchtime came and then escape from the office. I threaded my way through the charming environs of south London as the monsoons broke deluging all around. Surely we would not run in these conditions, this could prove a severe test of my resolve and my inventiveness in dreaming up excuses as to why I should not set foot in the car. However Brands Hatch was bathed in sunshine as it hove into view, so those particular worries were pushed into the background.
As I arrived the group that had been there from the start were finishing their food and straggling back to do some laps of the track in saloon cars and single seaters. The main attraction of the afternoon, that of riding in the current leading car of the Global GT Championship was soon to happen. I was drawn last of the group to go so I would have to wait around and wait and wait.
The first few rides passed off with little or no problem ( passengers disembarking with fixed grins and wide eyes) until two flashes of lightening and a great clap of thunder signalled the arrival of the rain which fell so suddenly that Ray Bellm with victim aboard was pitched into a harmless spin into the sand at Clearways. I should have paid more attention at this point...........
A few more rides came and went as the rains fell steadily and then stopped leaving the circuit nice and greasy. I was next and the car glided down the pitlane with the engine cut. No time to leave now. My rather bulky frame was squeezed first down into the footwell and my helmet found space to wedge itself and my head into the rollcage next to the left hand bank of BMW cylinders. I was strapped in nice and tight and was in fact able to brace myself to almost being comfortable lying prone as I was, then the door shut and the engine roared into life and I remembered that this might be fun for some people but was likely to leave me terrified. Away slowly and suddenly into second and accelerating hard out of the pit road. Shouldn't we be warming the tyres or testing the track? Isn't that what Murray and all the commentators say?
James was having none of this as he evidently forgot (or had he?) that he had a rather timid passenger at his side hurling the car into Paddock and running wide in the process. Once again the banshee wail from the side of my head signalled that Druids was rushing towards us an unbelievable rate as we charged up the hill. A sign put out for the race school said BRAKE and I felt that all joking aside that master James had better heed it. Impossibly late for me but probably very early for him my driver came off the power braked and changed down. The car seemed to understeer on the exit as he and again the Munich horses banged my head onto the roll cage as we plunged down the hill to Bottom Bend ( or Graham Hill or whatever they call it these days) with James fighting the steering all the way.
Hard on the power as we rocketed along the short straight with the Surtees corner next. Here it all came unravelled as I am sure that we were too late on the brakes. James turned in left and aimed for the next apex which I think we clipped but before I could think about this we were spinning across the grass gaining momentum on the wet surface. The tyre wall beckoned Scylla like but the excess speed was trimmed by the gravel trap sending stones flying in all directions and as eventually we hit the tyre wall we had retarded sufficiently to only dent a camera, some body work and Mr Weaver's pride.
We both hit the belts and hopped out. James made a quick assessment of the minor damage and jumped back in waving to me to do the same and we toured slowly back down the pitlane.
Sitting here an hour or two later with the aid of a glass of Bombay's finest I feel that there is still some unfinished business. I never actually completed a lap and I did not have face Paddock Hill Bend at full chat. There is still part of me that wants to go back out there - about 2%. Still it confirmed my bewilderment at the ability of the drivers first just to steer these things around and then to actually race one another.
No wonder they say that those who can do and those can't write or take pictures. I know which one I will stick to in future.
Copyright © 1996