We checked in at the Wortley House Hotel. They took a swipe of my card, just incase I tried to steal a tele. Getting to the room, Adam realised he’d forgotten to pack my special driving shoes (clapped-out old Converse). ‘It’s okay,’ I said, ‘We’ll go and find a Tesco’. I’ve never had supermarket shoes before, but I know that they are cheap, and I also know that they are probably made by children.

We got in the car, and, almost immediately, we got out again. The battery was flat. After a few minutes of flapping, I phoned Mark. ‘Any chance you could pick us up a battery charger?’ I asked, half joking, half desperately hopeful. His response was quick, of course he would, he was near Grantham and would take a detour. ‘No Problems. Anything else you need?’ he asked politely. ‘Yeah, could you get me some shit shoes?!’

An hour later Mark and Phoebe arrived bearing gifts – a battery charger, and £10 plimsolls from Sainsbury’s, gratefully received.

We had dinner, we had drinks, we chatted with other LCUK Speed friends, and then we headed off to bed. On our way up Phoebe noticed flyers on the windscreens of the cars, she suggested we go and remove them so our windows weren’t slurred with papery wet stodge by the morning. I handed them to the guy on reception, they were from a rival hotel. He seemed unfazed. ‘But they’ve spelt corner wrong!’ I prodded at the capital K. ‘No, that’s how they spell it,’ he said, matter-of-factly. ‘This isn’t the nineties!’  I said, as I stomped off to bed.

We slept to the hum of the battery charger and woke to the thought of breakfast.

I couldn’t get the room door to lock as we left, so I told reception that it was still open, and that if anyone had done a dump on the bed, it wasn’t me. I mean, they already had the idea that I was illiterate and might do a runner with the tele, so I was just forestalling any other judgements they might have made of me.

We arrived at Blyton Park. The grey sky hung over us, still and unmoving. As the first practice got underway, the rain started to fall. Lightly at first, but as we queued, it got heavier. My optimism turned into disappointment. 87.21, slow coach.

The rain stopped play, and we all gathered under the gazebo for shelter. I shuffled round, trying to avoid conversations about Brexit. The rain began to slow, Xav brought out the chocolate brownies (props to his lovely daughter for sending them along with him) and we were told we could take our second practice, if we wanted to.

It was wet. I eased my way round the track, splashing through puddles and taking in the view. 100.41, surprisingly not the slowest car out there.

After lunch the sun came out. I actually shouted ‘Sun! Sun!’ and might have come across a little bit deranged. Again.

The track was still slippy, and my shit shoes were giving me gyp, sliding around on the grass and mud covered pedals (thanks Adam!) and feeling like I was wearing heavy cardboard shoe boxes, not shoes. I got an 83.09 and Adam got a DNF as he wasn’t fully on the track as he crossed the finish line. We cleaned the footwell with an old towel and vowed to be better organised with shoes and useful things in future. (Who are we kidding?!)

The track was dry for the second timed run, but I just didn’t feel that confident, until I’d gone all the way round and was back in the paddock wishing we could have another go. 78.47 for me, and another DNF for Adam. He was going so well, I mean soooo well, but then, just a second from the finish line, he spun off, firing a cone in the air like some kind of disappointing £3.50 fireworks finale.

I was 9th out of 13. Adam was 13th. Unlucky.

And now, over to the winners enclosure…

Production: 1st Nigel Hannam, 2nd Xavier Brooke, 3rd Richard Hardwicke

Production Modified: 1st Stephen Morrison, 2nd Andrew Pidgeon (Coincidentally, both the fastest and the slowest drivers of the day – unless you count Adam of course, who didn’t even get a time!)

Supersport: 1st Andy Hughes, 2nd Martin Roberts, 3rd Russell Whitworth

Supersport Modified: 1st Duncan Fraser, 2nd Paul Neale

We drove home, weaving along the country roads across the fields of Lincolnshire, and, as the lights faded we knew what was to come. Bloody alternator!

The rest of the journey involved poor Adam pushing the car uphill, the most massive disappointment in the AA, a recovery driver who couldn’t recover the car the 8 miles we had left to travel because his tacho had nearly run out, a taxi ride, picking up the Mercedes, and limping the Elise home.

You know how some days you realise that you should have just stayed at home?!

We drove over to Silverstone the night before and met up with some of the other drivers. They’d been to Abingdon CARnival for round four of the LCUK Speed Championship.  We’d not been at Abingdon for several reasons, one of them being that I don’t like portaloos. We got scrutineered, signed on, walked the track, and chatted to people.

We found food in Milton Keynes, at Middleton’s. It was kind of weird because there’s a Middleton’s in Middleton, Norfolk and it’s a pub-type place, with their own little butchery at the back. This version was busy and ‘trendy’ with industrial ceilings and steel mesh room-dividers. I’m not usually into chains, but this one is small, and good. Somebody smashed a plate and our waitress Ioana told us that in her country (Romania) it was customary to throw plates and glasses out of your upstairs windows in celebration.

We listened to Salt-N-Pepa in the car. Parked in the petrol station, ate ice creams and discussed what ‘cool’ cars we could buy and drive fifteen hundred miles to Romania.

Back at the Hilton, the room smelt of oldness, like my nan’s purse. There was a fly circulating. The bed creaked and graunched with the slightest movement. I discarded the dirty pillow and slumbered off.

I woke at 4am to the sound of city bird song; vocals influenced by ringing phones and car alarms. It was so loud, surprisingly loud. Turns out Adam had opened the window – that’s why I had itchy hay-fever eyes and it sounded like there was a pigeon on my bedside table.

The day started off foggy and cool. At Silverstone Stowe we were briefed by the MG Car Club team. There were little historical tit-bits thrown in, it was clear that they were proud of their connection to the site, and rightly so.

Whilst we prepared for the sprinting, elsewhere at Silverstone it was day two of the world’s largest MG event, MG Live, and Lotus Cup Europe racing was underway.

For some reason, I felt nervous. I wasn’t the only one. It might have been the massive and intimidating tyre walls that were striking fear into us all, or maybe it was just excitement. The track looked awesome. Bendy bendy awesome.

First practice got underway, Nigel met with the tyres, Xav bypassed them by going straight on through the chicane. My time was 65.63 and at that moment I was 6th. That moment soon passed!

The sun started to break through, and we got on with practice two. I was slower than I had hoped to be, I didn’t have enough wang, and I couldn’t quite remember where I was going. I don’t think any of us had driven here before. But you know, in my first year of sprinting I used to have to take a map with me at all times (see here) so really, for me, I was showing excellent improvement!

We had our first timed run, and a bit of fun as Martin Roberts pirouetted  over the line. Then it was lunch time. I drank a can of ginger beer/liquid sugar. I love ginger beer, but not this one.

The sun was shining properly now, we took our second, and then third runs. I got my time down to 61.51. I really wanted to be below 60, but I’m not that good.

There were a lot of cars to get through, over 100 of them, but we still managed 2 practices, 3 timed runs, a lunch break and a peace-and-quiet break for the local vicar to deliver his sermon. Nice.

Adam ended up 3rd, with there not being much between his time and the four drivers behind him. I was 9th, out of 11. I was exactly 3 seconds slower than Adam. That’s too much.

Overall I was 44th out of 104. That sounds alright.

The roll of honour looked like this…

Production: 1st Xavier Brooke, 2nd Nigel Hannam, 3rd Adam Ruck

Production Modified: 1st Stephen Morrison, 2nd Barry Savage

Supersport: 1st Russell Whitworth, 2nd Martin Roberts, 3rd Dave Pollard

Supersport Modified: 1st Duncan Fraser, 2nd Nick Emery, 3rd Jason Weatherall

And hey, guess what? I won a trophy! MG Car Club Best Lady Driver. Yes, that’s right, fastest womb on the track. Woot woot!

It was such a great day. A wonderful track, and a brilliantly organised event. My only disappointment was that I didn’t get to see LoTRDC main man Paul Golding – but then I saw a photograph of him dressed as a (female?) Brazilian volleyball player, and felt just a little bit relieved that our paths had not actually crossed!

When we left for MIRA, the wrong side of 6am, the sun was already out, forcing it’s way through the early morning mist and promising to make the day warm and lovely.

Personally, I’m not hugely keen on MIRA as a track, but The Bentley Drivers Club are such a lovely bunch (they really are) and they are so welcoming to us, that it balances things out for me somewhat. Plus they have a Tag Heuer touch screen timing station, or ‘log machine’ as Adam called it, and proper toilets, with glass basins and clean floors. Winning.

After the briefing we all climbed into (and onto, for those vintage Bentley drivers!) our cars, and drove out for a convoyed sighting lap of the track, which was brilliant. Much better than walking the course (because, at least for me, I think it enables you to judge distances and track conditions much better) and I do believe it may have actually encouraged more cars to stay on the tarmac for the rest of the day!

Simon Foley had a brief moment of worry when his car decided it couldn’t make the whole lap and wafted the strong scent of fuel at him. He was quickly recovered by the marshals and in the paddock the issue was found and fixed. Job done.

I’ve been to MIRA twice before, and I still have no idea where the track goes! Sitting low in the car, driving the track, with the raised grass around me and flat landscape, I struggled to find things to familiarise myself with. You cannot use wild dandelions as reliable marker points, it seems.

The two practices weren’t too bad, first one for familiarisation, second one for trying a bit more to push myself round blind corners with confidence. Pah!

Somehow we managed an almost two hour long lunch break. The sun was bright and warm, there was a slight breeze, and I’d been well behaved and baked three dozen Portuguese custard tarts to share round. Seriously, we could have been in the Mediterranean! (Hmm, maybe I do live in a utopian bubble?!)

After a wobbly start off the line, I managed 60.03 for my first timed run. Adam managed 58.22 with more wobbles, and a flame from the exhaust pipe. I should have just given up there and then!

I was ready to be an amazing on my second run and surprise everyone with my rad skillz. I started well and I was off to a good start, I felt, but then… what’s this? As I began to gather speed I spotted some kind of debris in front of me. Oh no! Big black boulders of doom! On the track were massive chunks of tarmac, egg-sized, and scattered across the first corner where I was still accelerating.

I slowed a little as the car went over them, I had to, it felt like it slid one way, then the other. I carried on, but it had slowed my speed into the next section of track, which happened to be a place where I could go flat out, so there was no way of gaining anything back here.

I did keep trying but I was disappointed. Xav and Simon had also been put off by the boulders. I went and reported it to the marshals. I thought about asking for a re-run for us all, but the rain had started and the opportunity had passed.

It turned out to be Pidgeon mess on the track – Andy had had an over-excited spin!

I had managed to get my time under 60, at 59.91, and only 0.19 seconds behind the next driver, but, that still put me at the bottom of my class. (Now, had I been in another class, this could have been a different story and I could have been cheering about trophies instead of whinging about being last!)

Production class definitely seems to be the most competitive, and I’m not just saying that to appease my ego!

Stuart and Mark both got 56.78, and Adam 56.79. That’s close, and kind of weird, when you think about it.

In Supersport, after both timed runs Russell and James both had exactly the same times with 55.96, but the win went to Russell as his first timed run was faster than James’.

And our winners are… drum roll… Prince impression by Phoebe… whooping and cheering in the marquee…

Production:
1st Nigel Hannam, 2nd Xavier Brooke, 3rd Phil Stratton-Lake
Production Modified:
1st Stephen Morrison, 2nd Simon Foley, 3rd Andrew Pidgeon
Supersport:
1st Russell Whitworth, 2nd James Tubby, 3rd Martin Roberts
Supersport Modified:
1st Duncan Fraser, 2nd Paul Neale

Such a good day – great people, great cars, and Simon Foley had a stash of lollipops with him. Hooray!

It had been six weeks since our last sprint and it seemed like forever. I had a couple of weeks without being able to drive anywhere, being chauffeured to work by Adam and wrangling crutches like a weak armed monkey.

The physiotherapist had been adamant it was too early for me to return to driving, but listening to him would have been boring. Then there was the guy in the supermarket who randomly started telling me about the dangers of motor-racing and how he’d seen a lot of old footage of cars launching into the crowds and decapitating everyone. Listening to him was not boring, but it was a bit weird.

I wasn’t expecting to have a good day, or to do well. After Snetterton I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to sprint anymore.

We released the chickens into the garden and headed off into the wilds of Norfolk. I followed Adam down the road in the Elise, using the journey to get used to driving the car again. He hit a pigeon with a smash, sending a large feathery fountain over the car and I couldn’t tell if I should take this as a good or bad omen.

The sun was shining over lovely Hethel. I felt ready to see what would happen when I got out onto the track of awesomeness.

We stood in the pit lane, second drivers, waiting for our turn, watching over the track as the cars rushed past. An orange single-seater came to a halt on the other side of the track, perfectly placed in front of a marshal, flames licking from the engine. The driver leapt from the cockpit and we looked on in amazement. ‘Fire!’ shouted Xav, running to grab an extinguisher and offering to help. The marshal on our side of the track said that he couldn’t let Xav go onto the live track, which is totally fair and safe, but we felt for the driver as he watched the marshal meander over to him and struggle to get the fire extinguisher working as the car burnt on for just a few more seconds. Eventually, they put it out.

Adam was queueing up, second from the start line at this point, so I thought, to save him worrying about what might be happening the other side of the pit wall, I’d go and let him know. Turns out, he was asleep. Asleep!

Once the track was clear, and Adam had woken up and taken his practice, it was my turn. As I drove along the pit lane I stopped and asked if they wanted to send the car behind me, Xav, out in front of me, because he is a much faster driver. I was worried he’d catch me up and I’d ruin his practice. I was told to let the guys on the start line know, and they’d leave a bit of extra space.

I really did try to tell them when I got there, but I was met by rage! I stopped about two metres from the line, to speak to the man there, but he was furious, he wanted me to get to the line. I wanted to speak to him – at least, I thought I did! He told me he didn’t have time for my questions, that I was ruining the day, that I’d ruined the racing for everyone! I can’t remember everything else he said because I was just so shocked, but it did involve a lot of aggressive shouting on his part, and a bit of frustrated crying on mine.

I went off the line, tears bulging on the edge of my eyelashes, vision blurred, disappointed that I’d let such a ridiculous man upset me. My time was actually okay, considering. Phoebe said that I needed to find more anger for more speed. I went and found Martin and told him what had happened. Everyone took it seriously, which was good. Nobody thought I was a silly crying girl, which was good. The angry little man had run away, which was good.

Organisational problems (that were nothing to do with me, I hasten to add!), and the fact that it was already lunchtime and they’d only just got all 100 cars out, meant that we had to agree to not to take our second practice and to have just two timed runs, otherwise the entire day would not count towards our championships.

Luckily Xav’s daughter had sent him well prepared with an excellent array of cakes, so the disappointment was appeased, for me, by a very good and sticky cornflake cake.

The time for the timed runs came round and I headed off the line with gusto. 1st gear, 2nd gear, 5th gear… balls! Then I got cramp in my foot. The involuntary muscle spasm dispersed and I carried on, reaching the second chicane, braking too late and trying to use the power of wang to get me round the corner. The car spun to the left, then snapped back to the right. I was facing the wrong way on the track, ‘Bloody hell Karen!’ I said as I turned it around and carried on. ‘What next?’

Well, next, I caught up with the car in front of me! I know, so wrong, but so funny! I sat behind him, trying not to be pushy, but willing him to go faster. I think I might have helped him to get his fastest time of the day. Hooray for teamwork!

I pulled into the pit lane and was sent straight up to the start line for a re-run. ‘Don’t worry Karen,’ I was told, ‘The track is completely clear, you’ll be the only car out there, you’ve got nothing to worry about.’ The lights changed to green and I floored the throttle, then I spotted the red flags. Hang on a minute! I couldn’t work out what was going on, but I brought the car back in, again. Turns out it wasn’t a clear track after all, might have been a bunch of men and a transit van out there, you know!

Re-run number two went without any problems, aside from the slipping clutch because the car was too hot. My time was 147.97 and I was alright with that.

It was all kind of fun. A bit ridiculous, but funny.

My second run was good. I felt happy with my driving and the car. My time was 145.26 and this put me in 6th position, out of 12. Yes, I’m pretty chuffed with that!

Just for comparison, and so I can show that I really have improved and the competition really has got tougher – this time last year my best time was 157.12, and if I could time travel back a year with this new result I would have achieved 2nd place!

What started off as a bad day, and was actually quite bizarre, turned into a good day. Sometimes when you expect nothing you are rewarded with something.

Anyway, less philosophising, and more appreciating how well everyone did…

Production:
1st Nigel Hannam, 2nd Xavier Brooke, 3rd Adam Ruck
Production Modified:
1st Martin Scarfe, 2nd Simon Foley, 3rd Andrew Pidgeon
Supersport:
1st Andy Hughes, 2nd Martin Roberts, 3rd James Tubby
Supersport Modified:
1st Duncan Fraser, 2nd Jason Weatherall, 3rd Nick Emery

A round of applause for you all!

Spring has sprung and we are back to the sprinting. Hooray for early morning starts and huddling together in random carparks, whilst wishing for sunshine and extra driving skills (spelt with a Z).

It’s all changed a bit for 2016, an unavoidable but last minute update to the regulations led to four classes instead of two, and the need for us to either fit roll-over protection, or swap our dear sweet ZZR tyres for something else. In the rush and hurry we decided to buy a set of secondhand wheels with tyres already on them – Toyo R888’s. The rears are okay, but the fronts happen to be five years old and not very useful.

We arrived early to sign on and be briefed, and then had a good couple of hours to spare, catching up with everyone and having breakfast. I decided to have a mushroom roll because Adam had been talking to me about animal welfare standards and I had no idea where those sausages had come from. The fear of eating a mistreated pig was too great a risk.

We were very lucky to be at Snetterton for the MSVR ‘Season Starter’ alongside the Elise Trophy, Lotus Cup, MSVR Allcomers and Monoposto racing.

Just after noon we got started. Two back-to-back practices, and a timed run, to be followed by three timed runs after lunch.

Spoiler: this is the one where Adam does extremely well and I shame myself with uselessness and you’ll probably think I had never driven a car before, or want to patronise me like one of the marshals did and ask me if I’m too busy doing my hair in the mirror to actually drive the car.

Now obviously I have to get my excuses in early. Martin Styles gave me a Cadburys Creme Egg and I really think that was what did it.

Several new drivers joined the Speed Championships crew, and many others had made updates and improvements to their cars since last season.

Andy Pidgeon had a new helmet painted especially for him by a man on the Isle of Skye who I totally believe has sheep as studio assistants. True to his usual dedication to speed, Andy came off on his first practice. He really needs a good spoiler to hold him down. Later, a dinner party plan was hatched to provide the perfect opportunity to Rohypnol newcomers and harvest their cars for parts. I have no idea where he gets his ideas from!

This is the first time I’ve driven the Snetterton 200 layout and I was surprised at how many straight bits there were. It’s what they call a ‘power circuit’ and I shouldn’t have had a problem with it, especially with all the improvements we’ve made to the car. No excuses, I just did really badly.

Like, really. I could try using the tyres as an excuse as they were shockingly bad, but Adam managed to cope with them and I should have been able to too. I was just terrible!

On my second timed run I came off at the hairpin. I glided my way onto the grass for a bit of gentle off-roading. Turning back onto the track the front tyres slid around and for moment I thought the car was trying to take me back to the start line. I do not have the skillz. Bloody Creme Egg.

I ended up with a best run of 1:21.35, disappointingly positioned 9 out of 11, and Adam, well, he managed to do it in 1:15.95, and took 3rd – his first ever podium place!

Trophy time was fun, and with the extra classes and new drivers, it was great to see people being recognised for their driving, and everyone else cheering them on.

Unfortunately the original trophies had all arrived smashed, but the LCUKSC team very kindly got last-minute stand-in trophies, in the form of an army of terrifying little men.

Adams trophy is having to go and live in his office, before I bury it in the garden incase it tries to attack me while I sleep. I’ve already had to googley-eye it, so it can’t see me, and I am more enamoured with it already.

So, the roll call of car wrangling champions goes like this:

Production:
1st Phil Stratton-Lake, 2nd Mark Swarbrick, 3rd Adam Ruck
Production Modified:
1st Stephen Morrison, 2nd Jez Braker, 3rd Simon Foley
Supersport:
1st Mads Petersen, 2nd James Tubby, 3rd Martin Roberts
Supersport Modified:
1st Jason Weatherall, 2nd Nick Emery, 3rd Paul Neale

Fastest of all the drivers was Jason Weatherall, a total natural at podium standing. I told him so. He is going to add it to his CV.

Although I was rather let down by my own performance, I was really very pleased for Adam, and for everyone else. It was great to see the speed champs massive (as they are known, in the hood), although we did miss some of our pals – I’m looking forward to the next round where nearly all of us will reunite, like a supergroup, or the Spice Girls, but with better costumes, more finesse, and cake.