(coming soon)
Chris Kayling - A Narrative
Chris Kayling - A Narrative
Ah, bathplug it. Why wait until Easter when you can start tonight? Besides, I won't need to run any races for a good while. Here is the (pretty bloody awful) story of a young teenager making his way up to the highest echlon of motorsport. Do not read if you're a fan of hair metal, synthpop, East Anglia the EEC, France, the Labour Party, Rover Cars, old drivers, and just about anything else that existed in the late 1980s. I'll update this list when/if we reach the 1990s.
(coming soon)
(coming soon)
Fetzie on Ferrari wrote:How does a driver hurtling around a race track while they're sous-viding in their overalls have a better understanding of the race than a team of strategy engineers in an air-conditioned room?l
Re: Chris Kayling - A Narrative
Almost a month later than expected 
The night of September the 20th, 1987 was a wet and miserable night, with a light fog drifting over the shithole no, sorry, the town of Great Yarmouth. North of the town centre, there was a patch of abandoned land where once, steam engines used to gather. Now fenced off, locals would often hear ghostly sounds, the screams and whistles of the long departed engines of yore, they would say. Not tonight though. The roar of a 2 litre engine filled the air. A brown, W-reg MK5 Ford Cortina was being thrashed around the site, powersliding around a rudimentary oval, before stopping, as it had overheated. Three young boys got out, popping open the bonnet.
"Damnation Ben! We told you, don't powerslide the bloody thing, otherwise it overheats, you blithering idiot" shouted one of the boys,, to another, who had fair, short blonde hair and was considerably shorter.
"It's addictive though!" retorted Ben "Who cares if it overheats, there's plenty of other BL or Ford crapboxes we could use instead."
"And where would you get them Ben?" said the other boy, who was of medium height, and had longish brown hair. "The second-hand car place is shut"
"Oh shut up Chris, this was your idea anyway. 'To get experience of a car so I can enter karts, dominate that, work my way up to F1 and race alongside Our Nige', that's what you said. You haven't even driven the thing" said Ben forcefully. "Hurry the hell up Damon, cool the Ford down"
"Fair enough then, dear Benjamin" replied Damon in a sarcastic manner. "It be cool enough now for young Christopher to give it a whirl" The bonnet was shut, and Chris tentatively got into the driving seat. Damon and Ben got into the back.
"Now, are you sure you can handle this bad boy?" mocked Ben.
"Of course I can" replied Chris, pointing at the pedals. "That pedal makes it go, that one makes it stop, and that one does stuff with the gears that I don't know about"
Chris turned the key, and the Cortina rumbled into life. He hesitated. He tried to remember what he had seen with the gearbox and clutch. He moved the stick into 1st, and slowly but surely, lifted his foot off the clutch. But at the same time, he floored the throttle. The Cortina lurched forward at a vast rate of knots.
"What are you doing!" shouted Damon. "Ease off the bathplug throttle and change up to 2nd" But Chris seemed to ignore that, and started doing circles of the land, at 15 MPH.
"CHANGE UP, FOR bathplug SAKE!" Damon and Ben hollered.
"How the hell do I do that? If I take my foot off the throttle, the damn thing stops working!"
"Use the bloody clutch, and change gear, before it blows up!" they shouted in unison again. But it was too late. As Chris stamped on the clutch, the engine exploded in a cloud of white smoke and parts. The Cortina crawled to a stop. Several houses, which had been drenched in darkness beforehand, were now lit up, as curious and confuzzled people tried to see where the explosion they'd just heard had occured.
(to be continued when I have a little more time)
The night of September the 20th, 1987 was a wet and miserable night, with a light fog drifting over the shithole no, sorry, the town of Great Yarmouth. North of the town centre, there was a patch of abandoned land where once, steam engines used to gather. Now fenced off, locals would often hear ghostly sounds, the screams and whistles of the long departed engines of yore, they would say. Not tonight though. The roar of a 2 litre engine filled the air. A brown, W-reg MK5 Ford Cortina was being thrashed around the site, powersliding around a rudimentary oval, before stopping, as it had overheated. Three young boys got out, popping open the bonnet.
"Damnation Ben! We told you, don't powerslide the bloody thing, otherwise it overheats, you blithering idiot" shouted one of the boys,, to another, who had fair, short blonde hair and was considerably shorter.
"It's addictive though!" retorted Ben "Who cares if it overheats, there's plenty of other BL or Ford crapboxes we could use instead."
"And where would you get them Ben?" said the other boy, who was of medium height, and had longish brown hair. "The second-hand car place is shut"
"Oh shut up Chris, this was your idea anyway. 'To get experience of a car so I can enter karts, dominate that, work my way up to F1 and race alongside Our Nige', that's what you said. You haven't even driven the thing" said Ben forcefully. "Hurry the hell up Damon, cool the Ford down"
"Fair enough then, dear Benjamin" replied Damon in a sarcastic manner. "It be cool enough now for young Christopher to give it a whirl" The bonnet was shut, and Chris tentatively got into the driving seat. Damon and Ben got into the back.
"Now, are you sure you can handle this bad boy?" mocked Ben.
"Of course I can" replied Chris, pointing at the pedals. "That pedal makes it go, that one makes it stop, and that one does stuff with the gears that I don't know about"
Chris turned the key, and the Cortina rumbled into life. He hesitated. He tried to remember what he had seen with the gearbox and clutch. He moved the stick into 1st, and slowly but surely, lifted his foot off the clutch. But at the same time, he floored the throttle. The Cortina lurched forward at a vast rate of knots.
"What are you doing!" shouted Damon. "Ease off the bathplug throttle and change up to 2nd" But Chris seemed to ignore that, and started doing circles of the land, at 15 MPH.
"CHANGE UP, FOR bathplug SAKE!" Damon and Ben hollered.
"How the hell do I do that? If I take my foot off the throttle, the damn thing stops working!"
"Use the bloody clutch, and change gear, before it blows up!" they shouted in unison again. But it was too late. As Chris stamped on the clutch, the engine exploded in a cloud of white smoke and parts. The Cortina crawled to a stop. Several houses, which had been drenched in darkness beforehand, were now lit up, as curious and confuzzled people tried to see where the explosion they'd just heard had occured.
(to be continued when I have a little more time)
Fetzie on Ferrari wrote:How does a driver hurtling around a race track while they're sous-viding in their overalls have a better understanding of the race than a team of strategy engineers in an air-conditioned room?l
Re: Chris Kayling - A Narrative
So yeah, I've finally got off my arse and made a start. This will be updated as and when I can (be bothered)...
It is utterly woeful, but oh well
And this is where the Ford Cortina was being spun around.
http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=52.612211,1.733451&spn=0.025,0.025&t=h&q=52.612211,1.733451
It is utterly woeful, but oh well
And this is where the Ford Cortina was being spun around.
http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=52.612211,1.733451&spn=0.025,0.025&t=h&q=52.612211,1.733451
Fetzie on Ferrari wrote:How does a driver hurtling around a race track while they're sous-viding in their overalls have a better understanding of the race than a team of strategy engineers in an air-conditioned room?l