A Day At The Races....

Oh, the burdens of Office!

As my first duty, I made a trip down to Brooklands, my motor racing course, for a spot of heavy right foot in the Singer Sports. The Singer is a proper job, make no mistake, and will pull the birds right out of the trees. The handbrake is especially well situated for a wandering hand when the right lady is aboard.

A quick pit pass made out of a Guiness label got me down to the action without mishap and I spied my Batman, Ollie Raggs and the Singer out by the Shell pagoda. Ollie had been siphoning fuel like a good lad and the motor was warm and ready.

Well, Dammed, Blast and H-E-Double Hockey Sticks, if the Clerk of the Course doesn’t come over and mark my card! He’d given my time to some rum foreign chappie named Von Drips.

This Jerry had some monster motor that was in for testing. You could tell that they were foreign and knew nothing about proper engineering because the silly blighters had put the engine in the back! It was obviously very unreliable because they’d made the motor with 16 cylinders to make sure at least some of them were working. Not bright bulbs, then, these Jerries. Couldn’t even write the name on the front…just a bunch of bally circles! I mean really!

The Clerk of the Course advised me it was an 'Auto Union'… sounded very commie trade union to me…and that ‘slower cars’ had to stay off the course for the duration of the test.

The Singer…slower!? Bloody cheek!

Sir Nigel