It’s testament to quite how ‘tuned in’ I am to my surroundings that it has taken all of six months for one of my most memorable drives to resurface in my consciousness as something worth sharing. But I’m glad it has.
When I say ‘memorable drive’ I don’t mean it in the traditional sense (documented by the Jag below): the roads were of no particular interest, the scenery may well have been immense, but it was too dark outside to tell – hell, I wasn’t even driving.
But the joy of being a passenger can be underrated.
You miss out on much: actions and their reactions mostly, but that just frees up precious matter to properly mull over other considerations – character, window reflections, noise, ride and cornering sensations.
Plus, you don’t have to worry about outside factors that make modern-world driving so miserable.
At least, that’s how I felt as I was loaded into the back of Martin Buckley’s early 3.5-litre Range Rover two-door, gently simmering on a couple of pints, having just completed the god-awful procedure that is the office Christmas lunch.
It had all the hallmarks of an entertaining trip – I’d never been in a car with Martin before – but somehow I knew he would be ‘good’ for some entertainment.