A big weekend because it was my friend Sarah’s wedding, and also because Aston Martin very kindly lent me a car. An Aston Martin Rapide S if you’re a car nerd, which means it has a little ‘sport’ button you can press to go even more ‘rapide’. As a result, I
flew drove down to Oxfordshire in record time on Friday (just joking, Mums), and then spent quite a large chunk of the weekend roaring about single lane roads like a Russian oligarch’s wife. Sarah’s dad was particularly cross thrilled that I managed to clip a bit of his lawn.
Back in London this morning, I had a few spare hours before having to hand the car back – sob – so I drove to Richmond Park, purred into the car park and got out for a jog. I wasn’t looking my best – ancient grey t-shirt, baseball hat and lycra black running leggings that are now so worn they have a hole in the crotch. I could see people in the carpark thinking ‘Why on earth is that poor homeless woman driving such a nice car?’
UPDATE: My dad has just sent me the following nugget: “The last M-C to drive an Aston was your grandfather in the 1951 Trans-Alpine Rally where he had a spectacular crash. He had, however, come 5th in the 1950 Monte Carlo Rally and was the first British driver to finish.” Probably quite good I didn’t tell Aston Martin any of that.
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