I’ve been into cars for as long as I can remember.
It’s one of those stereotypical things for young boys to be in to I guess.
As a child, all my relatives knew that a little Hot Wheels car would always be the way to my heart. Every time my grand parents would visit, I’d get one of these precious little toys, until I had a huge crate packed full of the things. Of course, most kids grow out of the interests that they are obsessed with at an early age, moving on to more fantastical things such as space travel or dinosaurs.
I did not, though.
My love for cars and all things mechanical only grew over the years that I progressed through school. Everything that I learned in class was seen through the prism of cars and motors. The battles of World War II were played out in my mind to the roar of engines and dashing officers racing across sand dunes in Volkswagen Kubelwagens. Maths problems were solved by replacing oranges and pear with gears and pistons. Geography was less about the countries themselves and more concerned with the various legendary racetracks that wound their way through treacherous mountain passes and vibrant city streets. I was, simply speaking, infatuated with motors.
This kind of fascination is easy enough to appease at an early age, but there are only so many years that one can sate their thirst for cars with tiny 3-inch toys.
By the time I’d reached my teenage years, my idea of a good time had moved away from toys on the carpet and moved on to engines in the garage. I’d spend hours taking apart motors and putting them back together, all the while dreaming of owning my very own dream car: the Porsche 911.
That day came, roughly 30 years down the line. After working my socks off at University and securing a decent job as a Technical Engineer, I was finally able to purchase my 911. Although I’d toyed with the idea of buying an older model, the thought of spending all that extra money on official Porsche 928 parts and restoration made me balk. In the end I ‘settled’ for a brand new 911 R, fresh off the line and extremely expensive.
Living just a few miles away from Silverstone, you’ll often see me taking her out for a spin on the track and putting myself through my paces.
As much as I love opening her up on those long straights, I prefer the simple act of taking her out on to the country roads of England. It was on one of these relaxed country drives that I stumbled across Stoke Bruerne – a village that couldn’t be at more odds with my high performance vehicle.
This is a place that feels like it hasn’t changed for at least two centuries. Driving my sleek sports car into Stoke Bruerne is always a surreal experience. I always make sure to keep my speed down as I enter, so the noise of the engine doesn’t ruin the tranquillity for the other visitors, and then I slowly park behind the pub. Watching the boats drift by, I can truly relax and feel perfectly at peace with the world.