And finally, my long anticipated trip to the Royal International Air Tattoo was a total washout and I scraped a wheel on the Honda Civic Type R press car I was driving.
Then I had an unscheduled trip to the emergency room in the back of an ambulance, with crippling abdominal pains. Shortly after, my special little best buddy Mr. To recap, in the last few weeks, on the way to the Historic Masters Grand Prix festival at Brands Hatch the Ferrari took an almighty shit on my Visa bill to the tune of nearly £1,800. If you’ve been tuning in recently (and if not why not?), you’ve read that here at Casa de Clarke things have been a little, well, rough. “What fresh hell will today bring?”, wondered our anti-hero as he stared ruefully out of the window, exhaling cigarette smoke.
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