Boy Racer

Boy Racer.

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Did I mention I’ve got my new car? A spanker it is too. Last night, after 2 1/2 days of driving sensibly, I buckled. I rushed into my car, took it up to the A3, and thrashed up to the next junction and back, temporarily becoming one of the boy racers I’ve learned to hate during my limited driving career. 12 miles and 110+ miles per hour later, and I was back in Guildford, steam gently rising from the engine, and a slight smell of burnt tyre hanging in the air.
My work was done.