Cart him off

The site of this beast in my rear view mirror would be enough to drive me into a ditch, especially if it was manned (or womaned) by the crew who went carting this Saturday. I thort perhaps I could get away with trundling around the track like Jools Holland on Top Gear, occasionally waving to the rest of the crew as they barreled by. As if.

Get into the cramped confines of your rocket propelled cart and you are immediately consumed with the imperative to drive like a crazed loon. The initial warm-up session passes in seconds and the green light signals us to put peddle to tha meddle. It takes about two laps for me to realise that go-carting after a late night isn't the wisest thing to do. Vision blurry, stomach churning, I'm hurling into corners while trying not to hurl into my helmet. The mad bastards I used to call friends flash by me on all sides, no doubt larffing raucously to themselves as they jet past. Our first run is a 25 minute endurance race, and never has the word been more apt. I am sweating and panting like a wild animal, visor steaming inconveniently as I squeal around that hair bend yet again, time and space distorting as I desperately resist the urge to release the wheel and plunge into the barriers. Then, Oh Blessed Relief, they signal us to stop. I stagger across to the pits, eyeballs whirling in my head and my gorge well and truly risen. Oh God say it isn't so, that was just the first race, we have another 25 mins to go. I'm almost heading for the changing rooms before Benja shames me into getting back into the saddle.

Off we go again and this time all I'm thinking about is survival. The competition has reached fever pitch amongst the rest of 'em. Black flags are appearing thick n' fast as carts are rammed and I am sent spinning by some swine who utterly takes me from behind (no Spencer, not that behind). The checkered flag flashes up for the second time and I crawl from my coffin, hands reduced to shuddering claws and stomach nearing critical mass. Heading for the loo, I jettison the red bull I had in the station at double quick time and cease to communicate with everyone else for fear of vomming in their faces. As we are in Docklands it takes a grueling hour or so to get home, before I can lie down and die.

All in all, a great day out!

I look forward to our team spa treatment day, as I'm very good at lying around and being massaged and I reckon I can take you all!

B