My son in law, Simon (more about him in the next posting) kindly organised a trip to Elite Karting in Wigan.
It took me over an hour to complete the 30 minute journey to this venue, and my performance in the kart mirrored that effort. I never did work out the racing line, and when I got close to it someone always seemed to bash me out of the way!
There were 33 of us in the Grand Prix, including rather too many testosterone/adrenaline fuelled men with Alonso/Webber/Vettel masks.
Mere mortals stood no chance, so having made it into the last eighteen, together with Bernie (Simon’s dad), Simon and I thought we’d done quite well. The top two from each semi progressed to the final (pictured). Simon (especially) and I were therefore gutted to be thumped by illegal manoeuvres into third place in our respective semis, but at least he managed one of the fastest laps.
A very small (4 images) album is here.
Next time Simon will be inviting a party of schoolchildren. That may allow us a better chance of success!
PS Should anyone else who attended this event read this, I do apologise for the smidging of poetic licence employed within this report. A special apology goes to the young lad who suffered at least twice as a result of the violent and uncontrollable antics of my kart.