Disaster! Wednesday’s driving job was cancelled late Tuesday afternoon which meant I had to spend TWO days decorating (I had already reserved Thursday as a day to reluctantly face up to my adult, home-owning responsibilities). We’re only re-decorating the hall which is the size of a matchbox so the good news is that it will only take us about three weeks (we are not the world’s quickest). For some reason, we thought it would be a good idea to put coving up. How hard could it be to cove the inside of a matchbox? With all the predictability of an episode of Doc Martin, of course it turned out to be a lot harder than we imagined. Our house was built before right angles had been invented – intrepid inventors, Aubrey and Wilma Right only adding a ninetieth degree to a protractor for the first time in 1927, thus giving humankind the Right Angle a year after our house was constructed. And, after offering up the coving to the walls, it seems straight lines were pretty rare in those days too. So strips of elegant coving were tacked to the walls with more pins than you would find in a tailor’s dummy, since glue alone would not allow the coving to make contact with the wall at more than two points. In the corners, each strip of coving waved to its distance neighbour, as if across the Bering Strait until finally united by that interior pack ice, Polyfilla. A tip for inexperienced coving putter uppers: after you have finished re-decorating, buy a luridly coloured carpet or rug for your newly smart and tasteful room thus drawing people’s eyes downwards rather than up. What a palaver decorating is.  Believe me, having to get up at 5.30am for a 6 o’clock pick-up on Friday, getting taken in the dark to a desolate airfield in Warwickshire to then drive a van to Nottingham was sheer bliss (truly, I genuinely enjoyed it). And what about Tuesday, that was a bumper day:-

Monday: Audi A1 Sport 1.4TFSI (125hp), Syston, Leicestershire to Stourbridge, Worcestershire. Bentley Mulsanne Speed (2015), Stourbridge to Syston. Peugeot 2008 Active 1.2T Puretech (82hp), Syston to Derby and back

Tuesday: Peugeot 2008 Active 1.2T Puretech (82hp), Syston to Northampton. Bentley Bentayga W12, Northampton to Syston. Bentley Continental GT Speed W12 (2009), 40 mile test run & Lamborghini Aventador LP700-4 (2014), 50 mile test run to there and back. Bentley Continental GT V8S (2016), Syston to Newark. Audi A1 Sport 1.4TFSI (125hp), Newark to Syston.

Friday: Ford Transit Connect, Stratford-Upon-Avon to Nottingham.

So, Tuesday. I was working for the service department at the Leicester Bentley/ Lamborghini dealer. While grabbing a quick sandwich and cup of tea wondering what was up next, a set of keys was dangled in front of me. “Can you take this Aventador up to Gunthorpe and back.” Why? Who cared! Mine not to reason why, mine but to do and drive.

The Aventador outside the Batcave. At night, it goes inside and hangs upside down.

Outside I went, where the outrageous piece of automotive excess sat brooding. Another 700hp starship, this time with a 6.5 litre V12. In almost matt black, there was more than a touch of the Batmobile about it. Open the scissor door and clamber in. Glance round the cockpit to locate all the important bits and assess the potential for coving (fortunately, none). Inside, there was a distinct similarity to the Aventador’s little brother, the Huracan which I had driven before. However, the Aventador did have conventional stalks for the indicators and wipers instead of the Huracan’s sliding switches on the steering wheel. Also, the Aventador’s seat was a little less snug in the lateral department for my lithe, athletic rake-like form but this is a car for proper grown-ups. Sliding a steak and kidney pie down one side and a doughnut down the other would have sorted things but may have been a little bit Lionel*. Like the Huracan, there was no gear selector with the usual choice of P-R-N-D, instead just two buttons “R” and “M” and an electronic parking brake. There was also the same style of nuclear button hidden under a red safety cover.

Almost ready then – just adjust the mirrors and write my will. Adjusting the mirrors was of dubious value because the wing mirrors couldn’t see much past the Batmobile’s high and wide hips (all muscle – no doughnuts or pies) and the rear view mirror peered through a very shallow rear window at a large wing. Now, flip red safety cover up, HIT THE NUCLEAR BUTTON AND ….. nothing. Another difference between the Aventador and Huracan is the position of the pedals. The Aventador’s are so far over to the left that driving pleasures could be shared your passenger. How jolly considerate of the Lamborghini designers. Anyway, making a mental note to keep my right foot well over to the left when braking to prevent embarrassment (and early reading of the will), I tried again – this time with foot on brake. All hell broke loose. I’d swear that the engine, situated immediately behind my ears, actually gave its ear-splitting bark not once but twice.

So, flip the right flappy paddle into first, gently squeeze the loud pedal and off I bumbled out of the dealership. With the all-black interior and slitty windows, I felt I was driving the world’s fastest (and lowest) letterbox. And feeling every single bump and pimple on the road’s surface (and some that probably weren’t there at all), it was apparently a letterbox with octagonal wheels and powered by screaming harpies. I chugged a few hundred yards round the corner to the local petrol station letting the gearbox do its own thing while I got used to the car. Then I had to climb out at the pumps trying to look as casual as possible but feeling very self-conscious. Why was everyone staring? Check flies and carry on. Anyway, I splashed in twenty quids worth of unleaded as instructed and went to collect my Nectar points. Yes, I was getting paid for driving a Lamborghini Aventador and I got Nectar points. Does life get any better?

All this and Nectar points too! By the way, look at the exhaust. It’s bigger than Brian Blessed’s mouth.

Now, the real business began. After starting the engine (foot on correct pedal), I hit the “M” (manual) button and played tunes on the flappy paddles all by myself. My route for the fifty mile run wasn’t very inspiring – negotiate about three roundabouts, then straight up the A46 dual carriageway into Nottinghamshire …. and back again. So, in the established Cars with a Side of Couscous tradition, I can tell you what it is like to drive in straight lines (and only at roughly legal speeds). But I’m not complaining! Accelerating away from a set of traffic lights, seventy was reached in what seemed like the blink of an eye and other cars were left far behind (at least I think they were, but the rearward view was limited). By magic, those octagonal wheels became more or less round although the suspension still provided less give than Scrooge. And the road noise was colossal, particularly on a long stretch of concreted A46 when I thought Brian Blessed must be sitting next to me – yodelling (actor and force of nature Brian Blessed is the loudest thing on the planet; he once demolished a disused cooling tower with a single guffaw). When Mr Blessed stopped yodelling, I was able to hear the engine again, continuing its metallic scream – much higher-pitched than the deep-throated Bentley Supersports. To be honest, I didn’t find the engine’s song as characterful as the Supersports or an Aston Martin V12. The exception was on the overrun; lifting off the throttle gave rise to a distinctive, sinister rattle issued by the 12 headed snake from Hades behind my head.

Then, amazingly, I realised I could make out something in the rear view mirror. A small van that I had passed way back, had suddenly appeared – glued to my tail. I was doing a generous 70mph (but no more than 75mph, officer) so I moved over to let the van past. It duly dawdled past me, promptly pulled in a little way ahead and gradually slowed down. Grateful for an excuse to enjoy the Aventador’s ferocious acceleration, I pulled out and overtook the van and carried on my way. Guess wot? Yes, the same thing happened again … and again. The third time I passed the van, the driver’s window came down and a hand appeared holding a camera pointing in my direction. A paparazzo! No doubt he mistook me for Batman actor, Ben Affleck. There is a similarity – Ben and I have the same number of heads, for a start. And, we weren’t that far from Gotham (the Nottinghamshire version) or even Wollaton Hall which doubles as Wayne Manor in the Batman movies. Or maybe, he was taking a photo of the car?

Finally, the van turned off and I carried on my way up the A46, the more slow moving vehicles pulling out ahead of me the better because I then had an excuse to drop a couple of gears and restore cruising speed as quickly as possible once they moved out of the way. Then, after about 25 miles, I turned around and did much the same thing all the way back to the Batcave. Work beats putting up coving any day.


* Messy.



Another vindaloo week. The main event was a golf day held by Bentley Leicester at Woodhall Spa Golf Club in Lincolnshire to which four of us took three Bentleys and a Lamborghini, having collected them the evening before:-

Monday: Audi A6 S-Line Quattro 2.0TDi Ultra, Leicester to Cirencester, Gloucestershire; Bentley Continental GTC (convertible) V8S & Lamborghini Huracan LP 610-4 LDF, Syston, Leicestershire to Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire

Tuesday: Bentley Continental GTC V8S, Melton Mowbray to Woodhall Spa, Lincolnshire; Lamborghini Huracan LP 610-4 LDF, Woodhall Spa to Melton Mowbray.

Wednesday: Bentley Continental GT Speed W12 (633hp), Melton Mowbray to Syston; X-wing fighter, Ashby-de-la-Zouch,  Leicestershire to Leicester.

Thursday: X-wing fighter, Leicester to Taunton, Somerset; Volkswagen Transporter (2012), Taunton to Exeter

Friday: Ford Transit Custom, Ashby-de-la-Zouch to Stockton-on-Tees.

So, let’s talk a bit more about the worthy Ford Transit Connect/X-wing fighter. Let’s cut to the chase – what was the Lamborghini Huracan like to drive? Well, before you can drive it, you have to work out where a few things are and how they work. I jump into a lot of cars for the first time and, apart from the occasional quirk, most things are where you expect them to be. Even in something exotic like a Bentley, the essential controls are fairly conventional once you have looked past all the wood and shiny stuff. Not so, with the Lamborghini (into which you have to lower yourself rather than jump). There are, for example, no indicator or windscreen wiper stalks. Instead, there are little switches on the steering wheel – like the indicators on a motorbike. Then there is the centre console where you would normally expect a gear selector and the letters P – R – N – D to be.  Again, not so with the Huracan. There’s no selector at all, just two buttons “P” and “M” and a funny little bridge affair over these buttons marked “R”. Incidentally, this centre console is made out of left over bits from a F-117 stealth fighter, all matt black geometric shapes at obtuse angles to each other (I assume the whole car is invisible to radar but the glaringly bright metallic yellow paint on this Huracan wouldn’t escape the Mk 1 eyeball too readily). Then there’s what is obviously a nuclear button because it is covered by a bright red, flip up guard. This guard prevents you from accidentally nuking North Korea before Donald Trump gives the nod. Actually, its the engine start button – Lamborghini owners must be prone to absent-mindedly starting their car’s engine so the Lambo engineers have thoughtfully put the guard there. Of course, this is all part of the drama and making you feel as if you are in some futuristic piece of military hardware or space craft.

Huracan Pop Art
The futuristic Huracan. A proper supercar shape – as would be drawn by boys (big and small) the world over.


Huracan interior
The stealth-like cockpit complete with red guard for the nuclear button

Once you are settled in to the snug racing seat and had a nose around the cockpit, you can adjust things to your liking. First the wing mirrors which sit atop long stalks so you can see past the car’s wide haunches but these haunches still feature prominently in the rearward view. Then the central rear view mirror which peers through a very small slit of a rear windscreen. Now you are ready to go.

Foot on brake pedal, flip up the red guard on the nuclear button and fire. BOOM! Lots of noise from the mid-mounted engine to ensure that everyone within a two mile radius knows that North Korea is about to become toast. Once the engine has settled down to a loud and impatient-sounding idle, you simply pull the right hand flappy paddle behind the steering wheel and a large “1” and an “A” appear on the digital instrument panel in front of you. You’re in first gear and automatic mode so flip off the electronic parking brake, squeeze the loud pedal and you’re off….. Except, there may be another hurdle to overcome. Speed bumps. With its low slung shape and even lower front spoiler, the Huracan would be as useless as a Dalek at conquering sleeping policemen (let alone the universe) but the Huracan has an ace up its sleeve. Press and hold a button on the dashboard and the front end raises slowly like an old-fashioned Citroen. Ease gently over the bump, press and hold the button to reverse the process and you are away while the Dalek is left behind the speed bump waiving its little balloon whisk arm and sink plunger in frustration (you often see Daleks in Woodhall Spa as they go there for a bit of pampering – “ex – fo – li – ate, ex – fo – li – ate!”). You can’t even hear the Dalek’s manic, metallic, machine-like protestations because the Huracan’s V10, 5.2 litre 610hp engine is wailing gloriously behind your head as you accelerate in the blink of an eye up to the legal limit (0 – 60mph in 3.2 seconds if you were to give it the full beans).

Huracan 2
At Woodhall Spa Golf Club



Bentleys at WSGC
The three Bentleys we also took to Woodhall Spa. Our chase driver said the four cars made an impressive convoy.

I drove the Huracan a couple of times, the main journey being the 55 miles (on a good mix of roads) from Woodhall Spa to a village near Melton Mowbray where the four cars where going to spend the night before being returned to Bentley Leicester the next morning. The roads coming out of Woodhall Spa were not really the Huracan’s natural environment. On these narrow and bumpy roads, the car’s wide tyres would follow the lumpy contours so you had to focus on keeping it on line. And with suspension made from only the best granite and with ultra-low profile tyres, you felt all of those lumps and bumps. However, this was more than bearable and the body hugging seat was extremely comfortable. Immediately noticeable at the first corner was the very quick steering – not much rotation required on the tiller to get the Huracan round a bend.

The Huracan soon came into its own on smoother roads. For most of the journey I left it in automatic but I did override this when I felt like it, simply by flipping either of the flappy paddles – right for up, left to downshift. Approaching corners, I would change down manually with each quick downshift accompanied by a short rise in engine note as if the throttle had been blipped. Each downshift also brought a little forward shove in the back before the engine helped slow the car down. You could then flow into the corner, enjoying that quick steering and sharp turn-in as the Huracan changed direction as if on rails (with that granite suspension, “body roll” is not in the Huracan’s vocabulary). Four wheel drive and fat tyres would no doubt give a massive amount of grip – way more than I needed since my job was the get the Huracan from A to B in one piece. The knowledge that that grip was there if needed was reassuring since it did rain for the middle part of the trip.

After enjoying the single carriageway roads, I eventually got onto the A46 dual carriageway. With such a low seating position and a rush of road noise, the impression of speed was much greater than in a “normal” car at 70 (and a bit….) mph and like the rest of the journey it felt much more of an event. Finally, there were a few more miles of twisty, country lanes (on full manual after pressing the “M” button on the centre console) before pulling back that curious little bridge thing marked “R” to reverse the flying banana into store for the night.

That was fun.