As favours go, it was a pretty big ask. But more on the side of the person asking than the recipient for a change. Being offered the chance to take a V8 sports car for a deliberate drive to nowhere was something that I would happily do, not exactly needing persuasion and certainly not a common occurrence.

To recap, a friend of mine suffered quite a nasty motorbike accident a few weeks ago when he was knocked off his KTM Supermoto. Three broken ribs, a punctured lung, severe concussion and a rather broken leg later he is doing well, however bed-bound and off work for two months.
But it wasn't a Choc Dip and a copy of Practical Classics that he wanted, it was to take his TVR Chimaera (500 no less) out for a drive to blow off the cobwebs, literally and internally.
Like many other temperamental handbuilt sports cars, driving them daily is often one of the best ways to keep on top in the reliability stakes, leaving for a Sun(ny)day is often worse than doing a run to Tescos in the rain.
After three weeks off, the big eight fired up first time and off I went, out of town and alone in a vehicle notorious for bad reliability, being fearsome to drive and attracting attention. Plus, with the catalytic converter taking pride of place on his garage floor, the straight through system was loud. Not TVR loud, Download Festival loud. Which is nice, except when you are trying not to look like a cock in front of hundreds of people at a rather pikey looking fair on the way out of the city.

Driving and experiencing cars is what life is all about, however friends' cars do not fall into the same category. Even with the words "she needs a good thrash really" echoing around my head you just know that if the more thrilling Big One from Blackpool spontaneously combusted at the end of the street you would still feel bad about it in twenty years time. Likewise, if you were stationary at a junction and a Hummer ploughed into you from behind, you would still be getting ribbed down the pub for crashing your mate's pride and joy in 2019.

But my, what a car. Having driven a few TVRs before I was past the initial intimidation stage, even in the wet, but never really had long enough to get the full experience. This opened my eyes just a little wider. It's quick, obviously, but not silly by modern sports car standards. However, the last time I remember being so shocked by a delivery of any sorts was when Parcelfarce brought me a completely empty box by mistake.
This is torque almost by definition. Into gear. Wallop. All over, next gear. Wallop. A bit like being hit in the face by a bowling ball instead of a bean bag. One is over a lot quicker but a hell of a hit in comparison. It is quite hard to get a perspective of how fast the rate of speed changes, all of a sudden it has peaked lower down than you would expect and it is time to clunk the unwieldy yet weighty aluminium ball into the next slot, a task made vastly more difficult by a transmission tunnel that (for me anyway) was completely in the way.
It is just a pity about the handling, no other fancy word from a Thesaurus could be more suitable than being a bit 'edgy.' A quick steering rack is all well and good but this was the first time I have concluded that it is just that bit toofast for the particular car. A sneeze would have almost been enough to fire me off into the nearest hedge. Which is rather inconvenient when there is an open roof and one third of the population are hayfever sufferers.

But it was all well that ended well, the Chim washed and returned home looking grateful for some lavished attention like most of her spoilt brat factory siblings. No hissy fits this time. What's more, there is even a perfectly appointed leather cubby hole for that pack of Piriton. If only all favours were this good.