Yet again do I sit at my computer and write an essay of this chapter of my life at a quarter past twelve at night. Normally my “off time” excuse holds. I sleep 3am to 10pm blah blah. Last night I eventually went to bed at 3:30, and was awoken at 8am. I was unsure of weather such a time still existed. Apparently it does, more’s the pity.

Today we went to Goodwood. Home of the festival of Speed, a three day event celebrating the best of British (and world-wide) motorsport.

Good points to the day include Jenson Button Black-lining the streight where all the crowds were (The rest of the drivers just zoomed past, Jenson stopped, and wheelspun the F1 car he was driving before speeding up the hill. Fantastic), A large jet swooping low over the field, and an entertaining jaunt where we discovered that Chichester has no petrol stations. This was discovered as our car nearly ran out of petrol. This was less of a good thing.

Bad points included the fact that both the eldest of my younger brothers and my dad had both been drinking since early that morning, and Ben was suffering with the mother and father of all hangovers. Most people at the show tended to avoid an unwell looking 18 year old quietly being sick in a corner, and we left him and my youngest brother to nurse the hangover while me, my Mum and my Dad went a-wandering around the large field that was the Festival Of Speed. In the age of the mobile, keeping in touch was easy enough, and nobody got lost for long.

There were events I won’t bore you with, partly because I would be shot if I did, but the day ended for us when the race we were watching ended in a fairly spectaculer crash. So I’m told, Our view of the thing was shaded by some trees. There were apparently 3 “casualties” although whether they were corpse or hospitalized type was never made clear.

I bought a mug keepsake, and we went home.