I loved this car very
much but there
were two things I
didn’t like: getting
in and getting out
The lowdown on an
Italian masterpiece
Driving
Jeremy Clarkson
T
here was a time when you
looked forward to being
caught by the lights because it
gave you an opportunity to race
the chap alongside when they
went green.
It was, of course, a completely
pointless exercise because there
was no prize money and no
podium and no prosecco. All you
got were bragging rights, as you
waited in the reception area of
Kwik Fit for someone to replace
the clutch you’d broken.
After I fitted my Ford Cortina
1600E with a “sports air filter”
I spent days prowling the streets
of Doncaster, racing everyone
I could find and, afterwards,
telling my mates that because
the crossflow engine could
now breathe more easily, it wasCONTACT US
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The Clarkson Review: Lamborghini Huracán STO
producing 300 horsepower.
Which is why I’d been able to
thrash Roy Thompson’s CSL
off the lights in Warmsworth.
This was all very tremendous,
but then, one day, it just sort of
stopped. Speed cameras came
along, the Green Party got its act
together and road safety charities
were formed, and with all the willy-
waving taken out of driving, young
men decided it’d be easier to go
around on the bus. Today it’s rare
to find someone under 25 who has
even bothered to take their test.
However, I have noticed that
the traffic light grand prix is
making something of a comeback.
Thanks almost entirely to the
evangelical nature of the weak-
minded Tesla enthusiast.
I pulled up last week at the lights
in a Lamborghini Huracán STO,a lightweight blizzard of stickers,
spoilers and carbon fibre. And out
of the corner of my eye I noticed
a fortysomething Tesla driver
bouncing in his seat. I assumed, and
hoped, he was being electrocuted,
but no. He was beaming and
bouncing and pointing at the
lights because he wanted a race.
I don’t know what sort of Tesla
it was because I’m not interested
in them. But I presumed it was
fitted with that idiotic setting that
allows it to rocket off the line like
a scalded cock. What’s it called?
“Musk mode”? “Tiny penis mode”?
“My children made me buy this
piece of crap and now I must
demonstrate to all and sundry
that it’s in spaceship mode”?
Needless to say when the lights
went green he tore off as though
he’d been booted towards the
horizon by Jonny Wilkinson. He
probably gave himself whiplash,
and certainly will have used up
half the battery juice he needed
to get home.
Had I bothered to engage,
it’s possible his crummy little
hatchback would have beaten the
Lambo. But so what? A microwave