What to do? There’s a 42″ black rectangle where there should be a moving image of something exotic being thrapped to within an inch of its carbon-fibre life. My Sunday Evening living room is no longer home-cinema filled with mind-blowing visuals, flat-plane crank V8 howls or tinkling piano-meets-Marina crashes.
With the house being freed of “witty” car-derived banter for an hour every Sunday, I feel at a bit of a loss as to how to satisfy my octane dependency. I could enter into discussions with my fiancé, debating the trade off tyre profile and width vis-a-vis ride quality and refinement, but it would doubtless lead to a rapid and acrimonious divorce before the wedding bells have even stopped chiming. No. I need to find something else.
Or: Maybe there’s something else I could be doing? Maybe, now BST has arrived and we are assured of long, bright evenings, there’s something far more life-enriching I could be doing than being glued to my sofa for an hour every Sunday night? Maybe the answer is just outside my window?