Читать книгу The Man in the White Suit: The Stig, Le Mans, The Fast Lane and Me - Ben Collins, Ben Collins - Страница 15

Chapter 9

Live at Earl’s Court

I arrived at the imposing gates of Earl’s Court exhibition centre in London. By now I was warming to the concept of just turning up at places with no idea what to expect. I pulled out my kitbag and wandered into the building. A raucous howl reverberated through the walls, followed by the shriek of tortured rubber. My kind of music.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness. Blackout curtains separated the hive of nocturnal backstage activity from the bright kaleidoscopic lights on stage. Row upon row of priceless supercars, new and vintage, were lined up so close it made you wince just looking at them.

Someone appeared at my side and eyed my carry-all. ‘You ’ere to drive that Jag, then?’

I eyeballed him silently.

‘It’s all right, I know you’re working for Andy. I’m Paul, the stage manager.’

‘Ah, thanks …’

‘We’re in the middle of rehearsals at the moment. The first show’s tonight. Go and ’ave a look if you like.’ He pointed towards the stage.

A line of Le Mans cars waited their turn in the spotlight, escorted by some female racing drivers. The curtain whipped back as a familiar voice boomed through the PA system: ‘… and you see that’s what we love about Le Mans: it’s basically men trying to kill themselves at 200mph. But now it’s even better. There’s girls …’ The voice was growing hoarse.

There was no mistaking this guy. One hand held the mic, the other wafted around in the air as he strode back and forth, pointing occasionally and cocking his head in exaggerated thought. The abundance of pubic curls gathering snow at the summit of this monster confirmed it was none other than Jeremy Clarkson, as much a household name to me as Maggie Thatcher, Heinz Baked Beans and Colonel Gaddafi.