Читать книгу To Cap It All - Kenny Sansom - Страница 25

By now Elaine and I were married and living in a lovely house in Epsom, Surrey. I was not a drinker yet and only had the occasional flutter on the horses; but these two insidious enemies were lurking in the shadows, ready to pretend to be my friend. But, for now, it was still orange juice and lemonade in the club bar, and bacon rolls and cups of tea in the wooden shed. After training we would head off to Solly’s café for, um, well, pork chops and chips!

There was this kid, an apprentice at Palace who used to eat at Solly’s, who was a bright little spark. I think he used to hero-worship me a bit – in a similar way to my hero-worshipping Peter Taylor.

I had been sponsored by Mitsubishi to drive a beautiful silver Colt, and this kid said to me, ‘If I beat you at pinball tomorrow will you let me drive your car?’ Cheeky bugger!

Anyway, I agreed to the deal, thinking he wouldn’t show up and that if he did he wouldn’t have a hope in hell of beating me – but I was wrong on both counts.

The little whippersnapper raced into the café and finished off the deal by beating me fair and square. My luck had abandoned me that day.

So I let this little underage and uninsured lad drive my prized Colt out of the car park. Moments later he came flying back down the shingle driveway and skidded straight into Vince Hillaire’s sponsored car and took the side clean out.

Vince wasn’t too happy and, to be honest, neither was I, but we both saw the funny side of it – I guess everything was funny in those days. We told the sponsors that a hit-and-run driver had been the culprit and thankfully they repaired both cars without question. It’s amazing what you can get away with when you’re afforded celebrity status. I suppose I was beginning to feel like a celebrity and it wasn’t all to the good. Occasionally it made me feel and think in stupid ways.

Now on the up and up, I’d become the proud owner of a flashy Triumph Stag. Oh, did Elaine and I ever think we were the bee’s knees!

Elaine hadn’t learned to drive yet, but she had the bright idea to get her brother-in-law to drive her to Gatwick Airport to pick me up from a holiday in Corfu with the lads. As I walked out of the terminal there she was sitting in our pride and joy waiting to greet me.

It was a pig of a night, with torrential rain and the wind blowing a gale as we made our way back to Epsom. We were happy to see each other again, but the tension in the car was palpable, as we weren’t familiar with the area and the roads were not well lit. Suddenly the car chugged to a halt. We looked at each other in horror.

‘We’ve run out of petrol,’ I cried.

Elaine, who always had all the answers, was struck dumb.

‘Why didn’t you fill it up with petrol before you left?’ I asked. But, not being a driver, she hadn’t thought about this necessity. I jumped out and flagged down the first car to come our way and lucky old me again – it was only Paul Hinshelwood. Now, what were the chances of that?

A decision was made in a split second. Paul and I would go and find the nearest 24-hour petrol station while Elaine waited in the warmth and safety of our car. ‘Wait here, Elaine. We won’t be long.’

Off we went in search of fuel and, as luck would have it, there was a garage nearby. But it was shut. So we continued along on our journey. And, although we passed a couple more garages, none were open. Didn’t anyone do night duty in Surrey?

We finally found a little garage in Tooting Broadway. How did we manage to get that far away from Epsom? The fact was – mystery or not – that was where we were.

‘Can I buy a can, please? I’ve run out of petrol.’

‘It’s an emergency,’ added Paul.

‘I ain’t got no cans,’ mouthed the cashier from behind a bulletproof glass window.

That was it. My usual moderate temper was lost. ‘What do you mean, you’ve got no cans? This is a bloody garage. Lots of people run out of petrol.’

‘I ain’t got no cans,’ he insisted.

‘What have you got?’ Paul chirped in again.

‘I only got cans of oil,’ he growled menacingly. This guy was almost as wild as the night.

‘Give us a can of oil, then.’ I was really panicking now as I thought about my wife, who I had abandoned alone on a dark scary night. What on earth had possessed me?

I was that mad I poured all the oil from the can over the garage forecourt and then, having filled the can with petrol, we drove as fast as we could back to Elaine, with me beating myself up all the way back for leaving her in danger. I’d like to think that those days were safer than today, and in some ways they were. There wasn’t quite so much road rage going on, but that didn’t take away the fact that some other car could have crashed into the back of her on a poorly lit country road.

I wasn’t in the slightest bit surprised when she screamed, ‘Where the hell have you been?’ But at least we had enough petrol to get us out of trouble.