Through England in the fast lane!

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GOOD FRIENDS: Dr Almeyda and myself.


ALTHOUGH Spain was in a fierce recession in the 70’s, the UK was a prime place to visit and harvest clients. A country nurtured on endless days of grey clouds and rain. So, selling Spain as their bailout place, very affordable with endless sun, sea and sangria was as easy as knocking back a cold beer on a hot day.
My financial methods had already evolved so people could buy land parcels in instalments and houses with finance strung out over an extra year. It went down like tea and crumpets over there and produced lots of building projects here.
Consequently, my visits to England incremented. Enough so I decided to buy a car rather than constantly rent, which stepped up the pace of my visits and their longevity driving on the wrong side of the frog and toad.
It was a long day, breakfast meeting in London, lunch in Manchester and dinner in Edinburgh, always exciting.
The people in England have a thing about cleaning their cars frequently, washing them, shining them and taking special care of ordinary vehicles and I admired them for such. Back home a car was just a mode of transport unless of course you were trying to make an overt penile statement and needed to shine the car up with an outrageous colour, lots of glittering chrome and of course fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror.
The English were more discreet and proper. I also soon learned that they took an interest in my choice of cars. This perplexed me. A car? But to adjust I started first by buying a kit car or two then progressed to a Morgan which bounced the hell out of me, but fit well on those tiny country roads and was easy to fix when it collapsed from all the shaking (wooden framed). I terrorised much of England with it, but got special admiration in Scotland.
All of which especially bored me, after all, how could anyone be important just for driving a car? Confusing yes, but fun if you rolled with it.
Sometimes my clients talked about cars and I learned lots of extraneous information that would never serve me unless I kept upgrading and before too long my good friend Dr. Almeyda, the famed Harley Street dermatologist, steered me in the direction of getting a Ferrari. It was called a Dino and held chassis number 0004.
I read recently where they are going to start remanufacturing that type again. The engineering was pure Italian.
Push the cigarette lighter in so I could light my cigars and the radio would switch stations. Lots of personal quirks and nuances which personally I never got used to but the growl of that engine just behind you melted your day into being part of the never ending road.
Ah, the eternal rush of a world flying by was fun. A melodious snarl that kept you in harmony and on a constant roll.


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