The Man in the White Suit_ The Stig, Le Mans, The Fast Lane and Me - Ben Collins [35]
Once I was going fully backwards on the second gyration, I straightened the steering, then turned it gently right to swing the front around. I was still shipping at around 100, so I had to manhandle out of the manoeuvre with some hard opposite lock to catch the rear for the last time.
Gotcha.
I skirted the gutter bordering the runway and peddled round the final corners to cross the finish.
I pulled alongside Jim for a debrief.
‘Fucking hell. Are you all right?’
‘Sure. How did it look?’
Jim rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t know if it’s better or worse that you did that intentionally …’ He contacted the main camera unit on his radio. ‘Biff, did you get that?’
‘Uuh … Oh … Yeah … We got it.’ ‘Iain, what about you?’
‘YYYAAAAAAAAAP (enormous burp). Got it.’
‘What’ve you got, Jim?’ Andy quizzed.
‘The mother of all spins. Stiggy’s changing his underpants as we speak. So am I, for that matter.’
‘Good work. Get ready for the celeb, he’ll be here in fifteen.’
With that, a black van was dispatched to collect the camera tapes and run them across to James. I went off to get some lunch.
The Top Gear catering unit consisted of a double-decker bus and mobile trailer. When the schedule was tight I grabbed my own scoff. Each chef greeted me with the same startled look as I bowled up like a white-suited Oliver Twist. They checked my wristband periodically to ensure I had a meal ticket. Can’t be too careful.
‘How do you eat it?’ the chef asked.
‘I snort it through a straw. What’s for pudding?’
‘Something squidgy.’
Depending on the guest, I might get a briefing beforehand. With my limited knowledge of TV personalities I needed all the help I could get.
Wilman took me under his wing and talked me through it. ‘Right, Stiggy. Today we’ve got Martin Kemp driving the reasonably priced car.’
‘OK.’
‘Do you watch EastEnders?’
‘I’ve seen it, yes. Is he the bald one?’
Andy shot a bemused look towards the heavens. ‘No. He’s the baddie. Everyone hates him; well, not the public but in the show. He used to be in Spandau Ballet. Can you teach him some good moves out there so he sets a fast time?’
‘Absolutely, assuming it dries.’
It didn’t. The track stayed as slick as Kemp’s hairdo and he spun so far off the track during practice that he nearly collected a $6m helicopter.
I handed Martin over to the presenters, who went about filming their pieces with him in front of the studio audience. My job was done, yet the night was still young. I never hung around after studio days for a beer or a chat. It was decidedly antisocial of me, but I really did have somewhere else to be.
Chapter 8
Green Fatigue
We gathered around the Directing Staff Instructor, a decorated NCO who bore the angry scar of a shrapnel wound in his neck, a legacy of the Balkans conflict. Plissken was a stocky northerner whose boyish looks belied his frontline experience, and he spoke on rapid fire.
The reasons for us being there were many, though none good enough at this stage to merit more than veiled contempt from the real Men in Green. The Army Reserves may have been part time, but the Airborne ethos was all-consuming.
In modern times British airborne forces have become renowned for rapid insertion into theatres of operation around the globe, after fifty years of successful deployment in everything from jungle warfare and counter terrorism to the deserts of the Middle East. A free-thinking force with a will to overcome any obstruction.
Recruits had to develop the mental and physical resilience to cope with the most challenging scenarios. By the time we were ‘wasting’ Plissken’s oxygen, swingeing physical tests had halved our number. The course itself took place mainly in Wales and involved arduous uphill work in the Brecon Beacons, a stunning range of heather-clad peaks notorious for their inclement and unpredictable weather. As primarily weekend warriors, it took