Shut Up and Drive, Being Part Two of Two Blogs, ‘In the Last Week Frank Has Left the House’

  on 2nd July it was my brother Maxim’s birthday. We celebrated yesterday… By going go-karting.

  I had never been before – not many of us had – so it was understandable, I think, to say that once we pulled on the jumpsuits, messed around calling balaclava ‘baklavas’ and watched the rather crap safety video, I was quietly freaking out. I am not usually a fast person. Why run when you can walk? It’s prettier.

  They say a picture is worth a thousand words (although it takes up a lot more PC memory) so here are some snaps of the future of Formula One:

And here is Team [insert cool name here] thrashing the track. Well, Maxim thrashed. So did Ellen and Ross. Isobel and I, on the other hand, should have received trophies for being the most careful drivers out there, with the most improvement. Who cares if we were always the two slowest people? I shaved seventeen seconds off my first lap time, Bel got twenty.

  Twenty.

  Beat that, Mr. Hamilton.

  Okay, I would love to post more photos, but I’ve strained my wrist and hand doing physics homework/obsessive diary writing/go-karting, so I’m going to make an unofficial Part Three when I can type and click ‘Insert into Post’ without wincing.

  Isobel says that she’s got bruised legs from the karting. I would like to point out that a reason I crashed about six times was because my feet could hardly reach the pedals. Which were the wrong way round. And there was no reverse and no wing mirrors.

  That has to be a health and safety issue.