The Driver - Explanation

The following article was originally written for the radio format. However only your imagination prevents use elsewhere. I, for instance might use it to enhance a dull salad.

The piece was written as a submission for a BBC radio writing request held during the 2006 football World Cup. In all the BBC received over 1100 entries although they didn't think this eligible for publication. I do, so have done so here. Belligerent? Damn right. It is only two to three minutes in length so it should not take you long to judge for yourself whether they were a nitrous sipping, turbo-charged monster or a tricycle with a flat tyre.

As the author, I, not the BBC, own the copyright to this entry and will defend the little copyright symbol at the head of this page. If you wish to distribute, perform or publish this article have the decency to contact me first. However, if you wish to link others to this webpage then I shall feel honoured.

Also, look out for other submissions I made using the titles 'The Ball', 'The Dog' and 'Turnstile Girl'.


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Author: Vince Poynter
Version 5.139 26 Jun 2018
First Published: Version 2.04 in Dec 2006



The Driver

Fiction By Vince

Written July 2006

The author photographed sitting in a blue Mercedes AMG GT V8 powered sports car
A professional driver. A powerful car. All that's needed is an empty road

Can you hear it? Just there, right now. That eerie silence.

Normally right here about this time there would be a cacophony of sound. It was there just a few minutes ago but now it’s all gone. All gone with the rest of them. Just me. And that beautiful silence. It’s about time I changed all that.

[The sound of V8 engine rumbles into life]

Now that’s even better. The purest sound known to people like me. You can forget your whale song, newborn and opera, this is the best sound available to mankind. At least if your veins gush with four-star and you pray to the God of Clarkson. And for us true petrol heads right here, right now is when we can get our biggest fix.

You see to really appreciate a car like this you need, well first off, a car like this. A thrilling combination of beauty, power and performance. But just as important you need space. Space to fulfil your dreams. Space to stretch her legs. Space to touch the edge of the envelope.

And don’t go thinking that the reference to stretching her legs is some sort of sexual suggestion. No, for the true purist you can forget your Kirsten Scott Thomases and Angelina Jolies. Right now I wouldn’t even have the gorgeous Vicky Butler-Henderson sat here. What I’m about to do is at its best as a solitary pursuit. You can’t say that about many things.

It is indeed a rare occurrence, blue moon, haystack needle sort of thing and I’m about to make the most of it. I’m at odds with the rest of the world but at peace with myself. On the starting grid of something truly spiritual. Outside, rebellious, dangerous, exciting.

This has all happened because of football. It’s never been my kind of thing really. Of course I sound authoritative discussing some points with my peers and often watch a publicised match or two. I even casually follow my local team’s progress. However, I have a sneaking admiration for those that truly no nothing of the beautiful game and believe that the overpaid superstars really ought to get a proper job. But right now, when communal fervour has driven everyone inside and off my road I am truly grateful that it is our national sport.

[The V8 revs]

Did you hear that? Primed and ready to rock and roll. Not that I’m going to play any music. Truly great driving sounds come from pistons, intakes and exhausts. Motorhead has nothing on a V8 in a tunnel. And a tyre squeal sings better than Led Zep.

I’ll have to be careful though. I won’t quite be the only one out here for the next ninety.

I’m not talking about other demons like me. We are a rare breed and share an instinctive support for each other. If we pass there will be no tantrums, no drama. Fast at speed maybe, but in total control as only a true driving god is. We may kick at the speed of light but we know where and when it is right to go for a goal.

Even the mortals in their Sunny one-point-twos quietly going about their daily business, as oblivious to the tournament as they are to life in general won’t be a problem. My sudden presence then disappearance would only shock if they actually had the ability to react.

No, my real problem will be those boys in blue who are forced to miss the moment that everyone will be talking about for the next forty years. This will instil a deep rooted jealousy that can only be satiated by persecuting a man like me. I’ll have to be on my game.

Kick off in five minutes time. Just like the others but for other reasons I’ve etched this time firmly in my psyche. Sat here in this lay-by counting down the minutes, then the seconds. Watching the fading remnants of morons racing past to get to their phosphor alters.

Nearly time to go. Nearly time for life to take its true meaning. Nearly there. The road ahead clears. No-one around. Empty silence.

Dip clutch…first gear…final check over shoulder…ease out clutch…and we’re off.

[The V8 rumbles]

It is totally clear ahead and my freedom beckons. I can go any route I chose, like an eagle soaring through the skies. Left or right at this junction, the choice is only mine. Floor it now…

…With any luck I’ll make it back in time for the match.


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Author: Vince Poynter
Version 5.139 26 Jun 2018
Written July 2006 and submitted to the BBC as part of a radio script submission request
First Published: Version 2.04 in Dec 2006
The photograph shows the author sat in a Mercedes AMG GT, taken in May 2015, added on 27 Jun 2018