I'm gonna try something the Americans call pitting. If I put my car along his rear wheel and push his back end out, he counter-steers, I then brake... and of course, it shoots the other way.
Tonight, Audi's Dynamic Ride Control tested to the limits in the Alps; variable torque-slip transmissions given a workout on our track; and Merc's hundred and ninety mile an hour Black on the edge in Wales.
In the olden days, it was very close between the Evo and the Impreza, it was like Chelsea and Manchester United, but uh... but now, with these new models, it's like Chelsea and... [laughs]] I don't know enough about football. Um... what team plays in red? That isn't as good as Chelsea?
Let's be honest, it is uglier than a war wound; it's far too soft and wallowy; it sounds like it's running on Mogadon; and the only reason they can sell it for twenty-five thousand pounds is because it has fewer luxuries than, I don't know, an Egyptian's lavatory.
Some say that each of his toenails are exactly the same as a woman's nipples, and that he thinks that "credit-crunch" is some kind of a breakfast cereal. All we know is, he's called The Stig.