RIGHT now—it being still Thursday evening—there stands on my driveway a smoky-blue VW Golf R, a soberlooking thing, but for the menacing blacked-out rear windows and Akrapovic exhausts that look like the cannons on a Spitfire wing. Anthropomorphically, this car is James Bond in an Anthony Sinclair suit, packing a Walther PPK. Well, four of those, actually. Of the Bonds, it’s definitely more Daniel Craig than Roger Moore, who’s more a Jaguar man, I’d say.
Either way, the numberplate is R50 VWW and I whimsically imagine that might just stand for something like ‘50-something but still Very, Wery Wicked’— pretty much how I feel every time I press the start button and go for another spin. Forgot the milk? Never mind, darling, I’ll just nip out and get some. The post? I’ll take that.
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