I finally plucked up the courage, and on the last session of the day, took the C63 out for a run. Considering that it was the last session before the Christmas closing down period, there were few cars on the track and I decided to chance it. Tim Brooks was in the passenger seat. He pumped up the air con to arctic conditions (Boz’s race cars do not sport this essential extra) and off we went. It was huge fun. After returning to the pits, my apprehension of having an accident on the track, given the distinct lack off insurance, wore off. Still buzzing, I contacted the guys from Macintosh. Ben thought it was hoot. Simon the business manager was seriously unimpressed. Something to do with the fact that he sold me the insurance. It’s OK, he will get over it.

The brakes were glowing red after this occasion, and I have a funny feeling that doing this often will result in an expensive service bill.

I don’t care, it was still loads of fun.

I like corrupting my nearest and dearest. With that in mind, Mark (“Let’s sell E’s Merc on eBay”) and his better half, Julie, came with me to Wakefield on December 21^st. After a minor marital fracas involving what was and was not on Santa’s list, huge fun was had by all.

Mark, I may even forgive you one day for the prank on eBay. Just not yet.

My well-meaning but at times cruel friends occasionally gang up on me and try to match-make, usually with disastrous results. They knowing my love of cars, it is usually with men who do not share my passion for them, or at least not in the same way. I had forgotten, or best erased these from my memory, but the weekend Prestige Motoring article by John Connolly (Test for quest) brought it all back.

The last of these disasters happened couple of months back. The said individual had been on the radar for months, and I resisted as long as I could. The number of made-up excuses I had come up with would have made Baron Munchhausen proud. Finally, I was cornered, and like a wounded animal, I went on the attack. But nothing worked: the qualities of the knight in the shining armour were listed to me again and again. Just to get some peace, I relented and agreed to coffee. What could possibly go wrong? Plenty, as it seems. My offer of meeting for coffee, preferably somewhere noisy and close to car parking, was declined, and a romantic evening meal with the knight and his steed was the only option. Worn down, I agreed, just to get the whole thing done and over with.

The knight arrived. 10-15 minutes of small talk later, I was ready to spend the night locked in a room full of tarantulas. This was a true child of the Gordon Gekko era. Braces and belt, to ensure that his pants would never fall down. OMG, do people still dress like this? The most interesting book, the one that changed his life, was Who Moved My Cheese. His line was: “I always give 113%.” The glazed look on my face gave even him the message and we set off. My offer to drive was firmly rejected, and we embarked on his trusty steed, a 2013 Lexus. I know it was 2013, because he told me, a number of times. I live on the lower North Shore, so trips to the city are over before you know it. This one lasted a lifetime. Firstly, I was informed that the best way to save fuel is to set the dash screen to your fuel usage. That way, you get 113% fuel efficiency. The constant braking to ensure this 113% percent was crushing my outfit, and the drivers behind us were collecting money to have this individual removed from the roads, perhaps even from the human race. They would have to beat me to it. The conversation in the car was one-way, with him teaching me how to drive better and how to get the best fuel efficiency. Moving in slow motion, we reached the toll gates, where he stopped and explained to me, to be sure 113% that the toll was registered, it is best to stop and count to 20 and then proceed. For some strange reason, the motorists behind us did not share his beliefs. We reached the corner of Grosvenor and Harrington streets and I reached for the door handle and got out. Not a word was spoken. I hailed the first taxi and asked him to take me home. Upon reaching the safety of my unit, I poured a glass of champagne and called my so-called friends. The torrent of abuse lasted for 10 minutes. After that I asked them to stay out of my life until I contacted them.

We are still friends, and during the Christmas break we caught up. I am told that my knight in shining armour was astounded at my reacting in such a way, because my friends had apparently told him that I liked cars.

This is compliments of ”Brian1321”. I liked it so much I thought it deserved another edit:

Our Father who art at Wakefield

Hallowed be thy turbos.

Thy boost come.

Thy tyres be done

On dirt or even on tarmac

Give us this day our daily hoon,

And forgive us our Priuses,

As we forgive those who trespass against us,

And lead us not into beigetation,

But deliver us from boredom.

Amen.

Who would have thought it would be so hard? Certainly not me.

How many people know how long demerit points are recorded on your divers licence? This question sent me on a quest worthy of Victorian era explorer on a hunt for the source of the river Nile. Most friends and colleagues think it is 2 years. I was under the impression it was 3 years and it turned out we were all wrong, it is 3 years and 4 months (40 months).

The government website certainly goes to extra ordinary length to make this information difficult to find. Two emails later I finally obtain an answer that is written in English, rather than Corporate.

Dear E,

Thank you or your email.

The period of time that demerit points accrue is currently three years. This was changed from two years in around 1987-89. The law has not changed since then.

Please see the below link to the Roads and Maritime Services website for the most up to date and current information regarding demerit points, offences and penalties.

http://www.rms.nsw.gov.au/roads/safety-rules/demerits/index.html

With regard to the 40 month period, the Police, State Debt Recovery Office (SDRO) and the local courts notify the Roads and Maritime Services (RMS) of traffic offences committed by licence holders. This information is not normally received until either after the fine is paid or after the appeal date has passed. There is therefore a lag in the time between the actual incident and when the points are recorded on the licence holder’s record.

If a licence holder reaches or exceeds the threshold number that applies for their type of licence in any three-year period, (not three years and four months) the RMS is required to send a notice of suspension.  This three-year period is based on the dates the offences were committed.

An important factor to be aware of is that the law does not limit the counting of demerit points to offences that are less than three years old. What this means is that demerit points do not expire. The record remains, irrespective of the age of the offence, and can therefore be used at any time to initiate a suspension. This means that if a unrestricted licence holder accrued 13 demerit points in a three year period that was five years ago, they can still legally be suspended for it now.

This is where the three years and four months comes in.

The RMS will not count the demerit points for offences that are over 40 months old, so these offences do not appear on the ‘RMS myRecords demerit point enquiry screen’. This therefore stops the situation referred to above from happening.

When the offence you have referred to is more than 40 months old, it will no longer show on the enquiry screen. Therefore, even though the law allows it, a person cannot be suspended if any of the infringements happened more than 40 months ago. This is even if the total of demerit points accrued was 13 and they all happened within a period of three years of each other.

Even though the demerit point’s display for 40 months, an unrestricted licence holder will still only receive notification of a licence suspension if they accrue 13 or more demerit points within any three year period, (not three years and four months) calculated from the offence dates.

So, are we all crystal clear on this?

The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster continues to draw new acolytes with a Queensland tradie forgoing a driver’s licence to express his religious beliefs.

Brisbane renderer Simon L. has been unable to drive for almost two months after the state’s Department of Transport and Main Roads (TMR) refused to renew his licence because he insisted on being photographed with a colander on his head. Simon L is a Pastafarian and he believes his rights are being violated because he cannot express his faith through his religious headdress in his licence photo. “I’m a devout member of the church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster and I have a right to wear a colander just like Sikhs wear turbans,” the 31-year-old told ninemsn. “Just because they don’t understand my religion doesn’t mean I should be persecuted. I don’t understand why I am being discriminated against. Mr L said after an employee at the TMR refused to allow him to wear a pasta strainer on his head for his license photo, initially citing “the ID systems of the camera”, he escalated the matter. On September 15 the TMR replied that while it allows religious headwear to be worn in driver licence photographs for recognised religions, “this is done on the basis that this headwear is always worn by the person in public places, including while at work and while the person is driving, and should not be removed in public”. “It is not permissible for religious headwear to be only put on for the purpose of the driver licence photo,” the TMR said. When Mr L challenged the TMR the department replied “the Department of Transport and Main Roads’ position that ‘Pastafarianism’ head wear is not permitted to be worn when taking a driver licence photo has not changed.” Mr L is not the first Pastafarian to have had trouble with the authorities because of the way he chooses to express his faith. The spiritual tradie said the decision to adhere to his religious principles has inconvenienced him and also taken a financial toll. “I’ve lost four days’ work because there was no way to get public transport, which to me is about $1200,” he said. However, he remains defiant and said he will “just keep going” if the authorities refuse to budge and insist he cannot be photographed with a colander on his head. “It is not up to a public servant to decide what my beliefs are,” he said. “I demand that my beliefs be respected.” However, the experiences of followers of Flying Spaghetti Monster differ from state to state. Sydney university science student Preshalin M was last month able to obtain a provisional driver’s license with a colander on his head. “After the test I asked if I was able to wear religious headwear and she (the woman at the Roads and Maritime Services) said yes,” Mr M said. “I pulled out the colander, put it on my head and she just took the photo.” The situation is also different for South Australian Pastafarians. Earlier this year Adelaide man Guy A had his legally obtained guns seized after he requested to wear a pasta strainer on his head for a firearms licence photo. He had his religion questioned and was forced to undergo a psychiatric evaluation before his weapons were returned. Captain Tanya Watkins of the Australian branch of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster asks “What other person has had their religion questioned and been forced to go to such lengths to prove their sanity”. And the problem is not unique to Australia.

A man in Canada was recently denied a renewal of his driver’s license because he refused to be photographed without his holy headgear. Obi Canuel of British Colombia, who is an ordained minister in the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, said he should be allowed to wear a colander on his head the same way as Sikhs wear turbans and Jews wear yarmulkes. Ms Watkins said she believes the case shows that Pastafarians are people who have deep religious beliefs and are willing to fight to have their religious rights observed. “What has occurred in his case is clear discrimination, and I admire and support his refusal to give up his beliefs due to religious repression by the government,” she said. “No other religion requires needing to ‘prove’ it is a real religion, nor does any other person of a particular faith need to prove they are an adherent or that it is a requirement of their religion to wear a certain thing on their head. Only Pastafarians.”

And I will finish up by saying, anybody wanting to have a gun licence and wear a pasta colander on their head, then I whole heartedly agree, they should have their mental health checked.

A friend, ex-colleague and also a very proud dad sent me these pictures. A few days later and I am still smiling. Marshall is only seven years old and is getting better times than boys five years older. His younger brother looks to have even better coordination, balance and spatial awareness. Well, that is according to his dad, and he would not be biased, would he?

Here is to all the children starting out in motorsport. We need the next generation of Ricciardos and Whincups coming through the line. I looking forward seeing them progress and taking their place on the podiums in the next 5 to 10 years.

I received my welcome pack from AMG. The usual plethora of glossy books and forms spilled on to my desk. All of it was beautifully presented, but the registration form had me scratching my head.  Names and other personal details are part and parcel of these forms. However, the “lifestyle” questions made me laugh. Possible selections included golf, cycling, AFL, cricket and number of others, but there was not a single mention of motorsport. Come on guys, this is the AMG brand. And no, I don’t mean the idiots who buy AMG badges and stick them on to C250 Diesels. This is the brand for serious rev heads. You wouldn’t include jam-making in this section, would you? Or on the other hand they probably had in the last iteration.

After years parking under a major hotel chain in the centre of Sydney and watching valet parking in action, I have serious misgivings when handing my keys to these guys. Drag racing within the confines of an underground parking station is a sight to behold, especially when they seem to be heading straight for you and there is nowhere to hide.

So it was with some apprehension I relinquished my keys to a youth who looked old enough to perhaps be in charge of a skateboard, but not a car. However, I was pressed for time and in the company of a friend who assured me that he often left his car in this very car park and never had any problems. Given that this was a major parking facility within the city, and I would be in and out within about 30 minutes, what could possibly go wrong?

I picked up the item I needed, had a quick coffee with my soon-to-be-ex-friend, and headed back to the car park. I handed over my ticket and waited for my car to reappear, somewhere near the so-called VIP area. The attendant reached into a box that seemed to contain a jumble of keys and dockets, pulled out what he thought looked the right keys, attached to a docket of crumpled paper, and scrambled towards the black hole where all the cars disappear. He appeared some time later with a powder-blue Toyota, sporting a huge exhaust pipe.

You can judge how angry I am by how quiet I become. Monosyllabic – you can still reason with me, but when I am nonverbal and my eyes turn dark blue, then duck for cover, because the explosion will be monumental. As deathly quiet descended on the car park, my friend tried heroically to save the situation by asking the attendant to match the docket I handed over to the docket attached to the correct key, but all he got was an “it looked sort of the same.”

I do not consider my car a good swap for a clapped out Toyota with an idiotic exhaust system.

The one month anniversary of obtaining my new car saw me hightail it to Wakefield. I had been looking forward to this day for a while. Also, my car needed to stretch its legs (so to speak), having being stuck in traffic and never exceeding 60 km per hour.

The traffic cleared just past Campbelltown, and I was able to put my foot down and see what my new toy was capable of. It settled into a very nice driving mode. The other drivers behaved and stayed where they belonged, instead of driving in the right-hand lane under the speed limit. I expected the fuel consumption to be hugely different from the E250, but was pleasantly surprised when I reached Sutton Forrest for my overnight pit stop to see that the fuel gauge was sitting just under ¾ full.

The following morning had me set off early, as I had been warned by SMS from Boz that session would start earlier due to trials for the Sunday race. The only worrying sign was a message on the dashboard telling me to check the oil. I will admit to opening the front bonnet in the first couple of days, but could I locate the dipstick? And not knowing where the oil went left me very sheepish. The ribbing from Boz and Sam (the Wakefield marshal) would have been painful. My, how things have changed. I could easily change the oil and clean the spark plugs on my MGB, but the solid engine cover on the Merc left me feeling very inadequate. Being a fully paid-up member of Cowards Anonymous, I called Ben from Macintosh, who assured me that the oil would not be at dangerous levels, and my trip home would be safe. However, I was still at the dealership bright and early on Tuesday, where one of the mechanics showed me (a) where the oil goes, this being very important, and (b) the correct way of measuring the oil levels. I hope never to put this information to use, but the fact that I know will eliminate any further embarrassing moments.

The day at Wakefield was huge fun. I was allocated Len, Boz’s new instructor. Unlike Boz, Len is a man of very few words, despite the fact that a few times I managed to change from 4^th to 3^rd gear, when I should have been in 5^th. My excuse, and I am sticking to it, is that the helmet obstructed my hearing, and looking at the rev count as I should have was just not happening automatically. Poor Mezzie. If it had been Boz with me, the repercussions in the “Speech” I would have been given would have lasted for the rest of the day.

I finally met John Connolly. He, of The Weekend Australian- Prestige Motoring fame. We had been emailing for a couple of years, and I think I am in the minority of his readers who does not abuse him. That is his picture gracing this story. He is a much faster driver than I am, but at least I managed to stay on the track. Says she, with her halo seriously tarnished.