An Extract From The Book: Mr Clops & Mr Balls – Silverstone By Kelvin Rush.
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Mr Clops spotted Mr Balls sat down in the reception area, in one of the comfy chairs, watching the world go by. He was still wearing his panama hat and sunglasses. Mr Clops walked over and sat down next to him. Mr Balls grinned. ‘He’s here look, owd Stirling Moss himself. Everyone’s talking about your race Mr Clops and the dramatic finish. Did you win?’ Mr Clops held up his certificate. ‘No I came third. The milk float man was second, and Winnie, the eighty-five-year-old came first.’ Mr Balls cracked up. ‘Beaten by a milk float and an eighty-five-year-old granny!? You’ll be telling me next a blind man came fourth.’ Now Mr Clops cracked up. ‘Yeah, it does sound funny when you put it like that Mr Balls.
Anyway, what have you been up to? Philip tells me you had a good time.’ Mr Balls removed his hat and glasses, and wiped his sweaty face and neck with his handkerchief. ‘Oooh I’ve had a fantastic time Mr Clops, I’ve taken loads of photos. To be driven around the famous Silverstone Circuit was a real treat, especially in a Ferrari F430 Coupe. The car was like something from a James Bond movie. Blood red, 6-speed gear box, with a top speed of 196mph, and naught to sixty in five seconds. And the interior was immaculate, Daytona style red and black leather seats, leather headliner, aluminium inserts on the dashboard, and even a bright yellow rev counter. It was an incredible experience, difficult to describe in words. Philip is a great driver ya know, he’s done test driving for one of the top teams, McLaren I think, or was it Williams?
Anyway, I take back what I said about him being a pipsqueak. The way he handled the track was breathtaking. He glided in and out of Maggots and Becketts like a snake, and then flew down the Hangar Straight doing a hundred and forty. And the car was as sweet as a nut, not a rattle to be heard. I must admit, it was a bit scary at times. On one of the laps, we shot around the Abbey right-hander on two wheels, missing the kerb by millimetres. Guess what else? To top it all off, on the last lap, as we came through Woodcote corner and onto the final straight, there was a marshal on the finishing line to wave the chequered flag.’ Mr Clops was impressed, as he sat there engrossed in the moment. Mr Balls continued…..
‘If ya think that was good, wait till ya hear this. After we came off the track, we drove over to the winners podium. According to Philip, it was the actual podium that some of the famous Formula One drivers had stood on, after winning the British Grand Prix. Imagine that, a nobody like me standing in the footsteps of some of the greats like Jim Clark, Jackie Stewart, James Hunt, Alain Prost, Ayrton Senna, Nigel Mansell, Damon Hill, Michael Schumacher, David Coulthard, Fernando Alonso, Sebastian Vettel and Lewis Hamilton. And now the most famous one of them all, Mr Balls, all 26 stone 10 pounds of him. I must be the fattest man to ever stand on a winners podium. Oh, and one final thing, we finished off with a steak sandwich, French fries, and a cappuccino in the restaurant, and Philip very kindly footed the bill. And it’s all down to you Mr Clops, so thank you so much for making this birthday the best ever.’
Mr Clops felt quite proud of himself, and even more so, as he still had one more trick up his sleeve. ‘You’re very welcome Mr Balls, but guess what? It isn’t over yet, there’s one final surprise.’ For once Mr Balls was dumbstruck for a good few seconds. ‘Another surprise!? Yav got to be joking! What on earth is it Mr Clops?’ ‘I can’t tell you that, or it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it? But I’ll give you a clue, it’s waiting for you back in Leeds, so can you ring for a taxi to take us to the train station please? Reception desk should have a number.’
Mr Balls skipped over to the reception desk, bouncing from one foot to the other, as if he was playing hopscotch. He was acting silly, as he couldn’t contain his excitement at getting yet another surprise. The young woman at the desk giggled a little nervously, wondering how to deal with a large dancing bear. Mr Balls tipped his hat and pulled down his sunglasses to the edge of his nose. ‘Oh hello my dear, and how are you today?’ he said, pretending to be all posh. ‘Do you think you could possibly help me out please? Me and my friend Mr Clops require a taxi to the train station. I my dear, have another surprise waiting for me, and I must get back home to Leeds urgently. Do you think you could assist?’
The woman, (who just happened to be a member of the Milton Keynes Amateur Operatic Society), was quite impressed with Mr Balls’s slick moves, and his dodgy upper class accent. ‘Oh….. I see we have a dancing thespian in the building. I’m not sure if it’s Fred Astaire or Laurence Olivier.’ Mr Balls chuckled. ‘I wish,’ he said, reverting back to his normal accent. ‘It’s just little old me, Mr Balls I’m afraid. Do you have the number for a local taxi firm please? We need to get to the train station as soon as possible.’
‘Leave it with me sir, I’ll sort you one out. Now can you show me some more of those jazzy moves please?’ Mr Balls jigged his way back over to Mr Clops, to the delight of the young woman. Ten minutes later the taxi pulled up outside the front entrance. Before getting into the car, Mr Clops and Mr Balls stood there for a few moments, savouring the last few seconds of the Silverstone experience.
An Extract From The Book: Mr Clops & Mr Balls – Silverstone By Kelvin Rush.
Book Details
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