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Luigi BMW on grid

Memories, laughs and scar tissue from the world's silliest job

Forty-odd years' worth of kneeling on oily tarmac with my head jammed under the wheel arch of an expensive and noisy car, driven by an equally expensive and increasingly impatient driver, makes for experiences that are far more enjoyable to look back on than experience at the time. Here are a few rambling recollections...

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Pushing Albert

I was in my twenties when I joined Dunlop Racing Division. That's an age when you know you're the best driver on the planet. It's a few years since you passed your test, and your handbrake technique, wheelspins and steering-wheel-twitchery have all been refined to a perfection guaranteed to raise the humidity of any fair maiden with negligible IQ, low self-esteem and...

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Memories of the Cad

It's been a great privilege to have worked with, and sometimes befriended, many great names of motorsport. Some have become household names while others, often of equal talent, are known only to real enthusiasts. One of those was the remarkable Alain de Cadenet. Alain - or De Cad as he was widely known - was one of those rare people who, when he left a room, those left behind...

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A Swedish Rubber Movie

Usually, when you head off for work in the morning, you've got a pretty decent idea of what you'll be doing before sitting down for your tea. Dunlop Racing Division sometimes exhibited a habit of changing that. Well, I say sometimes...

The European Touring Car Championship was probably our most important formula, so we were stocked up and fully prepared for the...

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An Adult Porsche-In

Reading Jem's tale of derring-do with Roger Clark reminded me of a similar experience with two great gentlemen of motorsport, Jacky Ickx and the irreplaceable Ronnie Petersen. We were at Brands Hatch, tyre testing for the 1,0000km race. Jacky was the lead driver for the Martini Porsche team, and was dishing out punishment to our rubberware in the magnificent 935. Towards the...

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Testing Times with Albert

Those of sufficiently advanced years will remember the mighty Roger Albert Clark. This silver-locked poster boy for Cossack hairspray could be found on the world's rally stages or in the bar of the world's overnight hotels. In neither case would the direction in which he was facing necessarily coincide with the direction in which he was actually going. On my first Welsh International...

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