Mr. Chambers, if you ever read this, please forgive me.

It is said that you never forget a good teacher.  Mr. Chambers taught me English.  Together we read Larkin and Hughes and Hardy and studied grammar and spelling and all was good.  Even today, when I write something, I try to imagine what Mr. Chambers’ comment, scrawled at the bottom of the page in red, might be.  And one of his oft repeated warnings about traps to be found in creative writing has stayed with me.  "Never" he said "write about sport, because cliché cannot be avoided."

With these words in mind, this journal arrives at Round One of the 2010 Volkswagen Racing Cup; two races, each of twenty minutes, held at Oulton Park in Cheshire, on Easter Monday.  My day can be summed up as follows: qualified 21st (from 28 entrants), finished race one in 21st position, and race two in 19th.

The start is an important part of any race, and for this reason novices are encouraged to pay particular attention.  So I did, and by paying attention I think I learned that space and time do not necessarily coexist as securely as mathematicians would like us to believe.  Even if some people doubt that there is a universe where seconds become minutes and where minutes become seconds, I’m now convinced that this place can be found during a motor race.

Sitting on the starting grid, the Golf nuzzled up to the "21" painted neatly on the road, first gear already selected, I studied the row of red lights illuminated in front of me high on the gantry.  I knew that when they went out, the race (my first race) would begin.  I stared, they extinguished and . . . nothing happened.  Although time can never stand still, right then it felt like tiny parts of a moment were just hanging around, shoes off, drinking coffee and smoking tabs, as if determined to outstay their welcome.

And then the tiny parts of a moment ceased their time-wasting and buggered off. The pause had expired and simultaneously twenty six cars smeared racing compound rubber over the track surface and departed.

Almost immediately, confusion reigned. The first race was red flagged after a Racing Line team mate (hello, Polly) used his Golf to damage the safety fence.  My good start was immediately cancelled out by the stoppage and naturally, when the race resumed, I followed it up with a dreadful one.  Second last into Old Hall became dead last as I scrambled through Cascades.  Worse was to come as anxiety lead to another error which caused the loss of more time at the Hairpin.

I pulled myself together and eventually caught the group in front of me, though in a shortened eight lap race there were few chances to overtake.  Some cars slowed with technical problems, or simply fell off the track.  The misfortunes of others gained me places but overall it was not a satisfying experience.

Race two was different.  Although once again my start wasn’t great, I found the confidence to race harder and make successful overtakes.  Unfortunately, the EPC warning light (no, I don’t know what it means either) began to glow and from time to time the car would lapse into a power restricted "limp home" mode for 4 or 5 seconds before recovering.  Some of the places I had gained were lost, although not all and this time after eleven laps, I came home in 19thplace.

The second race (like the first) was completed in a trice; then it was back to the paddock, back into the non-race time zone, gabbling to anyone who would listen, trying to make sense of it all.

But here’s that paradox.  With such a specifically rapid event as the start of a race unfolding only in slow motion, and with each race being comprised of an almost endless succession of other such weirdly time frozen events, how can it be that the Chequered Flag is reached so quickly?

So that’s it: my first attempt at racing and my first attempt at recording the event.  I’m sure that there is room for improvement to both, but nonetheless, I do hope that Mr. Chambers will be pleased.