Tuesday, August 28, 2007
She does something in third gear. She taunts me. She's the mistress, and I'm the slave.
Wind me out.
Come on! Wind me out!
Come on, you miserable worm! Try harder!
Her accent, of course, is pure Sarf London.
The acceleration is incredible. And it just won't stop. No matter how I try, I can't get to the top of third gear. Fourth always beckons, a warm, comfortable place where the taunting stops, the mistress is placated.
I don't even dare to try and see what kind of mistress fourth gear is. We'll stay on polite nodding terms. No offer of service forthcoming from me. No demands from her.
I do know that at 65 mph, I've got a whole lot of throttle left, maybe 4500 rpm, and the mistress purrs like a kitten.