5th June 1993. I remember it well. I hadn't long been twelve, it was a beautiful, sunny weekend and the summer holidays were looming on the horizon. My Mother hadn't yet got her driving license, so we took advantage of the glorious Essex sunshine for a nice walk into Frinton for shopping. My pocket money at the time was a meagre £1.20, enough for a pocket full of sweets, maybe an ice-cream.
I was rubbing the coins in my pocket together as we entered Graham Westcott's newsagent and rushed straight to the racks low-budget sweeties. I reared up to a halt some distance short of my target, though as if I had received instruction from on high. The voices were telling me to head towards the motoring magazines. There, shouting at me from eye level “We're first to drive the all new Ferrari V12”.
