In 2017 I had been living in Thailand for almost twenty years and it seemed a good idea to return to the mother country for a holiday, to visit my son and daughter in law and to play at being tourists.
My son had spent his formative years being exposed to sports and racing cars, was aware of my 7 fixation and was agreeable to the idea of renting one for a few days. So we did.
But it was no longer a Lotus 7, it was a Caterham 7.
In 1973, Lotus became bored with selling the 7. It didn’t reflect the upmarket image they were trying to portray, and changes to tax laws meant that selling it as a kit was no longer financially advantageous.
Lotus dealer Caterham cars bought the rights to the 7. More than fifty years on they have produced more than 22,000 Sevens, the design has remained essentially unchanged, and although other companies such as Westfield produce Severn lookalikes, only a Caterham has the Lotus DNA.
So we presented ourselves at the Caterham headquarters where I was told I was almost too old to hire one (thanks), but we were given the keys and I drove it to my son’s house.
Memories came flooding back. The long bonnet, the headlights, the absence of any driving aids or comfort, the fucking awful noise. Bliss.
I only had a day in it before flying out. I remember getting up at 0530, whizzing down country lanes and laughing like a fool. I remember taking my wife out for a drive and she screamed; but not in a good way. I loved it; but knew I could never own one, nor could I ever rent one again due to my age.
I flew back to Thailand, a little sad, a little satisfied.