Dream Job

Motor Racing. Oh yes. Forget writing, that's waaay too hard (people who don't write tend to think it's easy eh?), but yes.

I can see myself now with my fancy new name ( Michael J Trippz or something ), and my tricked out, big tired, turbocharged 9 Litre Behemoth ramming a qualification lap on some exotic track.

The crowds all holding banners and screaming my name as I let the engine cut loose and push me and my car off the grid like a comet, tucked tight into that cockpit and watching for the redline as the needle hits two-fifty and my vision is tunnelled by speed and my skin begins to peel from my face with the G Force, the downforce glueing the car to the track and the whole world receding in a frenzied motion blur of thunder.

But, I'm not am I?

No matter, sometimes the dream is enough, and there's always Forza.