Mosler: Britcar British Endurance Championship 2012

It's been a while since I reported on how the Moslers are getting on, so here's a look at the first four rounds of the Britcar British Endurance Championship.

This season sees just the one Mosler entry, though it features drivers who've driven the marque in the championship previously. Javier Morcillo and Manuel Cintrano have teamed up with Paul White to pilot the Azteca/Neil Garner/Strata 21 car. They got off to a winning start back in March at Silverstone, where they took victory in the three-hour race. With the lead changing hands in the early laps, a drive-through penalty given to the Mosler for pitlane speeding and the retirement of the very promising (and speedy) Flat Speed Racing Rapier SR2, it was an eventful race that saw the team take their first overall Britcar win.

I missed out on the Donington round in April, which saw the Mosler qualify on pole. An early puncture scare proved to be false and they soon regained places lost. Patches of rain and heavy traffic made for plenty of cut-and-thrust, with the Mosler spinning on lap 74 at Redgates as the three cars in the leading group ran neck-and-neck. As the rain began to fall steadily, the Azteca/Strata 21 switched to full wets and tip-toed their way to third place.

Snetterton in May saw Britcar around the 300 circuit. Denied pole by 0.058 seconds and the Optimum Ginetta G50 of Lee Mowle and George Murrells, the Mosler fought hard throughout the race. With the Class 2 Motionsport Ferrari 458 establishing a strong lead, Morcillo chased hard in the last hour. No need for last-lap drama, though; the Ferrari needed a fuel stop due to some gremlins and the Mosler coasted home for its second win of the season.

Astute refuelling and fortuitous timing saw the Mosler lead from pole to take the victory at Brands Hatch's Indy circuit in June. Safety car stints punctuated the race and one could have ruined the team's chances if the car hadn't then been waved by after being held up at a pitlane red light.

So it's three wins out of four for the Mosler, leading its class and second in the championship overall by just two points. Next race is at Oulton Park on June 23rd.

In the meantime, you can enjoy highlights of the races so far courtesy of GoRacing TV's excellent programmes on Youtube:

Round One, Silverstone:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fuDi2dX_xsg

Round Two, Donington:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o4epT1LRzXM

Round Three, Snetterton:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdSyqpJor8Y

And here's some in-car footage from Donington:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mU4Ztv49LWw

Photo: Dennis Goodwin, Flickr

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Out of the book: Marcus Wareing's Spicy Lamb Sticks

I've a shelf full of cookery books. And a kitchen corner crammed with cookery books. And a lounge table littered with library books. And, yes, some of them are cookery books.

Well, they're feeding no-one as they are. So each week I'm going to pluck out a recipe and give it a bash. In particular I'll be looking for those that feature ingredients and techniques that push me out of my culinary comfort zone. The ones that work really well will get copied over into my Little Black Recipe Book.

First up is a book out of the library, 'One Perfect Ingredient' by Marcus Wareing. He's the chef who shrugged off Gordon Ramsey's shadow and retained two Michelin stars at The Berkeley in London. I've never cooked one of his recipes before, so decided to go for Spicy Lamb Sticks with Raita.

The basic idea: make a raita from cucumber, toasted spice and yoghurt. Shape spiced lamb mince onto skewers and grill.

What was new to me: making the raita, cooking with sweet chili sauce, toasting spices.

What worked well: toasting the cumin seeds made a significant difference, taking away much of its bitterness and so adding a smooth underlying spiceness to the raita.

What I'd do next time: make more raita - the contrast of the mellow spiced cold raita against the warm lamb was fantastic.

Does it make the Little Black Recipe Book? Absolutely. I've even played around with the leftover lamb today, making small spicier sweet chili patties.

One Perfect Ingredient can be bought from Amazon.

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Saturday lunches and Derby Market forces

At some point, my Saturday lunches have segued from ample to simple.

Pub lunches tended to be some place where they served rare burgers, beer battered onion rings and skinny frites. Nowadays it tends to be where I can get thick-cut cheddar and onion in a cob, maybe a slab of pork pie on the side, bags of Seabrook's split to share round the table.

At home it's become simpler still. That's probably down to having a couple of great shops in Derby that sell moreish lunchy stuff. Maybe freshly sliced mortadella from the Krakus Deli on the Guildhall Market or a wedge of Yorkshire Fettle by Shepherds Purse from Morgan's on the Eagle Market. Either will do me as long as it's served on a Derbyshire Sourdough loaf from Baked, the new bakers on the block (well, on The Strand).

Baked is a great example of a small business giving people what they want - quality produce, freshly made, fairly priced and great customer service. Both Morgans and Krakus are great retailers as well but their market locations appear under threat. It seems traders in general are having a tough time making a Derby pitch profitable. The Eagle Market is the UK's largest indoor market yet whole aisles stand empty. Councillors have called its closure 'inevitable'. Traders say their rents are more expensive per square foot than the stores in the adjacent Westfield shopping centre. Meanwhile, the Guildhall Market is struggling for stallholders too.

I'd love to see the Guildhall Market busier with a real range of stallholders. If the City Council want to encourage economic growth in the Cathedral Quarter, they ought to be attracting start-up businesses into the Guildhall. Future plans for the Eagle Market need to preserve those traders who prefer that location whilst opening up the area to new business ventures. Letting both markets dwindle shouldn't be an option.

What Baked shows is that Derby has an appetite for great food producers and retailers. Here's hoping the council has the stomach for entrepreneurship at its own markets.

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An Open Letter To All The Arseholes Behind The Wheel

To the driver of the Trent Barton Ilkeston Flyer, leaving Ilkeston at 1545 on Tuesday 5th June 2012 and almost ploughing into the back of a car outside Spondon about eight minutes later: the passengers could all see the car slowing, then indicating. You're paid to do much more. Including for having the responsibility for the passengers behind you.

To the driver of the small black car who ran through the red light in the middle of Spondon village as I was two steps off the pavement. Whatever you're on, it's no excuse. The next person on the next crossing may be someone you love. Who can't move that fast.

To the driver of the white Seat who lives down the road from me and decided to pull out from a side road on the left in front of another car before aiming himself into his driveway on the right, Whatever you're on, it's no excuse. If pedestrians had horns, I'd have honked like the car behind you did as well. All I could do was point out that you're an idiot. But you seemed to be in a place where you couldn't listen.

To the cyclist on the pavement who tore towards me and then took great, expletive-riddled objection to me standing my ground. No... FUCK YOU. I'm walking where I'm supposed to walk. You go cycle like a maniac on the streets where your family live. Without a helmet.

To all of you: you may not see the problem. I really, really hope you never see the consequences. See those headlines on the news where it's never you nor the people you love?

It wasn't you today. But someone keeps running out of luck. I don't want to be around when it's your turn.

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The Right Not To Write

I used to be bought the Letts Schoolboy Diary every year as a Christmas stocking filer. January's became crammed with spidery text telling of snowball massacres, worm executions, tries almost scored and faint glimpses of teachers' cleavage.

By mid-February a pattern emerged: "Got up. Went to school. Came home. Had tea".

At an early age, I'd discovered the tyranny of a diary's expectation. How they mocked me with blank days passed by. "You want to be a writer?", they sneered. "You can't even find fifty words for a diary entry. Pah!".

One year, I asked for a voucher instead of the Letts. I bought a chunky A5 lined notebook. No dates, no boxes into which I'd have to shoehorn teenage angst or leave as a tribute to ennui.

My book. My rules.

Rule 1: The right not to write.

I stopped keeping a diary after my polytechnic years. I had nothing to say to myself.

Nowadays, I blog. I used to blog about whisky.  I still blog about beer. And occasionally I blog here. Not often. There's ideas... the menu bar suggests I'm writing about a real ragbag of stuff.

But, I'm not.

Why? Why go to the trouble of setting up a blog and hardly posting?

It's because I love choosing not to write.

Waking up in the morning - today it's blue sky and slight breeze all the way - I look over the shortening shadows on the lawn as blackbirds pretend to hunt worms and I rarely think to myself: I really want to fire up the laptop and spend the next thirty minutes in front of a keyboard. Because eight hours spent in front of one for my day-job really isn't long enough.

I could be writing about paradiddles or filters, fast cars or slow cooking.

Instead, as a writer, I'm revelling in something luxurious and self-indulgent.

The right not to write.


Feel free to point out that I have, of course, just spent half an hour in front of a laptop writing this. And, yes, I've sort of been here before

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365 Reasons To Be Proud To Be British: The Land Rover

April 30th 1948: The Land Rover Mk I debuts at the Amsterdam Motor Show.

Regular readers will know that I don't drive, have no intention of learning to drive and even if I did, have no intention of buying a car. That's what Mrs Scoop's little blue beer taxi sporty orange beer taxi is for.

But if I did.... if I really had to... there's only one car I'd choose. A Mosler MT900:

Except it wouldn't fit in the garage. So it'd have to be the Jaguar C-type:

Except that wouldn't fir in the garage either. So it'd have to be a Land Rover. At least I could leave it parked in the road. It could get scraped and knocked and cow-splat-covered and burst-beer-barrel-drenched. And it would all add to its character.

Land Rovers feel to me as if they want to tell you their tales. Of ewes and daughters born in the back in a snowdrift. Of treks across plains or glens. Of how they made it to That Destination only after a hitch-hiker donated her knicker elastic.

There's something stoically romantic about a marque where the majority of those ever made are still running on the road, field and fell. Indomitable and stalwart. Maybe I ought to start building one by stealth. I'd have to clear some room in the shed though. Especially if I want to build one like this:

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365 Reasons To Be Proud To Be British: The Royal Academy Summer Exhibition

April 25th 1769: The Royal Academy's first Summer Exhibition opens in a Pall Mall warehouse.

Something really tickles me about the RA's Summer Exhibition. Maybe it's that anyone can enter; stump up a £25 quid entrance fee and your work could adorn the walls alongside the great and the good and the painting-by-numbers of British art. A great way of getting your name noticed, getting your work sold for a fair commission, being part of such a celebration.

Your prints or photos or etchings or sculpture sharing space with the likes of Hockney, Gormley or Wearing.

Maybe I like it because of the planned-to-look-random nature of how canvasses seem spread eclectically; ordered clutter, organised chaos.

Maybe one day, maybe this year, I'll go take a look and be tempted to buy. Maybe one day, maybe next year, I'll find the courage of my convictions and enter.

Photo (c) Getty Images

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