No life

King of the road

Toby Young

W

as Gore Vidal right? Does a little

part of you die every time a friend succeeds? I've been asking myself that question every night at 11.20 this week since that's when a five-part documentary series made by my best friend Sean Langan has been going out on BBC 2. Called Langan Behind the Lines, it's a hair-raising dash through the forbidden territories of the Middle East in which Sean risks life and limb to film footage using a hidden camera. It's been getting rave reviews (see page 57).

The answer is no, a little part of you doesn't die. An enormous part of you dies. I've been sitting down with my fiancée to watch it every night and a typical conversation between us goes like this: Me: He looks ridiculous with that stupid beard.

Caroline: You're just jealous.

Me: Don't be absurd! I couldn't be happier for him.

Caroline: Oh yeah? In that case, why have you blacked out his teeth in all the pictures of him in today's papers?

Me: All the pictures? There were only three and one of them was the size of a postage stamp.

Caroline: Mee-ow!

Fortunately, on Tuesday I got a chance to claw back some of my pride. About a fortnight ago I was rung up by a PR woman who asked me if I'd be interested in finding out more about Remington's new range of electric shavers. I'm listed on the masthead of GQ as a 'special correspondent' so I get calls like this occasionally. I was about to say no when she explained that it would involve a day at the Nigel Mansell Racing School at Brand's Hatch. Now that was an offer I couldn't refuse.

She then asked if I could recommend any other men's magazine journalists and I immediately suggested Sean who's a 'contributing writer' at Esquire. He may have beaten me in the game of life, I told myself, but here was a chance to show him that, when it comes to pure, unbridled testosterone, I can still leave him in the dust.

When the day of reckoning came, Sean and I rendezvoused with some other lad mag writers at Paddington station and made our way to Brand's Hatch. Following a mercifully short lecture about Remington's new product range, we were then given a briefing on what the day held in store for us by a man called Richard from the Racing School. First, we'd learn the basics by going round the track a few times with an instructor in an Audi TT; then, provided we weren't 'total muppets', we'd graduate to a single-seater racing car and compete against each other for ten laps.

Naturally, Sean and I decided to play it cool in the Audi TTs and after acquitting ourselves respectably we returned to the pits and climbed into the single-seaters. The moment of truth had arrived.

At the start of the race, there were only two cars separating us, but Sean screamed out of the gate so fast that by the time we'd completed the first lap he'd overtaken an additional four cars. Jiminy Cricket, I thought. He'll lap me at this rate. I shifted down into third, applied a little more pressure to the accelerator and immediately shot past two cars, narrowing the gap to four. Eight laps later, I'd closed it completely.

Richard had told us that under no circumstances were we to pass another car on the right-hand side. If the driver in front of us refused to budge, we'd just have to stay behind him for the duration of the race. I hung on Sean's exhaust pipe for another lap, but it was abundantly clear he had no intention of letting me overtake. I didn't blame him. In his position, I would have done exactly the same thing, but what could I do? As we approached the finish line, I yanked the car over to the righthand side of the track, changed up to fourth and floored it. As predicted, I left him in my dust.

When we arrived back in the pits Sean was furious.

'You cheated!' he protested.

'Loser!' I countered.

'No,' he objected. 'What you did was illegal. I won.'

We decided to ask Richard to resolve matters.

'If you'd been in an actual race situation, Toby would have won,' he said, tut since this wasn't a proper race, what he did was technically against the rules.'

'Surely,' I objected, 'if the person in front of you is going really slowly ..

'Doesn't matter,' he said.

'But what if you know he's a screaming homosexual?'

'Oh well,' said Richard, 'In that case ...'

In fairness, I have to concede that Sean won on a technicality. Still, as far as I'm concerned, I'm the king of the castle even if the big girl's blouse does have his own series on BBC 2.