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Living with the enemy
Wednesday
You can't live with a Defender long before you come over all military and macho. Had a conversation last night with my brother (who is an ex-Marine) about the SAS and how the Defender is like an AK-47 - you can bury it in the desert and it will still fire up years later. It might be a pig in traffic, but the Defender looks so much cooler than anything else.
Still in military mode, I kit myself out in my regulation army boots. I think about combat trousers and smearing my face in camouflage, but don't want to go overboard. It's the attitude adjustment I need. You have to drive the Defender like a commando, take it by the scruff of the neck and bark orders at it.
I charge around London, using its bulk to intimidate other road users into submission. I park on pavements, go the wrong way down one-way streets and flout every road-rule in the Highway Code. Good Lord, what's happened to me?
Three-point turns are still a laborious nightmare (closer to eight-point), and first and reverse gears are easy to mix up under pressure. Parking involves wrestling with the steering wheel as if I'm Steve Irwin wrangling with a croc. But, if you've got a 'don't mess with me' attitude, you can get away with murder in the Defender because you're an unknown quantity, a species set apart from the nannies and knobs in lifestyle SUVs.
Thursday
I thought I was going to get through the week without you realising what a boring little life I lead. If I had been asked to do this eight years ago, it would have been different; a whirlwind of visits to secret crack dens, society soirees, and Chelsea and Westminster A&E.
What did I do today? Honestly. I went to the garage to get the car cleaned. I drove to the supermarket and bought a lasagna for one. What am I going to do tonight? In the interests of Top Gear, I ring some friends and ask them to find me something glamorous and exciting to get me off the sofa.
'You have to drive the Defender like a commando, take it by the scruff of the neck and bark orders at it'
Friday
Tonight, I am now going to a black tie Unicef Russian-themed ball, with a full-on, eight-course dinner followed by an auction. Because I have admitted to you that I am actually extremely boring, I don't have to pretend I did anything interesting today with the Defender. I didn't. It was raining and cold and I didn't want to go outside.
I am getting increasingly nervous about this scary party tonight. I want to jump into the Defender and get the hell out of here, do some hard-core off-roading rather than make polite chit-chat.
Saturday
I oversleep having crawled into bed at 4am. Despite running outside in my PJs, I have already got a ticket. My big, scary party last night was, indeed, big and scary. But driving the Defender there gave me the balls I needed and put me in the mood. If I was stuck for conversation at dinner, I figured I could always talk about my tweeters - as in the Defenders' high frequency speakers that improve the quality and sound of the ICE system.
There was security everywhere outside the venue, with people alighting elegantly from their luxury limousines. I came tearing down the road in my big, rugged Defender that had all the security guards twitching nervously. I think they thought a hitman was about to emerge and looked relieved when I popped out.
I actually had a real laugh. And after dinner I gave eight people a lift with me to a nightclub. The rear seats have got spring-assisted fold mechanisms so I popped them out the way and loaded all the drunken bodies into the back. I made it home at 3.30am, but driving through the dark streets I felt safe and protected in my big Defender.
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