The joy of just watching historic motor racing

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At the grassier end of the racing spectrum, I stood in the rain at Castle Combe on Easter Monday to watch my 16-year-old nephew make his race debut. Having never raced so much as a kart before and having to start the Alfa Giulia Super from the back of the grid due to a problem in practice, by the end of the race he’d picked his way past around 10 of his fellow competitors and not put so much as a tyre out of line.

But my pride was mixed with shame, for I shudder to think how long it’s been since I last attended a historic race meeting other than to compete. I had a ball just watching, and I’ll not be leaving it so long until the next time.