A rather alarming thing arose at the MPH dinner, which the whole Overdrive team attended a while back. And it wasn’t the fact that Ross, our old operations manager, can’t go for 12 minutes without thinking of something for Ciro and me to do, or that he can go a whole 7 without thinking about something we haven’t done yet, that we said we’d do. Last year Monday.
The Aston Martin Bulldog. The only car (n)ever named after a dog.
Nor was I alarmed that some ass-hat in a bandana bid R200 000 for a signed Pelé shirt. Alarm was a distant galaxy when Ciro tried to leverage in on Ross’ and my heated football banter by saying something singularly incorrect and bereft of anything to do with Bolton Wanderers or what colour corner flags should be (proving indisputably that his life is vastly more varied and “outdoorsy” than ours).
