Our roadie would drive miles out of the way in our Ford Transit to load up on Green Shield stamps. He left when we totted up his mileage

I expect almost everyone who writes for this magazine will be reminiscing about the Goodwood Revival, so there’s not much point in me wittering on about the TT and all the rest of the racing, as this year I didn’t drive. But I will say a word about Martin Brundle’s drive in my 250GTO (see page 54), since he was so particularly good in the car, and actually made it a pleasure to watch rather than me exhorting the lads to hang out the board with the current value displayed in fluorescent yellow. He gave a textbook demo of learning a new race car in qualifying, working up to a really respectable time (sixth on the grid), and then got the best out of the car without wringing its neck.

Meanwhile I was on another mission. With the launch of Passion for Speed (a re-issue of Into the Red but with more cars and sounds – available from all good booksellers, etc, etc), I put aside my racesuit for jacket and tie and cruised the paddock.  I actually enjoy all that stuff. Book signings are a world away from record promotion. With an album release it tends to be press conferences and a bit of a  bunfight. A book engenders a completely different mood, and a book signing session usually provides a bit of time for the odd exchange of pleasantries and gossip.

Things can get a little confusing with the dedications. ‘From Nick’ is easy, but a book signing in Bulgaria can be a real challenge.  No matter how hard I try, the chances of getting the letters and the name right are one in a hundred, and all those weird dots and accents ensure a lengthy session. Matters are sometimes made worse in countries that have opted to do their own bookbinding.  One particular Eastern European state had books that shed all their pages upon first opening. The only way to sign was to open  the book very slightly and very carefully and, using the shortest writing instrument available, try to scrawl a signature along the outside edge. I’m fairly certain that every time the book is picked up by the owner the pages are assembled in a different order, which makes for a far more interesting and unusual read.

I was also asked to assist in judging the Freddie March Trophy for a concours of aircraft that had fl own into Goodwood. There were 30 altogether, ranging from twins to fighters, helicopters and biplanes – and not one of them was anything but interesting.  A Sikorsky had been fl own over from the USA, which deserved a medal in itself, and aircraft tend to be rather well maintained anyway. So thank goodness for Bruce Dickinson from Iron Maiden.  A committed aviator (he part-times as a captain for BA), he could ask knowledgeable questions while some of us sucked our pencils and nodded gravely. It made judging a car concours look easy.

I found it interesting that the event was just as frantic even without driving. There was time to see a few more cars in the paddock, and trolley-dash round the 1960s Tesco. I’d quite forgotten about Green Shield stamps, so much more rewarding than a loyalty card. I remember we had a roadie in the early days
who would drive miles out of the way in the obligatory Ford Transit (twin rear wheels, V6 engine) to load up on stamps. He left under a
cloud when we totted up his mileage and the petrol bills and found discrepancies amounting to 15,000-odd miles of fuel. I still blame
Eric Clapton for this. Our roadie came recommended by Cream’s management company, though he was even more unreliable than us doing everything ourselves. It was clearly the only way they could get rid of him. We let him keep the stamps.

Other activities this month included recording a soundtrack for Heston Blumenthal. This has little to do with motoring (apart from the fact that Heston is a car enthusiast) but I mention it as it was a sound-effect tape for diners in the restaurant, and makes the concept of car noises included with a book seem just a little more normal. For anyone who doesn’t know, Heston is famous for his cooking at the Fat Duck in Bray, where he is renowned for dishes such as snail porridge and egg-and-bacon ice cream.

I had been mildly critical of some overenthusiastic seagulls on the track – it’s replayed to individual diners through headphones to accompany a specific seafood plate – and offered my services to remake the piece. I was both surprised and pleased when Heston
took me up on the offer, and I can’t recommend the Fat Duck experience too highly. Even if you don’t listen to my seascape.

NICK MASON

Pink Floyd’s drummer and a great car enthusiast, Nick has raced classic and modern cars for the last 30 years and has written two books: one on cars, Into the Red, and one on his version of the history of Pink Floyd, Inside Out.