Facing the sun and moon

Maurice Hamilton looks at his and Louise's effort on Rallye Sunseeker

One way or another, we made quite a dent in the St Leonard's Hotel last Saturday even if it had nothing to do with emptying mini-bars and other outrageous behaviour which occurs from time to time. Or so I'm told.

An unruly grass bank in Ringwood Forest jumped out at our Peugeot 106 and thumped the nearside front wing. The logo of our friendly Hampshire hotelier (or, Bed Partner, as I suppose they would stupidly say in Formula One corporate speak) took a bit of a hammering and, all told, it gave new meaning to the term Bargain Break.

If anyone was going to take a picture of our low-seeded entry on the excellent Rallye Sunseeker, then surely it would be now. Sponsors were going to get their money's worth. Particularly . . . ho, ho, ho, chortle, chortle, chortle . . . Britannia Rescue, as the modified orange car attempted to make a dignified recovery.

At first glance, the front of the Peugeot looked well and truly stuffed, lodged nose first as it was against the same bank we had side-swiped on the way in.

The front wheels were spinning in fresh air thanks to a inconveniently-placed ditch. We were going nowhere, Which was a pity because we had hardly started.

It didn't seem the time to mention it to my driver, Louise Goodman, that there is always someone worse off than yourself. One hapless crew had done serious (terminal - ed) damage barely a few hundred metres into the first stage. Poor souls hadn't even reached the Bournemouth seafront where you get into top gear for the first time.

At least we had done a couple of stages and finally felt gravel beneath our wheels, which was actually part of the problem.

After many happy hours spent at the wheel of a Ford Ka, Louise had arranged the loan of this little bomber.

Apart from one outing on a rally sprint, she hadn't driven it before.

When this was mentioned to anyone having experience of the 106, you could detect the veiled warning signs: the slight intake of breath and pursed lips as they decided what to say next without wishing to patronise a woman driver.

Usually the response would boil down to a bright and breezy: "Well! Gosh! You'll certainly have fun in that!" Then a pause before adding, with due gravitas: "Um, a bit quicker than the Ka, I think you'll find."

Indeed we did. This is a car that you have to take charge of before it takes charge of you and understeers off the road, which is where we came in.

As I stood outside and pondered the problem, it occurred to my warped sense of humour that this would be a wonderful moment for a grinning Johnny Herbert to emerge from the undergrowth, shove a microphone through the drivers door and ask: "So, Louise Goodman, what happened this time?" But I didn't think it was the right moment to mention that either.

It would not have been fair because Louise has never been off the road before (or, at least, not in my company!) and the shock of the abrupt halt was still registering with us both.

I really thought it was all over; particularly when three of us could not budge the car. But, as so often happens, more help materialised over the horizon and we were soon on our way. For how long, I was not prepared to bet, judging by the graunching coming from the front of the car.

A stop at a junction to inspect the damage and change a punctured tyre brought further delay before crabbing out of the stage and into emergency service, where the Promax boys quickly diagnosed a bent wishbone and rear axle. The aim was to nurse our way through the Somerley House stage and into service.

It's funny what you see when limping along. I had time to wave to friends who live in a cottage on the estate but I had no suitable response to the sight which greeted us, deep in the woods near the stage finish.

In the grounds of the Earl of Normanton's stately pile, three gentlemen dropped their trousers and mooned at us. The cheek of them.

I couldn't read the notes for laughing and Louise nearly drove off the road again.