Glen dipped his shoulder slightly, glancing at the way ahead, musing unflatteringly on goat tracks and country drivers. He tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel with the index and middle finger of his right hand. He huffed to himself. Driving like this was pedestrian.
Earlier in the year, he had revelled in the ‘Top Gear - Live’ spectacular, where Clarkson and Hammond had enthralled the capacity crowd with their usual outrageous antics. Yet, here he was, not exactly bored rigid, but with little to engage the imagination or get the pulse rate up - probably just as well with the kids asleep on the back seat.
Only 250 kilometres left to cover. Traffic was medium. The weather was fine and calm. Although the sun was low in the western sky, visibility was acceptable. The way ahead was clear. He hesitated imperceptibly, depressed the indicator, and veered slightly right.