Return of Mr Hoon may tempt during mid-life crisis
"Golly! What a reckless chap!" I gasped, as a wicked-looking Commodore ute flew around the Sun Valley roundabout, then hammered sideways up Glenlyon Rd, smoke pouring from its rear tyres.
Well, I think that's what I said, because I couldn't even hear myself think over the roaring engine and squealing tyres.
There was a small sonic boom as the ute disappeared at a speed that Captain Kirk would have envied.
Resuming my nightly stroll along Philip St, a large part of me was upset with the sheer stupidity of the ute's driver treating a busy road like a race track, but a small part of me had woken up and was rubbing its astonished eyes: Mr Hoon was back.
I thought Mr Hoon had left town years ago, but it turned out he'd been in a 'Camry Induced Coma', and was now awake and demanding we jog to the nearest car yard and check out some utes.
If I were a younger bloke I may have been seriously tempted, but like Elle McPherson, those cars are just way too hot and fast for the likes of me.
I turned for home as Mr Hoon slunk back to his corner.
But I suspect he'll bide his time and take advantage of one of my many mid-life crises.
One day I'll probably arrive home, an overweight, grey-haired, middle aged man with the reflexes of a drugged wombat, driving some overpriced, overpowered machine that - again like Elle McPherson - is completely useless for carting hardware.
And three weeks later, after my wallet had been lightened by a large fine and the loss of my licence, the only burning rubber I'd be smelling would be coming from my soles of my sandshoes.
'Yes,' I thought, puffing up the hill toward home, 'better keep walking, it might come in handy'.