A couple of Sundays ago I was in the right place at the right time. The sun was out, the temperature was up and the MX-5 was outside, flicking its pop-up headlights (metaphorically) at me. There was only one thing to do. Go for a drive.
There was no need to go anywhere. No errands to be run. No need to get anywhere. But there was the combination of British countryside, sunshine, relatively quiet but entertaining rural roads and a red sports car that just prefers those roads to any other.
So, into the Vale of the White Horse, a craving on a chalk hillside made perhaps 3000 years ago and now maintained as a publicly accessible open space. A car park and an ice cream van, at a discreet distance.
Out of the village, across the watercress beds and through the next village, before rising up onto the downs. Drop down, turn left and follow along the foot the flow of the downs as the road rises, falls, twists and turns.
The White Horse appears on the hill. Sharp left, down to second and across the cattle grid (a sheep grid here, actually), up the hill towards the White Horse itself. Up to the top, pause to take in the view (count the multiple F1 constructors’ sites you can almost spot) and take it in.
Back over the hill, pause for some photos with the horse and the view. England, sunshine, sports car – what else?
So, the QOTD, when, how often, where, in what, with who do you drive purely for pleasure?