But seriously ... Henry is presenting me with the keys to the car, my prize for working out that 7765 bottles of Brut aftershave would fit inside it (the judges unaccountably thought it was 7767, but I was the closest). There were two first prizes. The other winner, a chap who’d strained a muscle while
playing football, turned up in a wheelchair in an effort, I fancied, to gain sympathy and hog the limelight. As you can see from the photo, this didn’t impress the photographer.
In the second picture, I’m consulting my ‘congrats’ letter following some confusion over which car was which. Mine turned out to be the one that needed refueling. The prizes had been described on the entry form as ‘all tanked up and ready to go,’ but mine was ‘just about empty and ready to
conk out.’ Still, they did treat me to a slap-up lunch at the hotel, which wasn’t part of the prize.