One of the few flights I intend to take this year will be in a few weeks time. The plane will land at Oslo airport. Myself and three pals will then hire a shed from Wrent-a-Wreck and drive four hours north to a frozen lake. Here we will meet a man with what looks like a ratty old 70s Porsche 911 rally car, but which is in fact one of the most impressive machines I’ll ever have the pleasure of driving.

This will be the only car-related-fun-activity that I will be required to pay for in 2008 because I’m a spawney git who gets most junkets for free. But it will be worth every penny.

Driving a RWD rally car on ice, with decent studded tyres is to people like you and me what Petrus is to wine buffs, and a night at the Fat Duck is for tubby gourmands. It doesn’t come any better: vast slip angles and soft snow banks rounded-off with lashings of Elk burger and potent Norwegian lager. Now after me:

You are my Petter, my Petter Solberg, you make me happy, when skies are grey, on snow and gravel, flat out you travel, oh please don’t take my Petter away.

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