Of Fathers And Sons

Notes from the journal of the Porsche 356, the father of the 911

- Pablo Chaterji

I’m not much of an early riser. I simply don’t see the point in it. I’m also 55 years old, so I daresay I’ve earned the right to sleep in. Crack-of-dawn mornings are for youngsters, and I put in enough of those back in my day to know that unless they’re really necessary, I’d rather catch an extra 40 winks or ten. Still, one must make allowances when the family’s honour is at stake, and if Raj (Kumar Jain, my owner) says I need to go out and take a short spin with yet another of my progeny, for the benefit of Motoring, then arise I must. Rishi, the man who looks after me on a daily basis, shows up at the stroke of 6am and wakes me up. I’ve had a bit of a late one, so I’m slightly groggy (don’t ask where I was last night — let’s just say I’m not afraid to let loose a little in my golden years). I still fire up at the first turn of the key, mind you. I’m looking pretty sharp, if I do say so myself; it’s the valet service I got last evening. Rishi’s phone rings — it’s the fellows from Motoring. Time to roll.