What a drag

I need help. My mild-mannered husband who has never shown the slightest interest in strutting his stuff in a souped-up motor (previous vehicles have included a Holden Camira and a Niki 650) or trembled at the throaty roar of a V8 engine has suddenly become a petrol-head.

Since returning this week from a work trip to LA, he can't stop talking about ... drag racing. DHL sponsor a team in the US and he was treated to a couple of days at the track with all-areas access. He got to meet the drivers, visit the trailers and mingle with the surgically-enhanced WAGs.

Personally I can't see the thrill in watching cars burning rubber and then hurling themselves down a dead straight track in a race that only lasts seconds, but apparently it's so exciting that Ian is now a convert.

It's the noise, the smell, the atmosphere, he told our not-so-enraptured dinner guests on Friday night. They didn't look convinced.

He can't wait to go back next year and, most worrying of all, last night I caught him fixing a NHRA (National Hot Rod Association) sticker to the back of his car. And he didn't even have the good grace to look embarrassed.