Barry Lee

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HE FURROWS HIS BROW and nods before allowing himself a chuckle. ‘Yeah, not a lot of people have this many rockets in their garage,’ he says, and leaves the statement hanging in the air. ‘I built them and they all work, too. They’re not models. I love this stuff. I have been fascinated by space travel ever since I was a kid. I don’t allow many people in here because they would see all this and think I was a nutter.’ Pause. ‘Well, I am a nutter, I suppose. I’d have to be to have done half the things I’ve done, but I take this seriously. This is my first love. Motor racing was my job, but rockets are my passion.’

And with that Barry Lee, master showman and self-proclaimed motormouth, erupts into laughter. Again. Takes a breath. ‘You know, I loved motorsport; everything about it,’ he muses. ‘I would still be out there every weekend if I could. It’s just that I am a private person. If I am remembered at all, it’s for the razzmatazz – for being a flash so-and-so, but that