IF YOU SHOULD EVER FEEL THE URGE TO SEE a motoring journalist in excruciating pain, watch them pay for a set of tyres. I know, I know. Aside from the irony of my profession’s fine tradition of ritualised tyre abuse, there’s the fact that we spend our time extolling the virtues of fine-handling cars. All of which depend upon those four vital points of contact as the primary link in the dynamic chain.
It’s not that we’re tight. OK, we are tight. Or more likely skint, as sadly not
