NCE UPON A TIME I GOT A JOB AT EVO. THERE was a Fiat Seicento Sporting waiting for me in the car park that first morning. Organised by, I guessed, one of the co-editors, John Barker or Richard Meaden. At the time everything was so exciting that I didn’t realise the significance of this little red car. John or Dickie had something. As I was soon to discover, survived and flourished on some sort of strange, inexplicable energy and sheer force of will. Organisation was for others. Ours was to be
