I will be karting for as long as my bones will permit it

Not even lightweight specials scratch the itch like a kart

Five seconds after climbing into a kart, I am entirely comfortable. My gloved hands find the steering wheel rim, my feet rest easily against the pedals and I am contented.
Five seconds after actually driving off, things are different: the vibration makes me feel sick and my glasses shake so much that my vision is blurred. It’s loud, it’s uncomfortable and I have no idea how I’m going to cope with half an hour of steering this heavy.
I’ve been karting on and off (mostly off) for nearly 40 years, sometimes in a rented kart, sometimes in my own one. But if the gap between stints has been anything more than a few months, I find the physicality of driving them takes serious reacquaintance.
No car, not a supercar nor a Caterham, drives like a kart, no matter how much a Mini Cooper’s drive mode suggests it does.
I was going to say that karting is like a palate-cleansing sorbet, resetting your expectations between driving dishes, bu