"Ready. Go!" Clarkson said. As this was then followed both Tornado and Flying Scotsman blowing their respective whistles twice in two long blasts.
"Right, of we go then Clarkson!" I added over the long whistle blasts.
It was after Clarkson had climbed aboard the footplate of Tornado, with me taking my respective place aboard the footplate of Flying Scotsman, and with a release of air from both engines cylinder drains, the train slowly set off, and away from the platform at Kings Cross. Finally, and at last, the race was on. But, despite all of this, Clarkson and I, were, for all intensive purposes on this journey, stokers to our respective engines. And as James May would wind up saying, he would think we would be dead by the end of the platform at Edinburgh.