M140i Journey - A Gentleman's Dilemma
Discussion
Good morning, fellow automotive enthusiasts.
I feel it prudent to introduce myself before embarking on what promises to be a rather unconventional chronicle. My name is Algernon Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondeley (pronounced Fanshaw-Chumley), and I am the proud owner of a 2020 BMW M140i in Mineral Grey.
The vehicle was acquired approximately three years ago as a sophisticated means of transport befitting a young professional in the field of management consultancy. I purchased it as a respectable professional who, though he has an appreciation for urban music, rather prefers Radio Three. At the time, it was the epitome of understated performance—a genteel wolf in sheep's clothing, if you will.
One could arrive at the opera house or the partners' meeting without announcing one's sporting inclinations to the entire parish. The salesman assured me it was the choice of discerning individuals who understood that true quality needn't shout.
It is with considerable distress that I must note the most troubling shift in the vehicle's social standing. What was formerly the discerning motorist's choice has fallen prey to the modification brigade, who have descended upon our cherished marque like seagulls on an abandoned picnic. One can scarcely venture onto our nation's thoroughfares without witnessing these once-noble steeds transformed into garish spectacles, adorned with luminous exhaust appendages and emitting sounds that would make Wagner himself cover his ears in horror.
I now find myself parking three streets away from my destination, muttering explanations to colleagues that "No, I did not choose the 'pop and bang' mapping," and "Yes, I am aware of the gathering in the retail park car park, but I assure you my Saturday evenings involve Mahler, not mechanics."
Recent developments, however, have taken an unexpected turn. Following an encounter with a publication called "Max Power" (a periodical I confess I had not previously perused), I have somewhat reluctantly agreed to participate in what they term a "six-month transformation journey" for both myself and my Bavarian motor carriage.
Their editorial team appears convinced that my vehicle is criminally "undermodified" and that I myself could benefit from what they describe as "loosening up a bit, mate."
I have agreed to this arrangement primarily out of anthropological curiosity and on the strict understanding that nothing shall be done that might cause undue distress to my mother, who already regards the vehicle as "unnecessarily spirited."
I shall be documenting this journey here, presenting both the magazine's published articles and my own unfiltered observations. Your guidance and counsel during this potentially perilous venture would be most appreciated.
Regards,
Algernon F-C
P.S. I have been assured that all modifications shall be fully reversible and that the factory warranty shall remain intact. I have this in writing.
P.P.S. It appears, as I am newly registered I am unable to post photographs of my chariot, and neither shall I be able to post the scans of the articles - I shall have to type them up for you.
I feel it prudent to introduce myself before embarking on what promises to be a rather unconventional chronicle. My name is Algernon Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondeley (pronounced Fanshaw-Chumley), and I am the proud owner of a 2020 BMW M140i in Mineral Grey.
The vehicle was acquired approximately three years ago as a sophisticated means of transport befitting a young professional in the field of management consultancy. I purchased it as a respectable professional who, though he has an appreciation for urban music, rather prefers Radio Three. At the time, it was the epitome of understated performance—a genteel wolf in sheep's clothing, if you will.
One could arrive at the opera house or the partners' meeting without announcing one's sporting inclinations to the entire parish. The salesman assured me it was the choice of discerning individuals who understood that true quality needn't shout.
It is with considerable distress that I must note the most troubling shift in the vehicle's social standing. What was formerly the discerning motorist's choice has fallen prey to the modification brigade, who have descended upon our cherished marque like seagulls on an abandoned picnic. One can scarcely venture onto our nation's thoroughfares without witnessing these once-noble steeds transformed into garish spectacles, adorned with luminous exhaust appendages and emitting sounds that would make Wagner himself cover his ears in horror.
I now find myself parking three streets away from my destination, muttering explanations to colleagues that "No, I did not choose the 'pop and bang' mapping," and "Yes, I am aware of the gathering in the retail park car park, but I assure you my Saturday evenings involve Mahler, not mechanics."
Recent developments, however, have taken an unexpected turn. Following an encounter with a publication called "Max Power" (a periodical I confess I had not previously perused), I have somewhat reluctantly agreed to participate in what they term a "six-month transformation journey" for both myself and my Bavarian motor carriage.
Their editorial team appears convinced that my vehicle is criminally "undermodified" and that I myself could benefit from what they describe as "loosening up a bit, mate."
I have agreed to this arrangement primarily out of anthropological curiosity and on the strict understanding that nothing shall be done that might cause undue distress to my mother, who already regards the vehicle as "unnecessarily spirited."
I shall be documenting this journey here, presenting both the magazine's published articles and my own unfiltered observations. Your guidance and counsel during this potentially perilous venture would be most appreciated.
Regards,
Algernon F-C
P.S. I have been assured that all modifications shall be fully reversible and that the factory warranty shall remain intact. I have this in writing.
P.P.S. It appears, as I am newly registered I am unable to post photographs of my chariot, and neither shall I be able to post the scans of the articles - I shall have to type them up for you.
....cossy400 said:
Can the mods rush this man an upgrade through so he can post pictures please.
Im in and solely due to how you ve written your opening post
Thank you for your most gracious comment. It is rather gratifying to find one's literary efforts appreciated in this digital age where complete sentences appear increasingly endangered.Im in and solely due to how you ve written your opening post
Regarding your suggestion of expedited privileges - while I am naturally appreciative, I believe it would be improper to circumvent the established protocols. One must adhere to proper order, even in matters of automotive discussion forums.
That said, should the moderators determine independently that such an elevation serves the community interest, I would accept their judgment with appropriate humility.
Regards,
Algernon Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondeley
P.S. I have several photographs of the M140i at my local arboretum that rather effectively capture its understated elegance. The mineral grey against the morning light is quite striking.
Whilst I await the facility of sharing information through the miraculous medium of photography (digital), I thought I would offer up here for appreciation of my fellow automobile enthusiasts a few of my thoughts on the m140i 'ownership experience' (ghastly neologism).
A note for readers - although my m140i journey happened in fact over the course of six months, its conclusion has now been settled for several weeks. It was suggested to me that I may find it helpful to write about it, to assist with something that is apparently called closure - a new concept for me, having been brought up on repression. As such, over the next week or two, whenever I get time away from my busy consulting role and of course when I am not occupied with book club matters (it is my turn to propose this week, I have selected Goncharov's "Oblomov" - a rather penetrating examination of Russian nobility), I shall be documenting the entire saga for you all.
The M140i - an appreciation
I shall be offering my appraisal in the form of a "top 4" - an incongruous format, you might say, but I am not averse to new things and my time with Max Power certainly involved many of them, this amongst them.
Seats
The heated seats provide a most civilised comfort during winter mornings that reminds me of the warming pans our matron would slide between sheets at boarding school. I often activate them even on mild autumn days—a small indulgence I permit myself while listening to Radio 4's Today programme during my commute. There is something rather comforting in being gently warmed from beneath whilst Nick Robinson somewhat more aggressively applies the heat to some unfortunate cabinet minister or other.
Colour
I confess to experiencing a particular satisfaction when catching glimpses of the vehicle—and, by extension, oneself—reflected in the windows of Waitrose or that small artisanal delicatessen in Marylebone where they import the correct type of olive oil. The Mineral Grey paintwork presents a subtle sophistication that communicates discernment without ostentation. Unlike those garish modified examples one increasingly encounters, mine remains a statement of quiet confidence—rather like a well-tailored navy suit in a room full of graphic t-shirts.
Style
There is an undeniably masculine aesthetic to the bodywork that I find oddly compelling. The aggressive haunches and taut lines speak to a certain strength of character, yet there remains a surprising elegance to the curves—particularly around the rear quarter panels. My housemaster at Wellington would have termed it "muscular grace," a quality he frequently attributed to our First XV rugby squad with a peculiar intensity of gaze. The juxtaposition of power and refinement rather effectively mirrors how I prefer to present myself professionally—competent yet cultured.
The niggle - wheels
The factory wheels, while aesthetically pleasing, represent my sole significant criticism. Their design incorporates an infuriating channel that collects grime with remarkable efficiency and resists even my most determined efforts with the specialized brush I ordered from Germany specifically for this purpose. Each Sunday morning sees me contorted into undignified positions on my driveway, muttering gentle obscenities as I attempt to restore them to showroom condition. My neighbours must think me quite mad, though Mrs. Harrington at number 37 has commented approvingly on my dedication. I suspect she has developed something of a mild infatuation, poor woman, though I have made it abundantly clear through subtle social cues that her interest shall remain unrequited.
Regards,
Algernon Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondeley
A note for readers - although my m140i journey happened in fact over the course of six months, its conclusion has now been settled for several weeks. It was suggested to me that I may find it helpful to write about it, to assist with something that is apparently called closure - a new concept for me, having been brought up on repression. As such, over the next week or two, whenever I get time away from my busy consulting role and of course when I am not occupied with book club matters (it is my turn to propose this week, I have selected Goncharov's "Oblomov" - a rather penetrating examination of Russian nobility), I shall be documenting the entire saga for you all.
The M140i - an appreciation
I shall be offering my appraisal in the form of a "top 4" - an incongruous format, you might say, but I am not averse to new things and my time with Max Power certainly involved many of them, this amongst them.
Seats
The heated seats provide a most civilised comfort during winter mornings that reminds me of the warming pans our matron would slide between sheets at boarding school. I often activate them even on mild autumn days—a small indulgence I permit myself while listening to Radio 4's Today programme during my commute. There is something rather comforting in being gently warmed from beneath whilst Nick Robinson somewhat more aggressively applies the heat to some unfortunate cabinet minister or other.
Colour
I confess to experiencing a particular satisfaction when catching glimpses of the vehicle—and, by extension, oneself—reflected in the windows of Waitrose or that small artisanal delicatessen in Marylebone where they import the correct type of olive oil. The Mineral Grey paintwork presents a subtle sophistication that communicates discernment without ostentation. Unlike those garish modified examples one increasingly encounters, mine remains a statement of quiet confidence—rather like a well-tailored navy suit in a room full of graphic t-shirts.
Style
There is an undeniably masculine aesthetic to the bodywork that I find oddly compelling. The aggressive haunches and taut lines speak to a certain strength of character, yet there remains a surprising elegance to the curves—particularly around the rear quarter panels. My housemaster at Wellington would have termed it "muscular grace," a quality he frequently attributed to our First XV rugby squad with a peculiar intensity of gaze. The juxtaposition of power and refinement rather effectively mirrors how I prefer to present myself professionally—competent yet cultured.
The niggle - wheels
The factory wheels, while aesthetically pleasing, represent my sole significant criticism. Their design incorporates an infuriating channel that collects grime with remarkable efficiency and resists even my most determined efforts with the specialized brush I ordered from Germany specifically for this purpose. Each Sunday morning sees me contorted into undignified positions on my driveway, muttering gentle obscenities as I attempt to restore them to showroom condition. My neighbours must think me quite mad, though Mrs. Harrington at number 37 has commented approvingly on my dedication. I suspect she has developed something of a mild infatuation, poor woman, though I have made it abundantly clear through subtle social cues that her interest shall remain unrequited.
Regards,
Algernon Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondeley
Fellow enthusiasts,
I present here the first of the Max Power series, I hope that in time I shall be able to post my scans of the articles for you, but for now I sadly remain sufficiently new in this community not to be trusted to do so (and who could blame you?). In desperation, I have typed up the first article for you. This is something my secretary would once have done for me, of course, but... well... all in good time.
Regards,
Algernon CF
GENTLEMAN'S AGREEMENT: POSH BOY MEETS PETROLHEAD
MAX POWER begins a six-month journey to drag one BMW M140i (and its owner) into the 21st century
Darren "Daz" Mitchell, Senior Editor
If you've ever wondered what would happen if you crossed Jeremy Clarkson with Jacob Rees-Mogg, meet Algernon Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondeley (that's "Fanshaw-Chumley" to us common folk). This 34-year-old management consultant is the proud owner of what he calls his "dignified Bavarian motorcar" - a bone-stock 2020 M140i in what the rest of us would call grey but he insists is "Mineral Grey Metallic."
The car's sick. The owner? Well, let's just say he's an acquired taste.
When our photographer Melissa first spotted Algernon meticulously polishing his M140i outside an upmarket coffee shop in West London (using what appeared to be a monogrammed chamois), she knew we had our next project. Not because the car is anything special in its current form - it's completely standard with 35,000 gentle miles on the clock - but because the contrast between the M140i's hooligan potential and its tweed-wearing owner was too good to pass up.
"I purchased it as a refined method of conveyance befitting a young professional," Algernon told us when we visited his Victorian conversion flat, while serving tea in actual china cups. "I was assured by the salesman it was the discerning choice for gentlemen of taste."
What Algernon didn't realize was that the M140i has become a proper tuner's weapon. With that B58 straight-six begging for more power and a chassis that's crying out for proper suspension, these Beemers are now regular fixtures at car meets nationwide - usually sporting massive turbos, aggressive aero, and the kind of exhaust setups that set off car alarms in the next county.
Our six-month mission? Transform both car AND owner.
THE BATTLE PLAN
"I would prefer if we maintained the warranty," was Algernon's first stipulation, delivered with the kind of pained expression you'd expect from someone asking for a kidney donation. We assured him that our partners at BavTech Performance can keep everything reversible if needed.
Phase One, scheduled for next month, will focus on the basics:
- Stage 1 remap pushing power from 335bhp to a more respectable 410bhp
- Milltek cat-back exhaust system (we wanted the full decat but our man nearly fainted)
- H&R lowering springs (a mere 25mm drop as a compromise)
- 19" BBS CH-R wheels (we're starting conservative, trust us)
"I must insist that nothing visually ostentatious be undertaken," Algernon insisted, adjusting his actual, non-ironic bow tie. Our tech editor Sticky nearly bit through his Monster Energy can trying not to laugh.
The real test comes next month when we'll be dragging Algernon to NorthWest Stance, one of the biggest BMW meets in the country. He's already expressed "grave reservations" about attending, especially since it falls on the same weekend as his firm's partner dinner. We've promised him he can wear whatever he wants, but we're quietly betting on chinos and a blazer in a sea of hoodies and jeans.
"I have concerns about being associated with what my colleague Sebastian would term the 'boy racer contingent'," Algernon admitted, clearly worried about his professional reputation. Little does he know what we've got planned for Phase Two and beyond.
Is it cruel to drag this posh boy out of his comfort zone? Maybe. Will it make for a killer six-part feature? Absolutely. Will his M140i end up being the beast it deserves to be? You bet your limited-slip diff it will.
Melissa reckons there's more to our man than meets the eye. After catching him quietly googling "BavTech performance figures" when he thought we weren't looking, we suspect she might be right.
Follow our six-month journey as we transform one man and his BMW. Next month: The remap, exhaust and springs go on, and Algernon faces his first car meet. Trust us, you won't want to miss it.
Photography by Melissa Chen [Algernon's note: you will just have to imagine the photography, sorry]
SIDEBAR: THE STARTING POINT
2020 BMW M140i
3.0-liter B58 straight-six turbo
335bhp stock
8-speed auto (we tried to find a manual, but apparently that would be "uncouth")
Zero modifications
One very nervous owner
I present here the first of the Max Power series, I hope that in time I shall be able to post my scans of the articles for you, but for now I sadly remain sufficiently new in this community not to be trusted to do so (and who could blame you?). In desperation, I have typed up the first article for you. This is something my secretary would once have done for me, of course, but... well... all in good time.
Regards,
Algernon CF
GENTLEMAN'S AGREEMENT: POSH BOY MEETS PETROLHEAD
MAX POWER begins a six-month journey to drag one BMW M140i (and its owner) into the 21st century
Darren "Daz" Mitchell, Senior Editor
If you've ever wondered what would happen if you crossed Jeremy Clarkson with Jacob Rees-Mogg, meet Algernon Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondeley (that's "Fanshaw-Chumley" to us common folk). This 34-year-old management consultant is the proud owner of what he calls his "dignified Bavarian motorcar" - a bone-stock 2020 M140i in what the rest of us would call grey but he insists is "Mineral Grey Metallic."
The car's sick. The owner? Well, let's just say he's an acquired taste.
When our photographer Melissa first spotted Algernon meticulously polishing his M140i outside an upmarket coffee shop in West London (using what appeared to be a monogrammed chamois), she knew we had our next project. Not because the car is anything special in its current form - it's completely standard with 35,000 gentle miles on the clock - but because the contrast between the M140i's hooligan potential and its tweed-wearing owner was too good to pass up.
"I purchased it as a refined method of conveyance befitting a young professional," Algernon told us when we visited his Victorian conversion flat, while serving tea in actual china cups. "I was assured by the salesman it was the discerning choice for gentlemen of taste."
What Algernon didn't realize was that the M140i has become a proper tuner's weapon. With that B58 straight-six begging for more power and a chassis that's crying out for proper suspension, these Beemers are now regular fixtures at car meets nationwide - usually sporting massive turbos, aggressive aero, and the kind of exhaust setups that set off car alarms in the next county.
Our six-month mission? Transform both car AND owner.
THE BATTLE PLAN
"I would prefer if we maintained the warranty," was Algernon's first stipulation, delivered with the kind of pained expression you'd expect from someone asking for a kidney donation. We assured him that our partners at BavTech Performance can keep everything reversible if needed.
Phase One, scheduled for next month, will focus on the basics:
- Stage 1 remap pushing power from 335bhp to a more respectable 410bhp
- Milltek cat-back exhaust system (we wanted the full decat but our man nearly fainted)
- H&R lowering springs (a mere 25mm drop as a compromise)
- 19" BBS CH-R wheels (we're starting conservative, trust us)
"I must insist that nothing visually ostentatious be undertaken," Algernon insisted, adjusting his actual, non-ironic bow tie. Our tech editor Sticky nearly bit through his Monster Energy can trying not to laugh.
The real test comes next month when we'll be dragging Algernon to NorthWest Stance, one of the biggest BMW meets in the country. He's already expressed "grave reservations" about attending, especially since it falls on the same weekend as his firm's partner dinner. We've promised him he can wear whatever he wants, but we're quietly betting on chinos and a blazer in a sea of hoodies and jeans.
"I have concerns about being associated with what my colleague Sebastian would term the 'boy racer contingent'," Algernon admitted, clearly worried about his professional reputation. Little does he know what we've got planned for Phase Two and beyond.
Is it cruel to drag this posh boy out of his comfort zone? Maybe. Will it make for a killer six-part feature? Absolutely. Will his M140i end up being the beast it deserves to be? You bet your limited-slip diff it will.
Melissa reckons there's more to our man than meets the eye. After catching him quietly googling "BavTech performance figures" when he thought we weren't looking, we suspect she might be right.
Follow our six-month journey as we transform one man and his BMW. Next month: The remap, exhaust and springs go on, and Algernon faces his first car meet. Trust us, you won't want to miss it.
Photography by Melissa Chen [Algernon's note: you will just have to imagine the photography, sorry]
SIDEBAR: THE STARTING POINT
2020 BMW M140i
3.0-liter B58 straight-six turbo
335bhp stock
8-speed auto (we tried to find a manual, but apparently that would be "uncouth")
Zero modifications
One very nervous owner
I have a jolly good friend who owned a 3dr M140i in silver a few years ago whilst he was in a senior management role. The car was sufficiently stealthy that his good lady didn't "tut" too much (she strangely only does this when he is driving in his motor carriage with her as his co-pilot) and yet he could turn his flat cap around when required/making progress 
& associate with the people of the younger persuasion.
He bought his motor vehicle via the Interweb thingy...properly misdescribed as the fellows in the shiny suits at the motor garage hadn't been to Specsavers & missed the expensive (many many books equivalent of green stamps) manufacturers BMW approved sports exhaust thingy which encouraged him to turn his hat around like the "yoof". It was a splendid motor carriage
& associate with the people of the younger persuasion. He bought his motor vehicle via the Interweb thingy...properly misdescribed as the fellows in the shiny suits at the motor garage hadn't been to Specsavers & missed the expensive (many many books equivalent of green stamps) manufacturers BMW approved sports exhaust thingy which encouraged him to turn his hat around like the "yoof". It was a splendid motor carriage
Dear automobile enthusiasts,
the forum spam controls prevented me from posting any further yesterday, but I am snatching this brief gap in my naturally busy schedule to now post my personal reflections on the events of the first max power article for you. I hope that I will be able to follow shortly with the second max power article.
The beginning of the end
Looking back at that first encounter some six months ago, I'm struck by how utterly unprepared I was for what would follow. It began, as these things often do, with noise.
The convoy announced itself well before visual confirmation. Three vehicles, each competing to shatter what remained of the neighborhood noise ordinance. Mrs. Pembridge-Smythe, who had been tending to her hydrangeas, dropped her secateurs. We locked eyes across the street. Her expression suggested I had personally invited a plague of locusts. Poor woman. She would eventually move to Eastbourne after the "wrap party" incident, but that's a tale for a later installment.
"You must be Al-ger-non!" A young man in distressed denim extended his hand. His t-shirt bore an inscription I shan't repeat in polite company.
"Algernon Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondeley," I corrected, accepting his grip, which threatened structural damage to my metacarpals.
"Yeah, what you said. I'm Daz. This is Sticky." He gestured toward a gentleman whose forearms displayed a veritable gallery of artistic expression. "And that's Melissa."
The photographer emerged from her modified Japanese vehicle, camera already in hand. I didn't know then what a significant role she would play in the months to come. Her attire was primarily black, her hair similarly so, though with streaks of blue. She assessed my M140i with a professional eye, then turned the same gaze upon me.
"Three years old, one owner, meticulous maintenance schedule," she said, circling the vehicle. "You wash it yourself."
"Indeed."
"With a specific shampooing sequence and two different microfiber grades."
I felt a peculiar warmth in my cheeks. "One must take pride in one's possessions."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Nice watch."
"Thank you. It was my grandfather's."
"No, it wasn't. It's a 2019 limited edition. You bought it to celebrate your promotion."
I should have recognized then what I know now: underestimating Melissa was a mistake many made, but few made twice.
The interior of my residence proved challenging for my visitors. Daz perched on the edge of my leather armchair as though expecting ejection, while Sticky examined my bookshelf with surprising interest. These pieces of furniture are now in storage, of course. The flat, too, is gone - but I'm getting ahead of myself.
"Tea?" I offered, already placing cups on saucers.
"Got any Monster?" asked Sticky.
"I'm afraid not. Earl Grey or Darjeeling?"
"Water's fine, mate."
As I poured Darjeeling (for myself alone, as it transpired), Daz unfolded what he termed "the battle plan." The technical specifications blurred together—Stage 1 remap, exhaust modifications, suspension adjustments—but the power figure caught my attention.
"Four hundred and ten brake horsepower?" I repeated.
"Conservative estimate," Daz grinned. "Could push 430 with the right map."
"And the warranty implications?"
"Totally reversible before service intervals."
My mobile vibrated. Sebastian. "Drinks at Clivedon's tonight? Jasper's in from Geneva." I placed the phone face-down. If I had known then what a pivotal role Sebastian would play in my professional downfall, I might have responded differently. Hindsight, as they say.
"We'll need you at NorthWest Stance next month," Daz continued. "Biggest BMW meet in the region."
I retrieved my diary. "The date?"
"Saturday the 15th."
The quarterly partner dinner. My father's expectant gaze across the table. Sebastian's knowing smirk. The beginning of the collision between worlds that would ultimately leave both in ruins.
"That presents a scheduling conflict with a work obligation."
Melissa, who had been photographing the vehicle from various angles, entered and caught my eye.
"The partners' dinner at The Savoy? With your father on the board and your promotion review pending?"
I stared at her.
"You've got a Bloomberg profile," she explained, scrolling through her phone. "And your company website has the events calendar public."
"Stalking your subjects is standard journalistic practice?"
"Research," she corrected. "And you'll be at that meet if I have to drag you there myself."
I recall thinking her quite presumptuous. Little did I know she would eventually make good on that promise, though not in the manner either of us could have anticipated.
Later, after they'd departed and the street had returned to its accustomed silence, I found myself in the garage, hand resting on the M140i's bonnet. Four hundred and ten horsepower. Perhaps more. The salesman's voice echoed: "The choice of the discerning professional." Then Sebastian's text, followed by another: "Halfords crowd getting their hooks in you? Careful, old boy. Partnership committee meets next month."
That evening, I searched "BavTech performance figures" on my laptop. The resulting graphs were rather impressive. For purely academic interest, I told myself. How quickly academic interest would transform into something far more consuming.
I closed the laptop and poured a Macallan. The small matter of the "meet" versus the partner dinner remained unresolved. An impossible choice between professional obligation and...what, exactly? Curiosity? Rebellion? The childish thrill of an engine note?
My mobile buzzed once more.
"Your car has potential. Don't worry about the dinner. We'll get you there and back in time. - Melissa"
I had no idea how she obtained my number. Nor did I realize then that her message referred to far more than just the automobile.
The modifications began the following week.
With them, the unraveling of everything I had so carefully constructed.
Regards,
Algernon F-C
the forum spam controls prevented me from posting any further yesterday, but I am snatching this brief gap in my naturally busy schedule to now post my personal reflections on the events of the first max power article for you. I hope that I will be able to follow shortly with the second max power article.
The beginning of the end
Looking back at that first encounter some six months ago, I'm struck by how utterly unprepared I was for what would follow. It began, as these things often do, with noise.
The convoy announced itself well before visual confirmation. Three vehicles, each competing to shatter what remained of the neighborhood noise ordinance. Mrs. Pembridge-Smythe, who had been tending to her hydrangeas, dropped her secateurs. We locked eyes across the street. Her expression suggested I had personally invited a plague of locusts. Poor woman. She would eventually move to Eastbourne after the "wrap party" incident, but that's a tale for a later installment.
"You must be Al-ger-non!" A young man in distressed denim extended his hand. His t-shirt bore an inscription I shan't repeat in polite company.
"Algernon Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondeley," I corrected, accepting his grip, which threatened structural damage to my metacarpals.
"Yeah, what you said. I'm Daz. This is Sticky." He gestured toward a gentleman whose forearms displayed a veritable gallery of artistic expression. "And that's Melissa."
The photographer emerged from her modified Japanese vehicle, camera already in hand. I didn't know then what a significant role she would play in the months to come. Her attire was primarily black, her hair similarly so, though with streaks of blue. She assessed my M140i with a professional eye, then turned the same gaze upon me.
"Three years old, one owner, meticulous maintenance schedule," she said, circling the vehicle. "You wash it yourself."
"Indeed."
"With a specific shampooing sequence and two different microfiber grades."
I felt a peculiar warmth in my cheeks. "One must take pride in one's possessions."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Nice watch."
"Thank you. It was my grandfather's."
"No, it wasn't. It's a 2019 limited edition. You bought it to celebrate your promotion."
I should have recognized then what I know now: underestimating Melissa was a mistake many made, but few made twice.
The interior of my residence proved challenging for my visitors. Daz perched on the edge of my leather armchair as though expecting ejection, while Sticky examined my bookshelf with surprising interest. These pieces of furniture are now in storage, of course. The flat, too, is gone - but I'm getting ahead of myself.
"Tea?" I offered, already placing cups on saucers.
"Got any Monster?" asked Sticky.
"I'm afraid not. Earl Grey or Darjeeling?"
"Water's fine, mate."
As I poured Darjeeling (for myself alone, as it transpired), Daz unfolded what he termed "the battle plan." The technical specifications blurred together—Stage 1 remap, exhaust modifications, suspension adjustments—but the power figure caught my attention.
"Four hundred and ten brake horsepower?" I repeated.
"Conservative estimate," Daz grinned. "Could push 430 with the right map."
"And the warranty implications?"
"Totally reversible before service intervals."
My mobile vibrated. Sebastian. "Drinks at Clivedon's tonight? Jasper's in from Geneva." I placed the phone face-down. If I had known then what a pivotal role Sebastian would play in my professional downfall, I might have responded differently. Hindsight, as they say.
"We'll need you at NorthWest Stance next month," Daz continued. "Biggest BMW meet in the region."
I retrieved my diary. "The date?"
"Saturday the 15th."
The quarterly partner dinner. My father's expectant gaze across the table. Sebastian's knowing smirk. The beginning of the collision between worlds that would ultimately leave both in ruins.
"That presents a scheduling conflict with a work obligation."
Melissa, who had been photographing the vehicle from various angles, entered and caught my eye.
"The partners' dinner at The Savoy? With your father on the board and your promotion review pending?"
I stared at her.
"You've got a Bloomberg profile," she explained, scrolling through her phone. "And your company website has the events calendar public."
"Stalking your subjects is standard journalistic practice?"
"Research," she corrected. "And you'll be at that meet if I have to drag you there myself."
I recall thinking her quite presumptuous. Little did I know she would eventually make good on that promise, though not in the manner either of us could have anticipated.
Later, after they'd departed and the street had returned to its accustomed silence, I found myself in the garage, hand resting on the M140i's bonnet. Four hundred and ten horsepower. Perhaps more. The salesman's voice echoed: "The choice of the discerning professional." Then Sebastian's text, followed by another: "Halfords crowd getting their hooks in you? Careful, old boy. Partnership committee meets next month."
That evening, I searched "BavTech performance figures" on my laptop. The resulting graphs were rather impressive. For purely academic interest, I told myself. How quickly academic interest would transform into something far more consuming.
I closed the laptop and poured a Macallan. The small matter of the "meet" versus the partner dinner remained unresolved. An impossible choice between professional obligation and...what, exactly? Curiosity? Rebellion? The childish thrill of an engine note?
My mobile buzzed once more.
"Your car has potential. Don't worry about the dinner. We'll get you there and back in time. - Melissa"
I had no idea how she obtained my number. Nor did I realize then that her message referred to far more than just the automobile.
The modifications began the following week.
With them, the unraveling of everything I had so carefully constructed.
Regards,
Algernon F-C
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