He was nibbling his nails the first time I saw him – just as they said he would be. Not absently-mindedly but seemingly with aggression, palm turned upwards, free hand inspecting frequently. He wore black sunglasses, square of frame – Rayban Wayfarers – fawn slacks and no shirt. His shoulders were as broad as a boxer’s, yet he was short, even by my schoolboy standards.
And he walked with that amazing twinkle-toe lilt, springing upwards, like a Scots sword-dancer, with every step. Jackie Stewart did likewise, we noticed – although his feet were splayed outwards. (Was this their secret, we wondered? Were these gaits the key to all that brilliance?)
Jim was lilting now towards the Lotus camp – to the tent which shaded his Lotus 32B-Climax. The air was surprisingly still, the tempo unhurried. There was no Colin Chapman in Australia – just Jim and the boys, led by…
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