It’s got an undefinable elegance. Adventurous lines.
A beguiling beauty that had me smiling fruitfully from ear to ear.
But enough about the PR girl, (boom-tish) this is the rather swish BMW Centenary 7 series.
Unveiled after some impromptu contemporary dance and some fine cuisine
(and by the by you’ve never seen anyone destroy a glazed eggplant aubergine faster than my man Duncan from T3 magazine)
The BMW Centennial 7 Series, a special limited edition, entered the fray from the reclining partition.
It’s got a Sky Lounge Panoramic sunglass roof, you floor this thing and it goes poof.
Nowt to sixty quicker than I down my Johnnie Walker whiskey.
It’s got surround sound, an executive lounge, its pound for pound the best in show, more tricks up its sleeve than Dynamo.
A carpet light for when your bird drops her shite in the dark at the KFC carpark.
In the back Jack you gotta detachable tablet turned games console.
You can even park this thing via remote control.
At the bar.
The PR girl, whom I’m affectionately coining my Indian Rose, and I, share some free Mojitos.
We’re surrounded by walking cheque books in tuxedoes.
I excuse myself. “I’m just off to get some fresh air.”
That’s code for, “I’ve got half a black cod kicking crap out of my kidney stone, I’m going to smoke half a fag and use the big white telephone.”
But my race is run, I’m done like a grilled frankfurter bun.
I blag a goody bag, grab a cab back to the hotel.
Yet before I get a chance to say Aufwiedersehn Pet, bloody hell –
I spot the handsome Boris Becker and shake his hand. It caps a night of crazy happen-stance mixed with a side of unbridled romance.
A love affair of craftsmanship.
A partnership starring BMW and Montblanc.
Raise a Stein Glass.
You say Prost, I say cheers, here’s to BMW, and the next 100 years.