About Monaco (Part 1)

My list of 'Must Go To Races' was always as follows:

• Spa (done in 2001 and 2009),
• Monza (done in 2008),
• Canada (maybe one day).

Monaco was never on the list. Why? Boring races, rich idiots on yachts, pointless celebrities who aren't interested in F1 (you're thinking of the Sugababes right now, aren't you?), and too much of a focus on the parties, fashion shows and glamour.

All that said, when friend and fellow Felipe Massa die-hard Jade, AKA @lookingspiffy was planning to go to the 2012 Monaco GP, I jumped onboard immediately and started saving. I wasn't looking forward to it anymore than I normally do when I'm going to an F1 event, and I figured that as a Ferrari fan, nothing was ever going to top going to Monza anyway. Also playing on my mind as I boarded my Belfast-Nice flight was 'I hope my house doesn't burn down while I'm away', 'What if I've spent all this money and Felipe has a terrible race?' and most of all, 'I miss my dog'.

I'm an idiot. I mean, I knew this anyway – but really – I am an idiot.

Tuesday 22^nd May 2012

As well as general idiocy, I'm also fairly (read: very) pessimistic. I figure that if I don't get my hopes up about anything, then I won't suffer any disappointments. So as I landed at Nice Airport on the Tuesday afternoon, I believed I was in for a good week of watching the cars go around the track, and maybe a driver-spotting or two, if I was very lucky. Probably just drivers in the lower teams at that. I mean, how much access could you get at Monaco?

Jade and I had flown into Nice on the Tuesday purely so we would be in Monaco for the Nazionale Piloti match, an event held by Prince Albert every year. It features Prince Albert's 'All Star' team against a team made up of current and former racing drivers. I'm no football fan – the last time I watched a full 90 minutes of football was probably the 1990 World Cup when I liked Gary Lineker (shut up), but F1 drivers playing football was a different story entirely. I knew that Felipe usually played for Nazionale Piloti, so at the very least his presence would stop me from slipping into a coma during all the pig-bladder kicking.

After a quick trip to a supermarket in Nice to stock the fridge in our really very good apartment, we made our way into Monaco via the number 100 bus. This allowed us to see how beautiful the coastline is, as we passed through places such as Villefranche-Sur-Mer, Eze, and the intriguingly titled 'Barmassa'. Unfortunately the winding, clifftop roads also left me feeling decidely green and vomity (I'm a driver, not a passenger), so our bus experience was not repeated for the rest of the week. (More about the horrific transport situation later).

We found the Stade de Monaco fairly easily, sort of laughing to ourselves in a 'Haaaaah, look at us walking through MONACO like this is totally normal' way, and paid the ridiculously cheap price of €5 each for a match ticket. €5. To see F1 drivers running about in shorts.

Points to note about the Stade de Monaco:

• It's a 70s nightmare.
• It is tiny aside from having around 3 billion concrete steps, 99% of which I think we walked up in an attempt to find our seats.
• It is entirely painted in becoming shades of forest green, light brown, brown, and dark brown.
• It's a teeny bit rapey.
• The Eagles played there for Prince Albert's wedding. That has nothing to do with the Nazionale Piloti match; I just think it's an interesting if slightly bizarre fact.

Anyway, we settled into our seats and our respective Massa-radars went off a few minutes later when lo and behold, the man himself appeared with his little brother, Dudu. Other drivers present included Sergio Perez, Ivan Capelli and his little beard, and surprisingly, Michael Schumacher, who hadn't played for Nazionale Piloti for quite a while. I sat through the first half resisting the temptation to shout 'Offside!' and 'Oi, ref!', and generally take the piss. The sun was shining, I was watching F1 drivers trot around a football pitch in the South of France, and all was well with the world.

During half-time, we realised that Felipe's dad, and son, Felipinho, were there also, so rare maternal feelings were felt as we watched Felipe walk onto the pitch with him before going off into a huddle with Michael to talk about tactics or something. Thankfully Felipe was subbed quite early into the second half, so we spent the rest of the match not even paying attention to the football; instead watching Felipe kick a ball back and forth with Felipinho right in front of us.

3 generations of Massa

I judge me for taking the amount of photos I did during this, I really, really do. And yet, I. could. not. stop.

At the end of the match, we left the stadium happily and got the train back to Nice. I figured that if nothing else, I'd seen Felipe in the flesh that evening, because let's face it, no way would I get that close again over the course of the rest of the week...

Outside the Stade de Monaco

Inside Monaco train station

Wednesday 23rd May 2012

The plan for Wednesday was just to go into Monaco and see what happened. The weather was sunny and hot, and the rain that had been forecast for the weekend didn't seem like it was going to happen. Exiting Monaco train station and walking outside, it took a good few seconds before I realised where we were standing – Ste. Devote.

It was a bit of a mind-melt standing there, thinking about 1997, when Michael went off there in the rain and still went on to win the race, or 2008, when Felipe went off in the same place (but sadly didn't go on to win).

We walked down towards the starting grid, taking in the pre-race atmosphere which was bubbling away around us. The roads were open to 'normal' traffic and I can confirm that the amount of cars and mopeds in Monaco is mental. I felt like I took my life in my hands every time I tried to cross the road.

As we walked further down the road, we saw an entry to the pitlane on the left. People were filtering through it, so we followed. The entire time, I was waiting for someone to stop us, tap us on the shoulder, or ask to see our passes. Nope. Nothing. You get so used to not having access to anywhere at the likes of Silverstone or Spa that it seemed ridiculous that they'd just let any old plebs into the pitlane, even if it was only Wednesday.

Obviously they had the garages blocked off but we were still able to walk along down the pitlane and see into the garages. There were no drivers about, but there were mechanics working away on the cars, and team members walking up and down, seemingly oblivious to all the fans standing gawking at them and taking photos.

Naturally we made a beeline for the Ferrari garage in the hope of seeing a certain race engineer from Middlesbrough. Jade and I had met Rob Smedley in the Catalunya paddock during testing in 2011, and while I really wanted to meet him again, realistically I doubted I'd be that fortunate twice. Also, I feared swooning-based embarrassment may occur.

While we were having a bit of a nosey into the Brazilian side of the Ferrari garage, another online F1-fan friend Steph (@redsteph91) called me to say that she'd just arrived and was down in the paddock. Being our first time in Monaco, we had no idea how to GET to the paddock, so we continued peering into the garage in the hope of seeing someone blue-eyed and chin-dimpled. Then, Steph texted to say that she'd just seen Rob Smedley in the paddock. Yep, it was time for us to leave the pitlane. As we walked to the end, I heard a woman's voice very loudly saying "And then he said 'I need to have sex RIGHT NOW'." I turned around, only to see that the woman telling this intriguing tale was Sky presenter Natalie Pinkham. Probably best to keep your voice down in future, love.

We walked down some steps and ended up beside the harbour, where the entrance to the paddock was. Again, no-one tried to stop us, and people were freely walking about. It wouldn't take a completely mental fan to go to Monaco as they'd have easy access to their chosen target. Not that I'm saying that I am not completely mental, I can go a bit crackers when it comes to my favourite F1 people, but I don't wish to harm them in any way. I'd like that to go down on record, please.

You know how people on TV are always saying that the paddock in Monaco is tiny? Well, it's TINY. It is big enough to house all the F1 team's motorhomes and that's about it. This means that you can walk down either side of the paddock, and also stand at the entrance and exit. The team members and drivers really have nowhere to run/hide. I mean, there's a white metal fence that surrounds everything which is a bit of a bastard, but provided you're happy just to see people and not attempt to you know, grab them in any way, that's fair enough. (Grrr, though).

Our main incentive for going to the paddock (aside from trying to kidnap race engineers named Rob) was to collect passes for a bar called Stars N' Bars. Over race weekend if you have a pass for there, you can get back down to the paddock straight after qualifying and the race, rather than waiting for the roads to re-open. Again we knew all this from Steph, who was on her third trip to Monaco and was able to give us all her tips and knowledge, without which we'd have been lost at times. On our way there, as we walked along the length of the paddock, we saw Sergio Perez being interviewed. He signed quite a few autographs for the waiting fans, including me. I was pretty blown away at having gotten photos and an autograph of a driver after only being at the paddock for a matter of minutes. 

We continued down to Stars N' Bars, and had just entered the bar, when Steph said "Rob Smedley's down there!" We belted out of the bar and back outside like teenage girls at a One Direction concert, with cameras and autograph books in hand. I REGRET NOTHING. Rob was standing behind the motorhomes, texting. 

Lookit his wee smiling face when he's texting Felipe

We called him over and he said to hold on, he was texting Felipe. When he came over to us, he said that Felipe was "texting him stupid things, as usual", and was "a halfwit". All said with affection and a smile, obviously. I got his autograph, he handed the book back to me and called me 'sweetheart', then we got a photo with him each, after which he called me 'darling', and I died a bit, then I dunno, we maybe blabbered onto him a bit more before he left, and we immediately took ourselves off to a shop at the bottom of the harbour which sold tins of Heineken for €2. Heineken has never tasted so good.

Super teeny photo because my mug is in it

Beside the harbour was also the Red Bull floaterhome, where we saw Daniel Ricciardo, and Mark Webber getting out of a speedboat. 

We sat down there for a while, drinking our beers and appreciating the sunshine, the Med, and the stunning yachts in the harbour. 

Beautiful

Already I was absolutely loving the Monaco experience, and I'd only been at the track itself for a couple of hours. We took ourselves back to the paddock after that, and plonked ourselves opposite the Ferrari motorhome, where we were destined to spend quite a lot of the weekend...

Almost immediately we saw Andrea Stella, Fernando Alonso's race engineer, and Matteo Orsi, Felipe's physio, whom you'll usually see on the grid, holding an umbrella to shield the precious driver from the sun or rain. Matteo was very taken aback by us asking for his autograph, but he's part of Team Massa, so of course we wanted it. 

Andrea Stella

Matteo Orsi

Our other targets for the day were Felipe himself, and Giuliano Salvi, his performance engineer. While waiting, all manner of drivers, team members and F1 media people walked past; too numerous to mention (or indeed, remember). We seemed to see Narain Karthikeyan a lot ("Ugh, this guy again"), along with Charles Pic, and Graeme Lowdon from Marussia, who I'd seen at the airport when our respective Easyjet flights from Belfast and Newcastle had landed at the same time, and who I swear must have been following me all week. Graeme, stop it. Just stop.

It was around this point that I was made aware of the fact that I refer to everyone in my Northern Irish way as 'yer man', and subsequently got the piss taken out of me about it for the rest of the week. We saw so many F1 people that I was constantly saying "Ooh look, there's yer man!" (Usually Graeme Lowdon). And as I pointed out, they always knew who I was referring to. So hah.

I was starting to doubt whether the Ferrari drivers were actually around when Fernando appeared in his ridiculously oversized hat and dreadful white sunglasses (I love him really). He didn't sign many autographs but I did manage to take some terrible photos through the fence. 

Dear God, make the hat and sunglasses combo go away

Now, where was Felipe? When his brother appeared we knew he must be lurking somewhere – surely the combined force of Jade and I's support for him could lure him out of the Ferrari motorhome?

Hurrah! Finally the doors parted and there was Felipe, a strapping young lad of... 5'4". Without Jade brandishing her Brazil flag, I'm not sure he would have stopped to sign anything, but he did, and we both got autographs and photos. He and I had a chat too – if you count him saying "I need a pen" to me as 'a chat'. I do, so just shush, okay?

'How do I spell 'Felipe', again?'

I was just so thrilled to have met Felipe. Being a Massa fan has always been tough, be it because of last lap Championship losses, comas, team orders, constant sacking rumours, and really quite vile at times media slagging. The early part of the current F1 season has been particularly grim, and I was hoping before I went away that I might be able to meet him while I had the opportunity, in case... well, you know.

I could have floated off on a little bubble of happiness to get more beer after that, but we still had to try to see Giuliano Salvi. We'd decided to give it '5 more minutes' when he appeared.

Lovely Giuliano

Like Matteo, he was really humble and surprised that we knew who he was and wanted an autograph. Giuliano was loveliness personified, asking our names so he could sign for us. Team Massa's autographs? Job done.

Following that, there was meeting Stefano Domenicali and Pastor Maldonado, seeing Kimi pissing off to his yacht despite loads of fans crowding around him in the hope of an autograph, more beer, and a walk up to Rascasse on our way to the train station (there were no Ferraris parked there this year).

Run, Kimi! Run like the wind!

It sounds insane, but we'd seen so many people that by the end of the day, we'd become completely used to it ("Oh there's Charles Pic - AGAIN!") I was on an absolute high. My main Monaco aims had been to meet Rob and Felipe, and I'd done all that within the space of around 3 hours. Monaco had already gotten me hook, line, and sinker.

On our train journey home, old misery guts me commented that the day had been so good that something bad was bound to happen to even things out. Oh dear.

About F1 intro music

Sky announced today that the intro to their new F1 coverage would be the song (or rather, a fairly crap remix of it) Just Drive by Alistair Griffin, which was originally written 2 years ago for the BBC's 2010 end of season montage. Slower paced, emotional sounding tunes are always fine for end of season montages, as they tend to get you all nostalgic and teary-eyed about the end of the racing year, but for an intro? Not so much. 

As I said on Twitter earlier, for me, F1 intro tunes should be something rip-roaring (I jokingly suggested Survivor's Eye of the Tiger, although Sky could do worse); something to get you fired up for the race ahead; something to get your stomach churning and blood pumping. Just Drive, as a song, is just a bit... insipid. It's music you could easily ignore if it was playing in a supermarket, a lift, or a mid-morning local radio show.

It is FACT that The Chain is the greatest of all F1 intro songs, and this shall never be topped. Anyone who disagrees is A Stupid. The BBC used this from 1979 up until 1996, when ITV took over the coverage, and have been using it again since getting the rights back at the beginning of the 2009 season. 

Surely there cannot be an F1 fan alive who doesn't get butterflies in the pit of their stomach when that bass line kicks in? 

During the ITV years, 1996 to 2008, we had a varied array of dance-type intro themes, including ones by Jamiroquai and Apollo 440 (I don't know who they are). The Jamiroquai one from the late 90s is one I look back on with nostalgia now, as it reminds me of Michael and Eddie versus Mika and David. This was possibly my favourite era of the sport, so I shall always think of it fondly.

ITV's last effort was Lift Me Up by Moby, in which he asked us to lift him up and then mumbled something or other about wanting a banana. Maybe. I generally forgot how much I detested that tune due to the HORRIFIC images used in the opening titles, such as David Coulthard looking 'suave' in a tux beside an in-no-way-cliched casino wheel; an unnamed woman with a snake crawling over her shoulder - and the disturbing winking face of one Lewis Hamilton. Moby intro = dreadfulness itself. However I can forgive this intro as they were happier years to be a Massa fan, and at least back then once the theme music was dealt with I knew I was probably settling down to a Massa pole/win *sob*

I'm not sure if it's the same in other sports, but F1 fans do seem to place a lot of importance on 'their' intro (is it just because we as a fandom tend to be a bunch of obsessive weirdoes?) so it's annoying that going by the general reaction on Twitter, Sky seem to have gotten this one wrong. If they're going to have a song that sounds a bit like Feeling A Moment by Feeder, why not just go the whole hog and use the real song. Again this isn't a track I am particularly a fan of, but it's been used to great effect in this fanmade video about F1.

What would I choose? Well, I have a predilection for 80s glam, classic rock, and er... German industrial metal, so you really don't want to go by my suggestions. But there's been some great songs used over the past few seasons by the BBC and F1.com, such as Gimme Shelter by the Rolling Stones (great if you want an atmospheric intro), and She Sells Sanctuary by The Cult. 

They may not be the most contemporary of songs, but the BBC have made fantastic use of a 35 year old Fleetwood Mac track, so there's no reason why Sky couldn't plump for something a bit older also. Whatever they had chosen would not have been as iconic as The Chain, but if Sky are in this for the long haul, they could have at least tried to choose something with the potential to become so.

About #58

I woke up just before 10am last Sunday morning, and it dawned on me as I went downstairs that I had forgotten to set my alarm for the MotoGP, even though the evening before I had made a mental note to do so.

When I switched on the TV, it didn't even register that BBC2 was showing something other than motorbikes; I just assumed I'd got the times wrong and it was long over.

Then I went onto Facebook and saw a friend's status update. 'RIP Marco Simoncelli'. My heart immediately starting beating ninety to the dozen and I could barely get my fingers to work as I went onto Twitter to scroll down my timeline. It's stupid but my first thought was that he'd been sick or been involved in something away from the racetrack – in the immediate shock it just didn't occur to me that it had happened during the race in Sepang.

I haven't seen the crash, nor do I want to. Thanks to everyone's least favourite newspaper, the Daily Mail, I've seen photographs, and that was more than enough for me. The Mail has built its readership on acting like a bastion of morality, yet deems it acceptable to print photographs of a young 24 year old man losing his life at the side of a racetrack.

The fact I won't watch the crash somewhat contradicts the claims of one Jill Singer, a 'journalist' who spews out brain vomit in a column for Australian newspaper The Herald Sun. According to her, motorsport fans are ghouls who 'get off on the carnage'. She ends her insulting diatribe by accusing us all of having 'specks of blood' on our hands.

I disagree completely. Jill Singer doubts that motorsport fans' shock and grief over Marco Simoncelli and Dan Wheldon in the past fortnight is genuine. As motorsport fans we're all aware of the risk the sport we love brings, but that doesn't mean that we can't still feel stunned and shocked when something so incredibly tragic happens. Having lost a close family member in a motorbike accident just over 3 years ago, I know that the horror of a bike crash is something that's very difficult to comprehend, and I think that's what everyone in the motorsport community has been trying to deal with for the past 4 days.

I really don't feel like any genuine, true fan watches motorsport for the crashes. They may watch for the risk, but not the actual crashes. It's the great saves that we all admire; kissing the wall instead of hitting it – not the accidents. If you're watching drivers or riders every other weekend it's very easy to start caring about their welfare – they are the ones risking their lives doing something for our entertainment so why on earth would we want them to potentially get hurt? There's nothing entertaining about that.

Motorsport safety has been targeted a lot by the uneducated mainstream media lately which is completely unfair. I have friends that scuba dive, and a quick google has shown that as a sport, that's far more dangerous than racing. Yet when scuba divers die (and I know there has been at least one tragic death in the past few weeks in the UK/Ireland) it doesn't get the same accusations thrown at it. I'd never dream of suggesting to my friends that they get off on the risk of it, because unlike Jill Singer, I'd never be ignorant enough to make such an unfounded assumption.

I was in work today when Marco's funeral was taking place but I watched some of the footage when I got home on the MotoGP website. Just like on Sunday morning, I was reduced to tears. This has really floored me and I'm actually shocked how much. I enjoy MotoGP a lot but for me it's always been very much second best to F1. I know that if anything ever happened to an F1 driver I'd be devastated (and I was scarily given a glimpse of what that might be like with Felipe's accident in 2009) but even I underestimated the reaction I have had to the events of the past few days.

I won't sit and pretend now that Marco was my favourite rider in MotoGP – in fact I had a good rant about him after the accident with Dani Pedrosa at Le Mans which left Dani with a broken collarbone. But once that died down, it was impossible not to like him – between the gangly frame, the hair (oh, the hair) and his ability to shake things up at the front and challenge 'the aliens', he was pure entertainment and I shall miss his charisma on the track very, very much.

If this is what being a ghoul feels like, quite honestly – it's shit.

About a Ferrari driver

This weekend's Belgian GP marks Michael Schumacher's 20th anniversary in F1.

Until his battles with Damon Hill in the mid-1990s, I didn't pay much attention. In fact all I can remember from the early days was that he wore yellow Camel overalls. Then, thanks to the fact he was the main British driver's biggest rival (and was German to boot), he became the Villain of F1, and it seemed fairly natural to dislike him.

Coming from Northern Ireland, it was pretty easy to become a Ferrari fan when Eddie Irvine paired up with Michael at the team at the beginning of 1996. But I still didn't like Schumacher. He was rude, arrogant, robotic, ice-cold, and every other German stereotype you could possibly think of. In fact I remember laughing (a lot) when he crashed on the first lap of Monaco 1996.

Eventually he began to worm his way into my affections, thanks to his talent, the fact that he and Eddie seemed to compliment one another, and okay, because I was a bit of a fan of his little brother (shut up - I was 17 and Ralf was pretty). And so a year later at Monaco, I was holding my breath when he went off at Ste. Devote. He managed to recover, and went onto win the race. In the rain. Always in the rain.

From then on, I was a huge fan. And there were many good times and bad times, many highs and lows. There was saving up for weeks to go to my first GP at Silverstone only to have Michael crash and break his leg on lap 1. But there was also being there at Spa in 2001 to see him break Alain Prost's record of all-time wins. Not to mention all the championship battles too - the heartbreak of 1998 and the joy of 2000 when he finally won a WDC for Ferrari for the first time in 21 years.

Michael has always been massively controversial, of course, and my own rose-tinted spectacles finally fell off for good somewhere around the time he squeezed Rubens Barrichello against the wall in Hungary last season - but the thing about Michael is that for every Hungary 2010, or Monaco 2006, there was always a Suzuka 2000 or a Hungary 1998 to make up for it. I think that's why those who will always defend him find it easy to forgive the more dubious things he's done in his career. He does seem to inspire devotion in people, and at the height of my fandom I certainly wouldn't have heard a bad word said about him.

Like all of his fans I was gutted when he retired at the end of 2006, but he signed off with one of his best performances in Brazil. I'd declared that I would 'never watch F1 again!' when he was gone, but that was easier said than done, and fairly soon that crafty Felipe Massa had gotten me passionate about a driver again. Damn you, emotions.

Due to aforementioned sneaky Brazilians making me forget that I shouldn't be getting attached to drivers, I wasn't thrilled when Michael was announced as Felipe's stand-in after his accident in Hungary 2009. However, given that I was going to Spa the month after, it would have been slight consolation. As it was, it wasn't meant to be, and I had to watch Luca Badoer trundle around at the back of the grid instead.

Given that I wasn't fussed about Michael coming back in a Ferrari, you can imagine that I was even less happy about him returning to F1 in a rival car. I didn't believe any of the Mercedes rumours - especially considering Eddie Jordan was adamant that Michael was going to come back - and I wrote them off as a load of silly speculation.

I did wonder when his comeback was announced whether I would secretly root for him over Felipe/Ferrari - but it hasn't turned out like that at all. I never dreamed I would be so apathetic towards what he's doing on track. Sure, I like to see him do well; Canada this year being a case in point - but if he crashes or retires, I don't throw a strop like I used to, or feel a crushing sense of disappointment. And it's quite sad, really, because he was an idol to me for a long time and now I just don't seem to notice him much during races.

I do think that he should just stop at the end of this year. He's had 20 years (if you don't count those three missing seasons after his first retirement), 7 WDCs, broke most of, if not all the records, and has nothing to prove. There are too many young drivers trying to get a seat in F1 and it seems pointless having Michael there when he perhaps lacks the fire in his belly that he once had. I don't think the sport would look at him unfavourably if he did just walk away. And even if they did, he has his titles, so who cares?

...That said, when and if the day comes that he gets a podium or even a win, I know I will be absolutely ecstatic for him. It's just that I can't see that happening any time soon.

Anyway, in honour of those 20 years, here's my favourite Michael moments. They're maybe not all from his greatest races, and there may be more obvious ones out there, but to me, they are the ones that I remember the most. Some still make me proud, some still give me goosebumps, and some still hurt. None are from Mercedes.

• The aforementioned 1997 Monaco GP. It was peeing down with rain - Michael was 22 seconds ahead by lap 5, and he eventually won it by 53 seconds. 

• The 1999 Malaysian GP. Michael's first race back, 3 months after breaking his leg. There had been a lot of speculation about whether he would come back 'the same driver'... well, he took pole position by almost a second, and had to let Eddie past twice so his teammate could take the win.

• The 2006 Japanese GP. The penultimate race of the season. It was Schumacher vs Alonso for the WDC, and Michael was leading the race and certain for victory. Cue an ITV ad break. Cue a return from the ad break with footage of Michael's engine giving up. And then scenes inside his garage of him thanking and consoling all his mechanics. Still a tough one to watch, this. 

• The 2006 Brazilian GP. His last race for Ferrari, and one of the gutsiest performances he ever put in. Apparently it is impossible to find YouTube footage of this without godawful music over the top. Pfft.

• The 1998 Italian GP. 1998 is my absolute favourite season (or was until 2008 - now I'd have to say it's a tie) and this was my favourite race that year. A Ferrari 1-2 at Monza is always very special and the latter part of that season was just an awesome fightback against a McLaren car that had been very dominant at the start of the year.

• Suzuka 2000. Finally he won the WDC for Ferrari on the fifth attempt. I think he's said since that this is his favourite F1 memory and the title that means the most. One of the happiest F1 memories I have too.

• Lastly, and appropriately enough as it also took place at Spa - my all time favourite Michael Schumacher moment. And it didn't all take place on the track, but on the pitlane too. I think all F1 fans know the story now - Michael was half a minute up the road in the rain when he had to lap some Scottish cube-headed moron in his McLaren. Said cube-headed moron decided not to move his arse from the racing line. The result? A three-wheeled Ferrari, a very excited Murray Walker, and one pissed off Ferrari driver seeking a 'word' with David Coulthard. Classic.

 

Cheers for the memories, Michael.

About the 2011 British GP

Thursday

Ann and I landed in (kind-of) sunny Birmingham before meeting up with Jade. After getting suitcases, rucksacks, tents and all the beer and snacks we could carry into the teeny tiny boot of our hired FIAT 500, we made our way to Stowe School, where the Marussia Virgin Weekend was being held. I didn’t shout or lose my rag once while driving there (an achievement), possibly due to the awesome singalong driving mix I had made.

At least 5 trips back and forth to the car later, Ann and I had gotten ourselves settled into our pre-erected tent, which came complete with sleeping bags and air beds. Having only ever spent single nights in a 20 man tent (don’t ask), I was definitely nervous about staying in one for 4 nights. But by the time I had set up my sleeping area, I was feeling less concerned. In the meantime, Jade had managed to assemble hers with absolutely NO help from Ann and I whatsoever.

Home

A quick wander around the campsite revealed to us the shower cubicles, supercar show – including Lightning McQueen… KA-CHOW!, and, joy of joys – the Vanity Tent, which had mirrors and electricity and SOMEWHERE TO PLUG IN MY HAIRDRYER AND STRAIGHTENERS, YAY. Some hardened campers may feel this is a cop-out. I say that it’s a good pay-off for getting weatherbeaten at Silverstone. Without it, I’d have looked even MORE like Stig of the Dump.

For the rest of the evening we lay under the huge awning on some very comfy sofas, eating food from Jamie Oliver’s Fabulous Feasts (his outdoor catering venture), and chatting well past 1am about F1 with our fellow campers. It was only after we’d been chatting for a while that Twitter names were revealed, and all of a sudden it was a case of “Ah… THAT’s who you are!”

I do believe there was discussion of David Coulthard’s ‘mince and tatties’ before we all headed to bed. I’d maintained before going that I was NOT staying up until stupid o’clock on the first night, drinking. Oops.

Friday

Rain. Oh God, the rain. Waking up in a tent was bad enough. Waking up in a tent and hearing the rain battering down was even worse. Thankfully and amazingly, however, I had no hangover. Even if I had, one of the campsite’s bacon rolls (sorry I mean bacon, cheese and rocket baps… it was Jamie Oliver, after all) would have sorted me out rightly. I would WALK to Stowe School for one of those bad boys right now. If I wasn’t lazy, and y’know, the campsite was still there.

Ann, Jade and I headed to Club where we watched a bit of FP1 before meeting up with Brij.

After that, Ann and I made the sensible, health-conscious decision to eat as much greasy track food as possible. With cider to wash it all down with. On our walk up towards the F1 Village, the rain started. And remained until FP2 and beyond. All the nearby covered grandstands were too full for us to be allowed into by that time, so I watched FP2 from a sodden picnic bench, getting more and more miserable as the rain seeped through my jeans. In fact I’d like to thank the Amazon seller Mountain Warehouse right now for not delivering the waterproof trousers I’d ordered 2 weeks previously, thinking they’d arrive in time. How optimistic of me.

The biblical rain put a dampener on our meeting with Steph and Helen, but we still managed to discuss important F1-related issues – such as stalking Ferrari race engineers, Michael Schumacher’s L’Oreal advert, and why Fernando Alonso has something in common with Jeremy Beadle (honest).

With no sign of the rain easing, and the black clouds getting ever blacker, we admitted defeat and walked back to the gate to catch the minibus. I was grumbling inwardly to myself ‘never again… not worth it… things I do for Felipe… even F1 isn’t worth this… grumble grumble.’

An hour later, I was sitting under the awning of the campsite with rapidly drying clothes/hair/spirit, a beer in my hand, watching the practice sessions on the big screen and waiting for the Marussia Virgin drivers to make an appearance. Maybe this camping lark wasn’t so bad after all.

Finally, David Croft from 5Live came onstage and announced Timo Glock, Jerome D’Ambrosio (apologies for lack of accents), Sakon Yamamoto and boo hiss, Robert Wickens (whom Jade and I gave evils to, on account of his not being very nice about Felipe Massa during one of the practice sessions this year. Us Massa fans never forget, Wickens). The chat involved a Q&A with the audience (‘Can you break Vettel’s finger? Can you break Christian Horner’s shaky leg?’), during which Timo revealed that Felipe had visited him after Brazil 2008 to let him know there were no hard feelings. Then he made a joke about now owning ’10 McLarens’. Too soon, Timo, too soon.

To top off the evening, the drivers then came into the crowd to sign autographs and pose for photos. I, like every other female member of the audience I suspect, developed a crush on the considerably not-ugly Jerome. Of all the times you want to meet someone that stunning, it is not when you have frizzy hair, damp clothes and a face that has had all the make-up washed off it due to the pelting rain.

We then made the most of a break in the rain to brave the showers and Vanity Tent, where I dried my hair, not realizing that Gareth Jones, AKA Gaz Top of How 2 and Get Fresh fame, was blowing up an air mattress beside me. After that, it was time for an early(ish) night before things got any more surreal...

Saturday

We got ourselves settled in Club again for quali, after being yapped at by an old bint who complained that we were sitting in someone else’s seats. Clearly she didn’t understand the concept of roving grandstand tickets. Resisting the temptation to beat her up the face with her alice band, we moved somewhere else.

Quali was great up until halfway through Q3 when the rain made another appearance, just as most of the drivers were on their second runs. Therefore the end was a bit of an anti-climax, particularly as Red Bull took the top 2 spots yet again, albeit with Mark Webber snatching the pole this time. I was happy enough with Felipe's 4th place - this was the first time I'd been to a race since his accident so it was great just to see him. 

Darren Heath has nothing to fear

The rain then died off long enough for Ann and I to walk up to Luffield to meet Stu, a friend from TheScuderia.net, for a pint and watch the end of Bianchi’s win in the GP2 on the big screen. Stu and his family had brought along something truly sinister…

Back at the campsite, there were bands like The Scarletz and 50ft Woman playing, followed by a DJ set from Sakon Yamamoto (or ‘Suckoff Yamamofo’ as Crofty announced him as). We sat on the grass until it got dark, nursing our tins of beer and chatting. Magic. 

Gareth 'Gaz Top' Jones also proved himself to be an all-round sport, quite happy to do what I'm sure he gets asked to do every. single. day...

'HOWWWW'

After Sakon’s set was over, the rockier tunes got played and Ann made us all try her disgusting concoction of red wine and diet Coke… and I can confirm that you’d be better off drinking Benylin.

Somewhere around 1am, it turned into ‘An Audience with David Croft’. Having been aware of his presence all evening, it wasn’t until after the music had ended (and we planned to go to bed) that we felt sufficiently pissed enough to go and ask Crofty for a photo. This turned into a chat, which turned into Mrs Crofty dishing out white wine and lollipops, which turned into a crowd of people gathered around him listening to tales about F1 drivers which we weren’t allowed to repeat on Twitter. Best night EVER. We eventually all trudged to bed some time after 2am, faces sore from laughing.

Sunday

After a l o n g walk to Copse, we got settled into our seats for the drivers parade and race. 2 Massa fans and a Heidfeld fan, trapped amongst a sea of McLaren t-shirts and baseball caps. This made cheering for Felipe as he got past Jenson quite awkward. Similarly, I was sick as a pig at the cheering when Lewis overtook Fernando right under our noses. I have a lot of affection for Silverstone because it’s the first race I ever went to back in 1999, and of course it’s the ‘home’ race, but it’s very tough being a Massa/Ferrari fan at that track now. When I first went, I’d estimate that about 75% of the crowd were in Ferrari gear – but now, that would be less than 10% easily. From what I saw, anyway. It makes for a great atmosphere, with all the cheering for the British guys, but when you have grown up with a natural aversion to All Things McLaren, it can be a bit hard to take. It’s fair to say that parts of the crowd weren’t exactly Schumacher or Alonso-friendly. Having said that, I think that there was a collective sigh of relief when someone other than Sebastian Vettel won.

Heading back to the mini-bus, we had the chance to have a better look at the new Silverstone wing. There’s no doubt it looks good – but I personally think it lacks character. Part of Silverstone’s charm for me was that it was what it was… an old airfield plonked in the middle of the English countryside.  However, if modernization is what it takes to ensure the British GP is kept on the calendar, then it can only be a good thing. Also great to see was fans being allowed to go onto the track at the end; something that I felt was lacking in previous years.

For our final night at the Marussia Virgin campsite (sob), there was a screening of Senna. I’d seen it twice already but was quite content to sit and watch it again. There was a round of applause when the film ended, and as people started to disperse, we were then told that Terry Fullerton, the man whom Senna describes in the film as his favourite person he raced against, was there. A proper goosebumps moment. He said a few words and afterwards spent time chatting to some of the crowd. 

The mood was rather subdued for the rest of the evening after Senna, so a few quiet drinks and a chat were had before everyone headed off to bed, sad to be going home the following day. Ann, Jade and I's travels before going back to reality took us to The White Horse pub in Silverstone village (which has fantastic vintage F1 posters that I covet for my kitchen), and Stratford-Upon-Avon, where we saw a Nick Heidfeld lookalike and Ann got lost (...hang on, were these two events related?)

'Nick'

Then, regretfully, it was time to go to the airport and say our goodbyes. I'm not sure where my F1 travels may or may not take me in 2012, but the Marussia Virgin Weekend surpassed my expectations in many ways. Yes, I got drenched. Yes, I had to traipse across a cricket pitch just to clean my teeth every morning. Yes, my eyes hurt from all the 'rocket red' McLaren baseball caps - but I wouldn't change any of it.

Post Grand Prix blues? Absolutely.

Random points to note

• Timmy
• Creepy tree
• 'It can't be right!'
• 'It's 2am and I'm in a field in Buckinghamshire - where the fuck am I supposed to get a banana?'
• Colin Murray. Limelight. Belfast.
• 'I know we're on a campsite but wash your fucking hair!'