Utter tragedy at the Formula 1 Grand Prix today. My mate Mick was forced to break the tradition of two years, because he couldn’t hold his usual GP party at his flat. It’s just near the track, with a roof garden, so you get all the atmosphere – the helicopters, the noise from the cars, the excitement of seeing and hearing them zoom around the track 59 times each – but all the comforts of home – a place to sit in the sun or shade as you prefer, a nice colour telly to watch the action on, and no queuing for twenty minutes just to go to the toilet or get a second-rate hotdog for $4.
Alas, Mick was out of town this weekend, so I had to watch the race at home. Which come to think of it is about the same, except without the noise.