w.atching the w.orld unw.ind

Today's lyric:

"I'm just about glad that I knew you once
And it was more than just a passing acquaintance
I'm just about glad that it was a memory
That doesn't need constant maintenance
There are a few things that I regret
But nothing that I need to forget
For all of the courage that we never had
I'm just about glad."

Elvis Costello: "Just about glad"
From the album: "Brutal Youth"

Alfie was just about right.

We managed to get a standing spot at Copse (at the end of the first straight/pit lane) but it's such a fast corner that they really are just a blur.

So after the off, there's a gap of about two minutes until they all come buzzing back, then, as pitting starts, there's someone coming past pretty much all the time so you can't hear the commentary above the deafening roar of those monstrously powerful engines. And you end up relying on the (largely silent) large screens - through binoculars - which is effectively like watching the telly with the sound turned right up?

Without the benefit of a beer to hand or being able to pee without queuing for two days?

The Red Arrows were good, though. We missed the intro to the pilots because some inconsiderate git in the pits was revving up. At a race-track. I ask you.

But it seemed they had a woman in charge of the manouevres. "Ssssss. Break - LEFT"
(At this point, I'll resist the cheap and easy temptation to add that she then said "No, wait, RIGHT. No. No. Hang on. Which hand is my wedding ring on. Left. Yes - LEFT. Oh. Bugger. They've all gone.")

Absolute precision flying. More skilful and dangerous than the racing we'd actually gone to see, although those guys do earn their crust for the manic speeds they throw those cars around at.

But we shan't be going again, thankyou.