Lost Weekend

Wow, what a crazy weekend. So crazy in fact its taken me until Wednesday to actually commit it to the blog.

On Saturday I went over to wonderful Brum to celebrate Pete's 21st birthday. Arriving at about 1ish I was greeted by absolutely gorgeous weather. We headed to the Gosta for a bit of pub lunch and basically sat around for 3 hours drinking coke and enjoying the sun. It was nice to catch up with both Pete and Will, and the housemates that I'd met on my previous visit.

We then went across to millennium point Imax for the 5pm showing of Nascar 3D. Yannick managed to completely disregard the innocence of children by saying "suck my dick" within metres of a little girl. I had previously said 'fuck' but asserted it was "okay, because I just heard her say fuck too". Nascar, in 3D and on a screen the size of God, did not disappoint, the in car race shots were excellent, you really felt as if you were nestled in between the bars of the roll cage. Amusingly Yannick ducked when a tyre flew out towards the audience. There were a few moments where the 3D didn't quite work, but for the most part it was absolutely excellent.

After Nascar we hit the Co-op for some booze and headed back for some poker. There were a few tense moments, particularly when Yannick took Pete to the cleaners; somewhat unfair considering Pete, Matt and I had all never played poker before. I lasted a little longer, but not much, going out against will, we both had flushes but will held the ace, meaning he took the lot.
The night's partying was taken to the Walkabout where some northern monkey band were playing. When they'd finished we basically danced to cheesy music and laughed at how mental Helen was. Pete was playing tonsil tennis with some chick called Donna (as yet I have no update as to whether this has escalated since the visit). In some clumsy attempts to get Pete some rumpo, we ended up at Donna's house at about four in the morning before giving up and getting a taxi back. My toes were screaming after a night in shoes two sizes too small.

Sunday began as a lazy day, waking up at around 11:30 and heading to Burger King for an easy lunch. I arrived on time for my Virgin train, but unfortunately my Virgin train was not on time for me. I had to wait 35 minutes, baking on the New Street platform, for the train to arrive. All seat reservations were cancelled, and the train was packed, so I decided to find one of the seats by the toilets. It didn't smell too bad so I just stayed there for the whole journey. Several delays later and I arrived in Brighton. Had the train been on time, I would have had the time to queue for a ticket for a Falmer. Instead, the Falmer train left and I had to leg it through the midday-levels of heat to the bus stop. It was crucial that I caught the beginning of the Grand Prix...

I had suspected something mental might happen. All the way through the weekend I had been following the F1 news on my various regular news sites, and it wasnt looking good for Michelin. Nothing, however, could prepare me for Jim Rosenthal solemnly informing the British public that, with around 5 minutes to go, no one knew if the race would happen. Watching 14 F1 cars peeling off into the pits at the end of the parade lap, as the remaining six line up on the grid, is something I will never forget. There has been much said about the farce that was the 2005 US Grand Prix and there will be much more said. What was clear to me was that the FIA clearly had little or no desire to ensure that a proper race would occur. The scale of the damage to F1 in America, a country which already has a fairly choice selection of motorsports on offer, is massive. Not only has this damaged the chances of a return to Indianapolis, the fact that the hardcore of American fans who actually made the effort to attend the race has been offended, I can't see any sane promoter taking Formula One on in the next few years. This effectively puts paid to suggestions, such as the Las Vegas race, that were being bandied around the paddock before Michelin-gate reared its ugly head.

It seems we are referring to an awful lot of events in F1 these days as something-'gate'. I don't have a problem with the politics per-se, but the FIA should be wary of the off-track escapades becoming more interesting than the races themselves. I think in 2004 this was certainly the case, and I'm not sure how many seasons of that kind Formula One can weather. Perhaps Paul Stoddart should start selling "Make Politics History" wristbands to fund all the development Minardi will have to perform to make it through the next wave of Mosley's regulations.

Currently impressed by: The weather... wow!
Currently non-plussed by: The speed with which Uni is ending.
Current urge: Get my bloody PayPal account sorted.