Life after Schumacher begins in Melbourne
Endowed since birth with a skull of at least twice the imperviousness of those belonging to most mortals, it took until about this time last year for the message finally to sink in to my brain. Happily motoring along by myself in a six cylinder, three litre conveyance with barely a passing nod at the sandal-wearing, tambourine-bashing conservationists, I suffered no guilt. Whenever I filled the car's capacious tank with super expensive performance juice costing enough to feed a small Congolese village for a week, I thought of nothing but the fun ahead. Each time I depressed the super-responsive accelerator pedal and felt the surge of energy go through to the machine's wheels I felt nothing but near orgasmic pleasure. The ultra-noxious fumes spewing out of the beautifully crafted double exhaust system at the rear of the car were as nothing. Another notch upwards on the global temperature thermometer? What of it? A polar bear drowning in a sea of melted ice? Well, I've never seen any of the wretched creatures, so more power to my wheels!
A conversion was dramatically forced upon me. Paul falling off his horse on the way to Damascus has nothing on me, I can tell you. Darth Vader emerging from the dark side? Tchah! A new chapter on "The miraculous conversion of Gitau" is being speedily put to paper as I write this.
Here is how it happened. I was stationary at a traffic junction awaiting the lights to beckon me forward. On the Bose stereo with enhanced speakers, Wagner's "Ride of the Valykries" was thundering away. The lights changed and a green filter told me that it was now permissible to turn right. Needing no further persuasion, I gave the Beemer full welly and aimed to get the rev counter to inch towards the "red" zone. At that moment, an idiot on a bicycle travelling on the other side of the road in the opposite direction chose to treat his red signal as a come-on. One hundredth of a second less of Gitau awareness would have ensured that said cyclist would, seconds thereafter, be negotiating long term living accommodation in Hades with Lucifer. A failure in the German engineering that saw to the precision of ABS braking would have meant curtains for the blasted fellow. He was spared, I am pleased to say. The same cannot be said for Gitau. Women screamed in horror. Elderly gentlemen fainted. A dog yelped like a baying wolf. An innocent defender of the world's environment was about to be mown down by a reckless carbon thug? It couldn't happen. I was dragged out of my machine - notwithstanding a couple of movements of Wagner's classic still left to play - and almost nearly torn apart. I saw a gap between a large ladies legs, crawled through and am still alive to tell the tale.
Never mind that the Beemer was torched, that's not the point. The point is I am now a convert to the cause. I now refuse to set foot on any aircraft. I only eat food which has travelled no more than two hundred yards. I have a Mahatma Ghandiesque spinning wheel in the spare room which I use to spin my sparse clothes. I spit on every motor vehicle I come across. Chipo has often laughed in shock at my obsessive switching off of lights. Pointless carbon emissioning is evil to me. Formula One is…
Well, I think you get the gist of the thing. We are at the start of a season of the least carbon friendly activity there is on the planet. Each fortnight, extortionately expensive carbon-dioxide spewing racing cars are flown and trucked about the globe accompanied by armies of people. If we were serious about combating climate change Formula One would be banned forthwith. Is it going to be? You must be out of your mind. Formula One is about three things: money, glamour and fun. Are we going to stop watching it? The response to that is not printable on a family-friendly blog..
So here we are again at the start of another year of F1. How long the last six months have seemed my friends! I am sitting at my desk quivering with excitement. Not since the eighties have we had a season with as uncertain a conclusion. The reason is quite simple really: Michael Schumacher is not driving. Read that again and let it sink in. In F1 terms this as significant as saying that George Bush deeply regrets invading Iraq and is pulling the American troops out next week. Who is going to take over the mantle? From where I sit this is a question with as unclear an answer as whether Silvio Berlusconi wears ladies knickers.
Let's examine the facts. Ferrari have not lost their speed and, one would expect, nor their reliability. McLaren are, as ever, a contender. Renault are firmly in the frame and BMW and Honda must be considered as players too. The drivers are the big question marks. Is Kimi Raikkonen big enough to fit into Schumacher's oversized boots? Will Felipe Massa outdrive him to prove a point - particularly on the days when Kimi is too hung over to think clearly? Is the world champion, Fernando Alonso, going to be able to prove his mettle in a new team or will the young pretender, Lewis Hamilton, show him up. Can Jenson Button finally silence his critics? Was it a mistake to retain Giancarlo Fisichella at Renault? These are all questions which are impossible to answer today.
For now let's bathe ourselves in the glow of Melbourne's sunshine. It is without doubt one of the most beautiful locations for a Formula One race in the world. The adrenalin is pumping, fear is taking the place of bravado for some and panic for certainty for others. Outside the grid everyone is smiling - well, at least they should be. For on Sunday we return to the world we love. It might sometimes taste like cat's piss but I am minded to seek out a decent drop of Australian chardonnay in preparation for what I hope will be a great weekend. I trust you too will,
Enjoy Melbourne!
Gitau
16th March 2007
A conversion was dramatically forced upon me. Paul falling off his horse on the way to Damascus has nothing on me, I can tell you. Darth Vader emerging from the dark side? Tchah! A new chapter on "The miraculous conversion of Gitau" is being speedily put to paper as I write this.
Here is how it happened. I was stationary at a traffic junction awaiting the lights to beckon me forward. On the Bose stereo with enhanced speakers, Wagner's "Ride of the Valykries" was thundering away. The lights changed and a green filter told me that it was now permissible to turn right. Needing no further persuasion, I gave the Beemer full welly and aimed to get the rev counter to inch towards the "red" zone. At that moment, an idiot on a bicycle travelling on the other side of the road in the opposite direction chose to treat his red signal as a come-on. One hundredth of a second less of Gitau awareness would have ensured that said cyclist would, seconds thereafter, be negotiating long term living accommodation in Hades with Lucifer. A failure in the German engineering that saw to the precision of ABS braking would have meant curtains for the blasted fellow. He was spared, I am pleased to say. The same cannot be said for Gitau. Women screamed in horror. Elderly gentlemen fainted. A dog yelped like a baying wolf. An innocent defender of the world's environment was about to be mown down by a reckless carbon thug? It couldn't happen. I was dragged out of my machine - notwithstanding a couple of movements of Wagner's classic still left to play - and almost nearly torn apart. I saw a gap between a large ladies legs, crawled through and am still alive to tell the tale.
Never mind that the Beemer was torched, that's not the point. The point is I am now a convert to the cause. I now refuse to set foot on any aircraft. I only eat food which has travelled no more than two hundred yards. I have a Mahatma Ghandiesque spinning wheel in the spare room which I use to spin my sparse clothes. I spit on every motor vehicle I come across. Chipo has often laughed in shock at my obsessive switching off of lights. Pointless carbon emissioning is evil to me. Formula One is…
Well, I think you get the gist of the thing. We are at the start of a season of the least carbon friendly activity there is on the planet. Each fortnight, extortionately expensive carbon-dioxide spewing racing cars are flown and trucked about the globe accompanied by armies of people. If we were serious about combating climate change Formula One would be banned forthwith. Is it going to be? You must be out of your mind. Formula One is about three things: money, glamour and fun. Are we going to stop watching it? The response to that is not printable on a family-friendly blog..
So here we are again at the start of another year of F1. How long the last six months have seemed my friends! I am sitting at my desk quivering with excitement. Not since the eighties have we had a season with as uncertain a conclusion. The reason is quite simple really: Michael Schumacher is not driving. Read that again and let it sink in. In F1 terms this as significant as saying that George Bush deeply regrets invading Iraq and is pulling the American troops out next week. Who is going to take over the mantle? From where I sit this is a question with as unclear an answer as whether Silvio Berlusconi wears ladies knickers.
Let's examine the facts. Ferrari have not lost their speed and, one would expect, nor their reliability. McLaren are, as ever, a contender. Renault are firmly in the frame and BMW and Honda must be considered as players too. The drivers are the big question marks. Is Kimi Raikkonen big enough to fit into Schumacher's oversized boots? Will Felipe Massa outdrive him to prove a point - particularly on the days when Kimi is too hung over to think clearly? Is the world champion, Fernando Alonso, going to be able to prove his mettle in a new team or will the young pretender, Lewis Hamilton, show him up. Can Jenson Button finally silence his critics? Was it a mistake to retain Giancarlo Fisichella at Renault? These are all questions which are impossible to answer today.
For now let's bathe ourselves in the glow of Melbourne's sunshine. It is without doubt one of the most beautiful locations for a Formula One race in the world. The adrenalin is pumping, fear is taking the place of bravado for some and panic for certainty for others. Outside the grid everyone is smiling - well, at least they should be. For on Sunday we return to the world we love. It might sometimes taste like cat's piss but I am minded to seek out a decent drop of Australian chardonnay in preparation for what I hope will be a great weekend. I trust you too will,
Enjoy Melbourne!
Gitau
16th March 2007
posted by Gitau at 1:36 pm
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