Escape to Barcelona
The news on the airwaves on Wednesday afternoon this week reminded me of a series of curious conversations I had many years ago with a Catalonian girl called Delicia. She was working as an au pair in Paris for a well to do American family stationed there and I used to meet her in a seedy café called the Café Marseillaise from time to time. I often extended an invitation to Delicia to join me at my flat for discussions about surrealism and, perhaps, Uganda but she always declined. I would add sweeteners to the invitation like “I have a lovely unopened bottle of Chateau Lafite” or “I make an excellent lamb roast” but these were as nothing to Delicia.
“Why should I?” she would say in a throaty, lisping voice which drove me nuts.
“It may be a pleasurable experience for you,” I would reply.
She would then laugh and pat her bag in a knowing fashion. “I have all the pleasure I need,” she would say.
One day Delicia confided in me. She extracted a little kit from her bag which she opened and showed to me. It became clear that she regularly employed the kit with abandon. “Heroin?” I asked. She nodded. Feeling somewhat concerned, I then asked a couple of incredibly stupid questions.
“But why do you do it?” I asked.
“It helps me forget,” she said.
“Forget what?” I went on.
“Forget about me,” she said, insouciantly.
On Wednesday, Alexander Mosley, the son of FIA boss, Max Mosley, was found dead in his posh Notting Hill flat. He had overdone it with the old heroin. Like me all those years ago in Paris, the media networks began moralising. Predictably they spoke about his outstanding intellect, his vast wealth, his age, blah blah blah. None of them thought to say “well done, Alexander – at least you died happy.” If you were Alexander Mosley you might have had reason to look back and think, like Delicia, that sometimes one needs to escape from oneself – even if it means going to a place from which there can be no return. Alexander’s antecedents were so bizarre that it is not in the least bit surprising he suffered awkwardness with women.
Alexander’s grandfather, the founder of the British Union of Fascists, Oswald Mosley, was a proper shit. This did not cause him any trouble when it came to the fairer sex, though. While married to the daughter of a marquess, he conducted affairs with her stepmother and younger sister and a score of other women, including a baron’s daughter. Once his wife was dead from illness, leaving him a vastly enriched widower, he married the baron's daughter. Alexander's father, Max Mosley, is an enthusiastic and unembarrassed proponent of le vice Anglais (which I wrote about at length on this blog in July 2008). Enough reason, then, for Alexander to seek to escape from himself from time to time. To my mind, if the escape ended up being permanent, well, what of it?
Alexander Mosley’s death ahead of this weekend’s Spanish Grand Prix in Delicia’s home province prompted me to think that there may be a gentleman or two in Tokyo who should be actively considering committing hara-kiri. At each race when the Brawn GP cars (formerly Honda F1) lead the Formula One pack in full view of millions of television viewers everywhere and are then plastered all over the front pages of the world’s newspapers the next day, somebody at Honda must cry bitterly into his Kirin. Honda dropping their Formula One team at the end of last year must be the most stupid decision ever taken by a motor vehicle manufacturing company.
Motor vehicle manufacturers are taking the worst hammering since Gottlieb Daimler invented the high-speed petrol engine. Since the credit crunch began, the world has taken a collective decision not to buy new cars. Every day the news seems only to get worse. Today, Toyota, the world’s biggest car manufacturer, announced its worst ever figures and its first loss in 46 years. Acres and acres of cars are gathering dust in massive yards across the world. Car companies are doing all they can to try and shift some of these cars but to no avail. The splendid advertising opportunity afforded by Formula One must surely be a godsend.
You see, Grands Prix are not typically won by ordinarily-badged car companies. How many ordinary Joes can afford to buy a Ferrari or a McLaren-Mercedes? A volume manufacturer at the top of the tables is a matter of immense pride to them and a poke in the eye to the motor car aristocrats. It is the holy grail. In a year when they need all the help God can afford Honda, idiots, declined the gift Ross Brawn offered.
By way of comparison, look at the behaviour of Renault. They went to town when Fernando Alonso won two world championships in a row in a Renault. Advertising hoardings all over London were advertising Renault road cars but featuring Alonso’s F1 car. This happened for many months after the season was over and long forgotten. How much more could Honda be milking this season? You can see the newspaper advert already: “Ferrari, 0 points; Honda , 50 points. Ferrari, £150,000 at least per car; Honda, £15,000. Are you doing the maths?”
Oh well, I suppose hara-kiri swords are cheaper in a recession...
It is a race weekend and the action takes place in a European city, Barcelona. This usually is the time when the contest really begins. The teams are within driving distance of their garages and parts can be adapted a great deal more readily. I expect we will see far more significant advances from the big money teams than we have been used to. A lot is at stake this weekend. Whatever you do, do not miss the race.
Oh, and by the way, while you’re scratching your heads and doing the sums, do,
Enjoy Barcelona!
Gitau
8 May 2009
“Why should I?” she would say in a throaty, lisping voice which drove me nuts.
“It may be a pleasurable experience for you,” I would reply.
She would then laugh and pat her bag in a knowing fashion. “I have all the pleasure I need,” she would say.
One day Delicia confided in me. She extracted a little kit from her bag which she opened and showed to me. It became clear that she regularly employed the kit with abandon. “Heroin?” I asked. She nodded. Feeling somewhat concerned, I then asked a couple of incredibly stupid questions.
“But why do you do it?” I asked.
“It helps me forget,” she said.
“Forget what?” I went on.
“Forget about me,” she said, insouciantly.
On Wednesday, Alexander Mosley, the son of FIA boss, Max Mosley, was found dead in his posh Notting Hill flat. He had overdone it with the old heroin. Like me all those years ago in Paris, the media networks began moralising. Predictably they spoke about his outstanding intellect, his vast wealth, his age, blah blah blah. None of them thought to say “well done, Alexander – at least you died happy.” If you were Alexander Mosley you might have had reason to look back and think, like Delicia, that sometimes one needs to escape from oneself – even if it means going to a place from which there can be no return. Alexander’s antecedents were so bizarre that it is not in the least bit surprising he suffered awkwardness with women.
Alexander’s grandfather, the founder of the British Union of Fascists, Oswald Mosley, was a proper shit. This did not cause him any trouble when it came to the fairer sex, though. While married to the daughter of a marquess, he conducted affairs with her stepmother and younger sister and a score of other women, including a baron’s daughter. Once his wife was dead from illness, leaving him a vastly enriched widower, he married the baron's daughter. Alexander's father, Max Mosley, is an enthusiastic and unembarrassed proponent of le vice Anglais (which I wrote about at length on this blog in July 2008). Enough reason, then, for Alexander to seek to escape from himself from time to time. To my mind, if the escape ended up being permanent, well, what of it?
Alexander Mosley’s death ahead of this weekend’s Spanish Grand Prix in Delicia’s home province prompted me to think that there may be a gentleman or two in Tokyo who should be actively considering committing hara-kiri. At each race when the Brawn GP cars (formerly Honda F1) lead the Formula One pack in full view of millions of television viewers everywhere and are then plastered all over the front pages of the world’s newspapers the next day, somebody at Honda must cry bitterly into his Kirin. Honda dropping their Formula One team at the end of last year must be the most stupid decision ever taken by a motor vehicle manufacturing company.
Motor vehicle manufacturers are taking the worst hammering since Gottlieb Daimler invented the high-speed petrol engine. Since the credit crunch began, the world has taken a collective decision not to buy new cars. Every day the news seems only to get worse. Today, Toyota, the world’s biggest car manufacturer, announced its worst ever figures and its first loss in 46 years. Acres and acres of cars are gathering dust in massive yards across the world. Car companies are doing all they can to try and shift some of these cars but to no avail. The splendid advertising opportunity afforded by Formula One must surely be a godsend.
You see, Grands Prix are not typically won by ordinarily-badged car companies. How many ordinary Joes can afford to buy a Ferrari or a McLaren-Mercedes? A volume manufacturer at the top of the tables is a matter of immense pride to them and a poke in the eye to the motor car aristocrats. It is the holy grail. In a year when they need all the help God can afford Honda, idiots, declined the gift Ross Brawn offered.
By way of comparison, look at the behaviour of Renault. They went to town when Fernando Alonso won two world championships in a row in a Renault. Advertising hoardings all over London were advertising Renault road cars but featuring Alonso’s F1 car. This happened for many months after the season was over and long forgotten. How much more could Honda be milking this season? You can see the newspaper advert already: “Ferrari, 0 points; Honda , 50 points. Ferrari, £150,000 at least per car; Honda, £15,000. Are you doing the maths?”
Oh well, I suppose hara-kiri swords are cheaper in a recession...
It is a race weekend and the action takes place in a European city, Barcelona. This usually is the time when the contest really begins. The teams are within driving distance of their garages and parts can be adapted a great deal more readily. I expect we will see far more significant advances from the big money teams than we have been used to. A lot is at stake this weekend. Whatever you do, do not miss the race.
Oh, and by the way, while you’re scratching your heads and doing the sums, do,
Enjoy Barcelona!
Gitau
8 May 2009
posted by Gitau at 8:16 pm
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