The Narcissism of Lewis Hamilton
Spring in England can bring about the most surprising and welcome of contrasts. To anyone finding themselves outside yesterday in the bone-freezing, howling wind and blinding snow, the statement “it is a good deal worse in Siberia” would have been barely credible. This morning, as I opened my door and raised my eyes upwards, I was greeted by the most glorious day I have seen this year. The sky was clear blue and I could feel the warmth of the sun on my face. Glancing westward and seeing a mountain of triangular glass, nicknamed “The Shard”, towering over the roofs of the south bank of the Thames and glistening in the cloudless sky, I felt that London had never looked more beautiful.
It was on just such a day in Hertfordshire in 2010 when Anthony Hamilton, filled with the joys of Spring, stepped into his car and drove to his son’s house. In his briefcase were detailed plans upon which he had applied much attention in finalising on the previous evening. The plans represented his blueprint for getting his son Lewis to finish the forthcoming Formula One season as world champion. The momentum of the historic world championship win by Lewis in 2008 had been slightly upset by the head start Brawn Racing had enjoyed early in 2009 which had given them an unassailable lead. 2009 had been an anomaly in Anthony’s mind and he knew in his heart of hearts that the boy wonder of 2007 had not been quite forgotten by the watching world. For Anthony, any doubts about Lewis because he only jut scraped a championship in 2008 would forever be put to rest by Anthony’s 2010 plans.
Anthony found Lewis sitting glumly in his patio with a mug of tea in his hand. Anthony immediately noticed something was untoward when he made a remark about how beautiful the day was. Lewis neither acknowledged this nor looked up at the sky; he simply shrugged his shoulders. Lewis had never found it easy to keep anything away from his father and it was clear to the older man that he was making a great effort at remaining calm. All the same, there was much that Anthony wished to talk about. Telling himself there would be ample time later to discuss personal matters such as girlfriends, he launched into the matter with which he had concerned himself all of the previous evening. He quickly noticed from Lewis’s vacant expression that nothing his father was saying met with his interest. This surprised Anthony a great deal. For Lewis was never tired by discussing strategy and how he might outwit his competitors. Something was afoot. Still, knowing not to labour a conversation at a non-receptive time, Anthony chose to end it then, but departed having reminded his son that they did not have the luxury of too much time and would need to apply themselves to business quickly.
Shortly afterwards, Anthony received a letter from his son informing him that his services as manager had been terminated. Hamilton Sr.’s response was phlegmatic: the boy was entitled to run his own affairs now that he was grown up. Nevertheless, in the fullness of time, he sounded a fatherly warning to his son: “Do what you feel you must, but whatever you, do not throw it all away like James Hunt.”
James Hunt was a one time English world champion from the 1970s. He lived a life of increasingly ludicrous dissipation after the early end of his F1 career until he died of a heart attack at the age of 45.
On a day a day not unlike this one a year ago, I enjoyed a delightful stroll along the Thames in the afternoon, taking in the sun and observing the many happy people making the most of a lovely Spring day in London. I stopped to have some tea in the café at Tate Modern and while there was surprised to see none other than Anthony Hamilton sitting by the window in the company of a young man whom I did not recognise. After Hamilton Sr. and his son parted company in 2010, Hamilton Sr. had assumed responsibility for the driving careers of a few up and coming racing drivers. I had heard that he was in the habit of taking them out of their cocooned world and placing them in environments where other things might influence their outlook on life and make them more balanced drivers. Seeing a young man in the tutelage of his manager inside one of my favourite places, a large world famous art gallery, was not, therefore, remarkable. All the same, it was pleasing.
Once Hamilton and the young man had finished their refreshments, I followed them at a discreet distance and was intrigued to see that for the day’s lesson, Hamilton had chosen to place the young man before Salvador Dali’s masterpiece Metamorphosis of Narcissus. Hamilton was, at least in my eyes, a very wise man indeed.
I
I can do a lot worse than allow the Tate’s own curators describe the work in their inimitable style:
http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/dali-metamorphosis-of-narcissus-t02343/text-summary
My thoughts were catapulted back to this event when I read an interview in The Guardian this week which represented Lewis at his most vain and ridiculous. I used to think of Lewis as being akin to another character from Greek mythology – Icarus, the boy who disregarded his father’s advice and flew too high; the sun melted the wax which held his wings together and he fell to his death – but I can only now see him as Narcissus. Here is a link to the interview:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/sport/2013/mar/11/lewis-hamilton-greatness-f1-museum-jet
Apart from hoping to build “The Lewis Hamilton Museum” of – er – Lewis Hamilton, which should earn the man a place in the pantheon of idiotic celebrities, what I found most risible was his desire to travel to races in the company of his pet bulldog, Roscoe. I was reminded of James Hunt who liked to dine in expensive Mayfair restaurants with his pet Alsatian dog, Oscar, but on second thoughts I think Hunt was eccentric and perhaps a little crazy, Hamilton is simply a twit.
Here he is in his new jet:
I wrote a despairing email to a friend a day later. I have just retrieved it and see no reason to revise my opinion now. Here is what I had to say:
“We are days away from the start of the 2013 F1 season and there is now clear evidence that the notion of being a celebrity – new, strange and exciting to the impressionable young lad in 2007 – has gone to Lewis Hamilton’s brain more profoundly than you and I ever discussed (or imagined!).
We are indeed at the start of a new season. The marvellous news is that it begins in Melbourne Australia, easily one of the best F1 locations. I fear, though, that there may be more to say about events off the track than on it, but let me not ruin your season too early.
Enjoy Australia and 2013!
Gitau
14 March 2013
It was on just such a day in Hertfordshire in 2010 when Anthony Hamilton, filled with the joys of Spring, stepped into his car and drove to his son’s house. In his briefcase were detailed plans upon which he had applied much attention in finalising on the previous evening. The plans represented his blueprint for getting his son Lewis to finish the forthcoming Formula One season as world champion. The momentum of the historic world championship win by Lewis in 2008 had been slightly upset by the head start Brawn Racing had enjoyed early in 2009 which had given them an unassailable lead. 2009 had been an anomaly in Anthony’s mind and he knew in his heart of hearts that the boy wonder of 2007 had not been quite forgotten by the watching world. For Anthony, any doubts about Lewis because he only jut scraped a championship in 2008 would forever be put to rest by Anthony’s 2010 plans.
Anthony found Lewis sitting glumly in his patio with a mug of tea in his hand. Anthony immediately noticed something was untoward when he made a remark about how beautiful the day was. Lewis neither acknowledged this nor looked up at the sky; he simply shrugged his shoulders. Lewis had never found it easy to keep anything away from his father and it was clear to the older man that he was making a great effort at remaining calm. All the same, there was much that Anthony wished to talk about. Telling himself there would be ample time later to discuss personal matters such as girlfriends, he launched into the matter with which he had concerned himself all of the previous evening. He quickly noticed from Lewis’s vacant expression that nothing his father was saying met with his interest. This surprised Anthony a great deal. For Lewis was never tired by discussing strategy and how he might outwit his competitors. Something was afoot. Still, knowing not to labour a conversation at a non-receptive time, Anthony chose to end it then, but departed having reminded his son that they did not have the luxury of too much time and would need to apply themselves to business quickly.
Shortly afterwards, Anthony received a letter from his son informing him that his services as manager had been terminated. Hamilton Sr.’s response was phlegmatic: the boy was entitled to run his own affairs now that he was grown up. Nevertheless, in the fullness of time, he sounded a fatherly warning to his son: “Do what you feel you must, but whatever you, do not throw it all away like James Hunt.”
James Hunt was a one time English world champion from the 1970s. He lived a life of increasingly ludicrous dissipation after the early end of his F1 career until he died of a heart attack at the age of 45.
On a day a day not unlike this one a year ago, I enjoyed a delightful stroll along the Thames in the afternoon, taking in the sun and observing the many happy people making the most of a lovely Spring day in London. I stopped to have some tea in the café at Tate Modern and while there was surprised to see none other than Anthony Hamilton sitting by the window in the company of a young man whom I did not recognise. After Hamilton Sr. and his son parted company in 2010, Hamilton Sr. had assumed responsibility for the driving careers of a few up and coming racing drivers. I had heard that he was in the habit of taking them out of their cocooned world and placing them in environments where other things might influence their outlook on life and make them more balanced drivers. Seeing a young man in the tutelage of his manager inside one of my favourite places, a large world famous art gallery, was not, therefore, remarkable. All the same, it was pleasing.
Once Hamilton and the young man had finished their refreshments, I followed them at a discreet distance and was intrigued to see that for the day’s lesson, Hamilton had chosen to place the young man before Salvador Dali’s masterpiece Metamorphosis of Narcissus. Hamilton was, at least in my eyes, a very wise man indeed.
I I can do a lot worse than allow the Tate’s own curators describe the work in their inimitable style:
http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/dali-metamorphosis-of-narcissus-t02343/text-summary
My thoughts were catapulted back to this event when I read an interview in The Guardian this week which represented Lewis at his most vain and ridiculous. I used to think of Lewis as being akin to another character from Greek mythology – Icarus, the boy who disregarded his father’s advice and flew too high; the sun melted the wax which held his wings together and he fell to his death – but I can only now see him as Narcissus. Here is a link to the interview:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/sport/2013/mar/11/lewis-hamilton-greatness-f1-museum-jet
Apart from hoping to build “The Lewis Hamilton Museum” of – er – Lewis Hamilton, which should earn the man a place in the pantheon of idiotic celebrities, what I found most risible was his desire to travel to races in the company of his pet bulldog, Roscoe. I was reminded of James Hunt who liked to dine in expensive Mayfair restaurants with his pet Alsatian dog, Oscar, but on second thoughts I think Hunt was eccentric and perhaps a little crazy, Hamilton is simply a twit.
Here he is in his new jet:
I wrote a despairing email to a friend a day later. I have just retrieved it and see no reason to revise my opinion now. Here is what I had to say:
“We are days away from the start of the 2013 F1 season and there is now clear evidence that the notion of being a celebrity – new, strange and exciting to the impressionable young lad in 2007 – has gone to Lewis Hamilton’s brain more profoundly than you and I ever discussed (or imagined!).
We are indeed at the start of a new season. The marvellous news is that it begins in Melbourne Australia, easily one of the best F1 locations. I fear, though, that there may be more to say about events off the track than on it, but let me not ruin your season too early.
Enjoy Australia and 2013!
Gitau
14 March 2013
posted by Gitau at 8:27 pm
3 comments
