A close friend who lives 3 hours drive from Melbourne decided to (finally) get married. This was good.
She scheduled the wedding date the same weekend as the Grand Prix. That bit was bad. Because when I try to have my cake and etc.... things invariably become hyper complicated. To keep it simple, I am driving a great distance in a very short time, and for once I'm thankful Bernie Moneybags demanded that the GP starts at 5pm on Sunday. It means I have a chance of getting back in time for the race, and not displeasing the motorsport powers-what-be to the point of getting kicked out of the marshalling team.
I've been conscripted into the communications team these days. That means I listen to the race control loop all day and occasionally call in with something really, really trivial just to remind them that I still exist. To top things off, I am posted on the the most boring section of track, ever.
Still, things started swimmingly enough. Of all the boring of boringest posts on the track, Bruno Senna had to walk past mine, on Thursday morning. With my meagre Portuguese I gave him a hearty greeting, and he gave me a hearty response.
That pretty much had my weekend made. Now here's some pics, hot off the press, of some people you probably don't know and shiny expensive things.
Nick Heidfeld, who I mistook for Nico Rosberg, (who really should grow a beard as he is often mistaken for a woman) but I don't think he noticed. Don't mention the w....