Paddock Bars

I tend to use paddock bars and cafes to charge my phone.  And use the wifi.  But its ok, because I always buy something.

Silverstone, I think it was the Friday of the WEC, and I might have had a large whiskey, because, you know, it was bloomin’ freezing.  Then it took a while to charge, so yeah, I bought another.  Well, I had a voucher.  So I got back to the campsite and made some pasta for my poor little tummy.  I filled the saucepan with water to wash it out (ever vigilant of my own cooking).  Up to the fence where the new copse is growing to fling away the water… and the pan went with it.  Then I fell over the fence while I went and fetched it.  Twice.

I’ve been sat at charging duties there and watched French mechanics cheering as someone launched a borrowed folding bike down the steps outside then crashed into a picnic table.

At Oulton Park, the British GT meeting went Saturday, Monday, with Sunday free to mooch.  I mooched diligently (in bed) until the sun turned my tent into a sweatbox, braved the public showers (no verucas so far) then wandered the grounds of the beautiful track.  Suitably sunburned, I headed for Checkers, the clubhouse to grab a front row seat for the Monaco GP.  I bought a tea, a bottle of coke and a banana (staggered stints, you see).  The place gradually filled with mechanics and drivers and other camping marshals, and it was a great atmosphere, with groans and cheers and a dignified applause at the end for old Lew.

A bit of begging from me, some cajoling from the Carlin mechanics and we got the Indy 500 on.  Which was awesome.  Then a late showing of Steve McQueen’s Le Mans.  It’s now 9.30 at night and I’ve been in there for TEN HOURS.

And I forgot to charge my phone.



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