Day one:
Silverstone was invaded today by testing die-hards (and saddos) Minardi fan (moi) and BAR Harlot, to begin another pointless season of watching cars go round the same corner over and over and over and over again. And of standing around gossiping and drinking coffee all day. We were joined by Hakkiman and the usual rag-tag bunch of photographers, jostling for place (and jaffa cakes) at Woodcote.
The morning generally consisted of Fisichella doing not very much, several runs in the old Jordan, and several one-lappers in the spanky new luminescent Jordan. Which looked awful. Nippy. But awful. It also consisted of a strip show and much innuendo. See what yer missing?!
Following the lunchbreak when batteries were recharged and caffeine levels restored, we returned to the terraces. To freeze our a*ses off. Fisichella returned to the track at mysterious fifteen-minute intervals in the new car, before ending the day shortly before 4pm with a run of about 5 laps. By the end of the afternoon, I had managed to acquire a record-breaking SEVEN layers of clothing. And was still freezing my nipples off. Almost literally.
Is this the point where I put lap times? Erm...