… so I thought I’d stir things up a bit. Told the ladies and gentlemen of the press that we might lose a rookie team or two before the end of the season. And guess whose team sits firmly at the bottom of the rankings?
It only took a few minutes. Instead of my favourite Ennio Morricone soundtrack my phone belches out orgasm sounds. Note to self: ask Fabiana to change the ringtone for Richard Branson – it was a nice joke for a while, but when it happens in company you always have explaining to do.
Hello Richard, I say, what can I do for you? Sir Swinging Dick is not amused. How could you do that? he shouts. Everybody and his mate is calling me and I have to keep telling people that we’re in it for the long run. Which means at least for the next month in Branson’s case, but I decide not to mention that.
Well, I say, you could start with getting your cars to the finish line. I mean, isn’t that what racing is all about? To drive your way back to the paddock, rather than walk? But Sir Dick’s famous sense of humour has left him for now, apparently.
Listen Bernie, he says. Please just don’t make life more difficult for me than it already is. Do you think it’s fun to run into that smug bastard Tony Fernandes all the time? Keeps reminding me of our bet that the last one in has to serve drinks in the other’s airline, dressed as a stewardess.
Well you don’t have to remind me either, I say. Thinking about it all the time. Don’t you have your favourite dress still hanging in your closet?
I hear a deep sigh at the other end. OK Bernie, he says, I can tell there’s no reasoning with you right now. Please just stop spreading rumours and innuendo about our financial position, OK? That’s all I ask. And he rings off.
I’m trying to erase the image from my mind. Not easy, but I do have some serious conversations ahead. Life ain’t easy for the Godfather.