So now I’ve become a tour guide

I shouldn’t’ve made that joke about the Maldives. All of a sudden every politician and their brother are all over me because their bloody backwater is supposed to be an ideal venue for the next Grand Prix.

Here’s just another day in the Singapore paddock: I’ve got a Chicago politician in tow, some Russian Deputy Prime Minister whose name is Dimitri Cossack (I’m not making this up), and a Prime Minister of Mauritius whose name I won’t even begin to pronounce. All three are eager to impress me with their countries’ prowess, and the countless millions of locals that are supposedly pining to have two dozen racing machines screaming through their respective neighbourhoods. On top of that, the Chicago pol has a really crappy camera.

But who knows what the future holds? Hard to tell if, silly as it may seem now, it would become interesting to hold a Grand Prix in the streets of Chicago or on Mauritius’ beaches. So you lie back and think of England, and dutifully hold up the tour guide flag.

And of course the locusts are swarming all over this. As we speak, at least one idiot F1 journo has already written an instructive article on this very promising little country and how helpful it would be for the local economy if we held an African Grand Prix there.

Memo to all journos: please stop doing this. I am not planning to become a full time tour guide. We’ve got our own plans for future F1 calendars and we’d rather be driven over by the safety car than share them with you.

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