Monthly Archives: November 2010

All right, here it is, once and for all

A lot of people called to wish me well, some sincere, some not. I positively loathe this business when people you hardly know phone you up and start to tell you how deeply they feel for you. In most cases I can just tell seconds into the call how insincere the bloke on the other end is.

The most common giveaway is when they want you to go into details about what exactly happened. The French call it schadenfreude and it ain’t pretty. Someone else’s suffering is one of the most popular sources of entertainment. It happened to him, which makes me extra lucky it didn’t happen to me. Call me a cynic, but it’s true.

So here we go: Continue reading

Flavio Briatore called. Now here’s a true friend

“Bernie,” he bawls into the phone. Flav has never made the transition to modern technology and still thinks that being on a mobile connection is a reason to shout. “Are you all right?”

Fine, I say, just a black eye and a dent in my self esteem. Seen worse.

“And how’s the lovely Fabiana?” Well, a bit worse for wear. It was quite traumatic for her, what with her earrings being ripped off her ears and all.

“Yes, I heard that! As I said to my bella Elisabeta when I heard the news, it’s a terrible thing to have happen when you’re with your girlfriend. Almost as bad as bumping into your wife!”

I see. What did she say?

“Nothing! She just whacked me over the head and ran off to the nearest jeweller to buy a diamond necklace. It’s how most of our conversations end.”

I can see that, Flavio. May you have a long and happy marriage and never run out of money to buy diamond necklaces.

“Why Bernie, that’s the nicest thing someone’s said to me in all my life! Mamma mia! I truly, sincerely hope that you and la bella Fabiana get over this verry soon. If you need one my villas, just say the word. Any time you like, as long as you like!”

Never say a wrong word about Flavio. He’s a true friend.

Sir Big Swinging Dick calls. Does he care?

No, he doesn’t. Says he wishes us well and then quickly moves on to the real reason for the call.

“Bernie,” he asks. “Have you ever waxed your legs?” Formula One has no shortage of weirdos.

Sorry, I tell him, but I’m afraid it never crossed my mind. Been through a lot in those eighty years, but this bit never came up. Why the question? Do I want to know?

“It’s this bet I had with Tony Fernandes. The one about serving as a stewardess in the other’s airline.”

Ah yes. Tony and BSD had a bet who would end higher in the Championship. Big Swinging Dick lost and now he has to do a stint as a stewardess on Air Asia. But why the waxing?

“Well, I’ll tell you, Bernie, Tony’s not the one you want to lose a bet with. He’s now come up with a lot of extra stuff I have to do to make true on the bet. Wants me to shave my legs, put on make up, wear high heels and clean toilets!

“The worst of it is, he’s stealing a leaf out of my book. I’m the one that’s supposed to come up with stunts like that. So I’ll have to go one up on him. I’ve no choice. He wants my legs shaved, I’ll wax ’em. He wants some make up on my face, I’ll put on the full works. In fact I’m trying out lipstick and mascara as we speak. Great stuff, you know. Because I’m worth it!

The mugging must’ve affected me more than I thought. The idea of having Big Swinging Dick on the phone while he’s putting on lipstick in front of a vanity mirror, so soon after that other traumatic experience, is more than I can handle.

Awfully sorry, I say, but I’ve no experience with either waxing my legs or putting on lip shade. In fact, in all those years I’ve never even left the house in drag, believe it or not. Now if you’ll excuse me? I’ve work to do.

Max Mosley called. Was he worried?

No. All he wanted to know was “Did it hurt? and “Did you enjoy it?”

Not that he wasn’t polite or anything. “I do feel for you, Bernie,” he said. “And Fabiana too. In fact, I feel for you so much that I’m going to honour you with a role play in my dungeon. I was getting tired of those prison guards anyway. Tried leather clad tax auditresses for a while but it’s almost as boring as doing your taxes. This’ll definitely provide a bit of variety. So thanks, both of you, for the inspiration. Get well soon.”

Great. Now we’re a role play in Max’s dungeon. I can just picture him wearing a naff suit and having his earrings ripped off by a female mugger in a Victoria’s Secret bra and a leather harness. Argh.

Lewis, let me help you out again

First there was the hooning problem. The FIA can now revoke F1 licences for anyone who won’t behave on the roads, and Lewis can’t help himself behind the wheel of a fast car. So I bought him a little Myers three wheeler with 27bhp and only one rear wheel. Can’t go wrong with that.

But now poor old Lewis has discovered Twitter. And guess what? Can’t help himself again.

“How could I know that so many people would read my tweets?” he says. “I thought I was only speaking to my fans!”

Lewis, if you put something on the Twitter the whole world can see it, not only your fans. Even I know that, and I’m from before the War.

“But that’s impossible! This means I can’t type anything on my phone without half the world getting their balls in a knot? That’s unfair! If I have a smartphone, I should be able to use it to the limit, shouldn’t I? It’s just like with cars!”

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Don’t worry, I’m alive and kicking

OK, I was mugged. It happens to the best of us.

I know, I know, I said not so long ago that muggers tend to look for the soft and not too bright, but I was mainly needling Jenson, wasn’t I? I mean, the lad needed a bit of a prod to keep him in the running for the Championship, that was all. And I did apologise.

And let’s face it, I did say that mugging was more common in central London, didn’t I? Did I hit the nail on the head with that one, or didn’t I?

Personally I’m not easily affected by four losers going after a watch and some jewellery. If you’re used to the shenanigans in the F1 world, a simple mugging just looks like child’s play. But it’s a bloody shame it had to happen to my beloved Fabiana as well, and right outside my front door, too. Poor girl, women really react badly to things like this. And I just wished The Sun wouldn’t’ve highlighted the bit about the 200,000 quid’s worth. That was for the insurance, not for the press.

Goran

Anyway, the Yard’s Robbery Squad has announced they’re hot on the trail of the blokes who did it. Apparently we weren’t the first ones to be given the once-over.

I can only say one thing to you, muggers: if I were you I’d really, really hope that Scotland Yard got to you first. Because I’ve put Goran, my Head of Security on the case. Goran (pictured here in his favourite pose) learned a lot of interesting techniques during the Balkan wars and he’s been complaining about getting rusty lately. Told me he badly needs some practice.

So pray, morons. Pray that the Yard finds you first.

The most retweeted, reblogged photo in F1

Caption suggestions are all over the Twitterverse, ranging from “Check this out, not bad for a second drviver, eh?” to “This is what Red Bull’s tried to do to me all season.” Or “How about this for a tie-breaker proposal?”

Don’t be fooled. people. Whatever he may be, Mark Webber is not a wimp.