I know, I know. Haven’t been blogging for quite a while. But now I’m in KL, visiting my first race of the season, I couldn’t help it. I had to break the silence.
That silence was Fabiana’s idea, really. Said we drew too much attention and that brought the muggers upon us. Bullshit, of course, but what can one do? You can’t argue with women. At least, I can’t. Problem is, I’m a negotiator. One of the best, I might say, and I’ve got the billions to prove it. But arguing with women is not like negotiating. They’re simply not receptive to it. Their brains work differently. Which is why they don’t run F1.
But I do. Not the FIA, not the teams. Me.
Especially not the teams, by the way. Continue reading
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
“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.
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.
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.
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.