You should’ve seen Fernando last Sunday at Silverstone. He spent every moment he could spare on watching the broadcasts from Jo’burg. The picture shows him stealing some glances just before the race. He had his mechanic rig his monitor to show the feed from South Africa while pretending to check all the car’s systems.
Personally I’m not surprised he mucked up the race. Let’s face it, he let on himself that the Spanish soccer team’s chances of winning were a lot better than his own.
Afterwards he watched the match with the rest of the Spanish mafia from the Ferrari motorhome. Hardly had Spain won, or he called me. “We won,” he shouted. Well, I said, your soccer team did. You didn’t.
“Bernie,” he said, clearly not listening, “now’s the time. Ferrari, I mean F1, have to go to South Africa. It’s the greatest country for sports events. It’s a place where referees have respect for the Spanish, where they make favourable decisions instead of treating us badly! You must call Nelson Mandela now. I think he’s at home because he wasn’t at the stadium. Do you have his number?”