Up before the larks this morning for a Kerouacian sort of day, driving to Barcelona. It is always a pleasure leaving Paris at five in the morning, without the plague of traffic. On the run down to Orleans, in the dark, I passed a car towing an old racing Bugatti, which was a joy to see and seemed somehow apt in the circumstances, as I an headed for the Spanish GP. No, perhaps today is not as glamorous as the days when drive such cars down to San Sebastian, but each generation must make the most of what we have, and this knocks spots off Easyjet or the dreaded Vueling.
After the aeolian-infested plains south of Paris, it was over the Loire and into the vast forests that stretch to Vierzon. I have stopped for coffee at Salbris, just adjacent to the international karting circuit, where many a young star has cut his teeth. If all goes well I’ll be in Clermont-Ferrand before 10.00 and then it will be up and over the Massif Centrale and lunch in the Mediterranean sunshine.
There are times when the life of an F1 journalist really is grand – early mornings and all.