It’s 03.27 in the morning in Sochi and the Internet is working. This is good. It has been a rough couple of days for the F1 circus. All the folks at home who spout forth on the subject of F1 being in crisis, or why it would be better to have parachutes on the back of cars, don’t think that the people who are going to the races are not in crisis at all. They are doing their jobs and that means travelling. Getting from Japan to Sochi may sound easy, but the logic of air travel can be bizarre. Sochi may be a pretty spot (I don’t know it is dark) but it is not an easy place to fly to, unless you start from Yekaterinburg, Kazan or Ufa. So we did what we could do and people flew from Tokyo, from Nagoya and from Osaka. One lot spent eight hours on a bullet train, looking at a sunny Mount Fuji because Typhoon Doris was blowing a gale. We had no such troubles. The typhoon waltzed through in the very, very small hours of Monday morning but by lunchtime it was gone and it was sunny. We had a late lunch and then set off from the town of Shiroko, bound for Osaka Kansai International Airport. The plane was full of F1 folk, all going to Dubai, but after that the crew exploded in different directions. Some went to Moscow, some went to London, some went to Paris, or Nice. The logic of air travel is often complicated. I went Dubai, Paris, Zurich, Moscow, Sochi. I spent a night in Paris with my wife. We went to a Japanese restaurant. Just after I left Zurich I received a text from Damon Hill saying that he was going Zurich, Istanbul, Sochi. This is life in F1 at the moment. We are all on planes that pass in the night. We went through Moscow Domodedovo Airport picking up stray F1 people, until we were quite a gaggle and we all ended up in a lounge where the beer was free, but you had to pay for wine. We spent a long time there. The food would frighten household pets, but the man from The Sun tried the meatballs and was still alive when I last saw him a few minutes ago. We flew on a plane the colour of Kermit the Frog, run by an airline called S7, which used to be called Siberia Airlines. It was OK. There wasn’t much space but half the passengers looked like fashion models. There were some happy, helpful people at the airport who were there to help us find our way about. The airport was filled with F1 photos and advertising. This is usually a good sign. We’re staying in what I guess was the Olympic Village, now a hotel, and it’s fine. I just cannot sleep. My internal clock is quite broken.