Formula 1 is an addiction. It seduces all sorts of people in all sorts of ways. I’ve been addicted for more than 35 years and 600 races, and Sunday’s Sao Paulo GP not only reminded me that it is still as potent as ever, but also the principal reasons why I will never let it go.
Of course I love the cars, their form and their beautiful elegance and the noise they make, even if nothing beats an old V12 or a V10 aurally. And of course I love the racing, that physical symbiosis of man and machine, the control of some wild mechanical beast when a driver is out there seeking a fast qualifying time, and then the cut and thrust when they are racing, preferably wheel-to-wheel.