CHAPTER 11 - THE GRAND PRIX

We were nearly 2kms away but I felt like I was playing chicken in the middle of the track. It was a bit annoying to be honest, as I was looking forward to my first lie in for weeks, but in truth the nails they had used instead of feathers in the pillows had woken me up long before. It was Saturday morning and I was lying in a twin room in The Coffee Palace hostel, St Kilda. We’d paid well over the odds for our room, but looking out at the crowded streets below, I realised what a fantastic, prime position we had acquired. The cars had obviously begun their practice laps as the powerful purr of their jet engines dominated the surrounding air. This only made to heighten the excitement of the fans in the street who were wildly anticipating the start of another formula 1 season. It was only 10am and they were already out in their masses, waving flags and letting off fog horns right next to my ear. Unfortunately though, we had only purchased tickets for the actual race itself so found ourselves with a free day. Keen to explore the cosmopolitan metropolis of central Melbourne, we grabbed a bus into the city. This was a decision I regretted almost instantly for the bus was packed with formula 1 fans. Further more, each and every one of them on this particular bus appeared to be obese, sweaty and topless. Believe me, unavoidably rubbing up against four of them whilst locked in a moving tin can, is probably the most unpleasant experience imaginable. 20 minutes of torture later, we had arrived in central Melbourne and stood admiring Federation Square before venturing underground to the tourist information centre. What exactly did this sophisticated city have to offer? Before my question was answered however, my phone began ringing

‘Hello?’

‘Johnny Boy! How’s it going?’

‘Ummm..yeah it’s going quite good. Who is this?!’

‘It’s Emma. God, it’s only been a few weeks and you’ve forgotten me already!’

‘Emma! Sorry, I haven’t got your number in my phone. We haven’t had any e-mails from you guys so we assumed you weren’t coming’

‘Sorry about that, our internet access has been pretty limited. Anyway, are you here in the city? We’re here for the Grand Prix – have you managed to get tickets?

‘Yep we’ve got tickets for tomorrow and we’re in the city right now, where are you?’

‘Brilliant! We’re at the Queen Victoria Market. Come meet us’

The Melbourne residents I had spoken to had all displayed a great sense of enthusiasm whilst discussing The Queen Victoria Market, so I was rather surprised to discover there wasn’t one signpost for it. Having departed the tram in what we believed to be the correct area, Grant and I began sweeping the streets for any clues we could find. Even more bizarrely, when we stopped members of the public to ask for directions they would talk passionately about the great vibe surrounding the place, but when asked to clarify where it was they would simply wave their arm in a hazardous and ultimately confusing circle, before moving on rather quickly. It was as if it had been created within the imaginations of the locals, built on top of a ludicrous legend, much like the foundations of the Mormon church. We didn’t exactly stumble through the back of a wardrobe, but with a bit of luck we eventually found our destination. Located under a large roofed area, it had the look and feel of a rather traditional market such as Covent Garden in London. Unfortunately, that is where the similarities end. For although there were a few stalls selling relatively stylish merchandise, they were sadly out-numbered by people trying to flog appalling fake BMW jackets, English football shirts and Gucci sunglasses. The problem was that every single stall (and there were a lot of them) was trying to get rid of exactly the same rubbish for exactly the same price. Now, I'm no consumer expert but I'm pretty sure that one of the essentials in business success is to locate a 'gap in the market' and exploit it. They had certainly filled a gap in the market, but only in the literal sense.

'I just went down to the Queen Victoria Market today and had a great plan for a successful business' says the market seller

'Ok sir, what was it?' replies the bank manager

'Have you seen the hundreds of tacky clothes stalls?'

'Yes'
'Well, I think if I got the same merchandise, from the same supplier and sold everything at exactly the same price, I could make an absolute fortune. Nothing could possibly go wrong.'

'Hmmm, I can see a few problems arising here'.

Of course, I doubted whether many of them had gone seeking financial backing from a bank, but the point still stands nevertheless. It was a shame really as intertwined throughout these rip-off stalls were a number of incredibly talented, modest artists. Their work was superb with some great watercolour landscapes really capturing the cultural essence of the city, though I couldn't help feel they were having their reputation damaged by the people surrounding them. Grant and I stood and admired their work for quite a while until the air of tackiness was too overwhelming and we left with nothing. If they had been located at a slightly more up market crafts fair, I'm sure their talent would have been given the credibility it quite obviously deserved........ 

.........Time slipped into insignificance during our night out in St Kilda and as a result we didn't stumble back to bed until the early hours of Sunday morning. This would have been fine had Grant not insisted on shaking me violently at 6.30am declaring 'come on, let's get down there now so we can get a good seat'. Doing exactly as any normal person would, I ignored him and went back to sleep. Shaking me again, I could detect an extreme sense of frustration in his voice as he shouted at me to get up again.

'We're going to be late!' he said 'come on!'

'It's…' I replied trying to find my watch '6.45am you arse. The race doesn't start until 2. That gives

us…lots more hours sleep'

'We need to beat the rush and get a good seat, get up!'

'I'll beat your face in, if you don't shut up and let me go back to sleep'

But he was persistent enough and I eventually found myself standing in the middle of a vibrant St Kilda, waiting for a bus and nursing a killer hangover. Grant and I weren't really speaking at this point since he had shouted out me angrily for stopping to style my hair. To be honest though, the silence was blissful and allowed me to rest my eyes peacefully for the duration of the journey. Since part of main road was being used as the race track, it was subsequently (and thankfully!) closed, meaning the bus ride to Albert Park entrance took far longer than normal. Even still, upon arrival I consulted my watch and was severely depressed by the thought of being up this early on a Sunday - the day of rest apparently. Calling Harry and Rich, it appeared that they had been sensible and were still in bed asleep. Like us however, Sian and Emma were full of life and already in the grounds, so we eagerly made our way across the park to find them. Prior to 1996 Albert Park was, well, simply a park. Covering over 550 acres of land, the rural haven incorporates a huge lake, numerous grass playing fields and even a golf course. When this was announced as the new site for the Australian grand prix (it was previously held through the streets of Adelaide), the locals understandably panicked at the thought of their park being transformed into petrol heaven for a few days every year. Far from that however, it appears that the revenue generated from the event has been pumped back into its conservation. There was certainly no sign dilapidation on this chilly autumn morning, as we hiked around the lake looking for a good place to set up camp for the day. As we picked a spot on a hill just past the second corner, I sat and looked back across the water. For some reason, there was a very distinctive air of natural calm surrounding the place with many birds singing and ducks swimming in their normal sedative lifestyle. I couldn’t help feel sorry for them, sitting their completely oblivious to dramatic changes that were about to be made to their relaxed, untainted environment.

There were hundreds of stalls throughout the park selling incredibly overpriced merchandise. Of course, Grant was there in an instant. Fondling his way through horrible t-shirts, hats and beer holders, Emma and I sat back to see what monstrosities he would find to waste his parent's money on. Surprisingly (and much to our disappointment), he managed to limit those retail impulses and only ended up purchasing a t-shirt and matching baseball cap. It goes without saying that he put them both on straight away, and although it made him look like a little boy on an outing from a home, I’m sure he was a lot warmer than me. With the weather we had experienced recently, the locals were taking the clouds as a blessing – a welcome break from the torrid sunlight onslaught – as is so often the case however, I had not dressed for such an occasion. I mean, it doesn’t get cold in Australia does it? Well, that is what the locals will have you believe when they complain about the ‘bastard British’ weather, however from first hand experience I can confirm that it certainly does. We continued to follow Grant as he made his way through acres of clothing stalls, food outlets and advertising stands, taking an interest in it all. Then I saw a shop selling earplugs. Confused as to how anyone could make a business selling tiny pieces of sponge, I made my way across

‘Hello there. Cold day isn’t it? So, what are you selling?’ I enquired

‘Earplugs mate, two dollars a pack’ the fat man behind the stand said

‘I’m sorry, for a minute then I thought you said you wanted two dollars. Obviously I must’ve misheard you – I mean, one dollar for a tiny piece of sponge would represent the biggest rip-off since they started selling popcorn’ I said, genuinely confused

‘Nah mate, it’s two dollars for a pack. If you don’t buy some you’ll regret it once the race starts’

‘I very much doubt that my friend and even if I do, I’ll just look down at the two dollars in my hand and smile’

With that, I turned my back and began to walk away from the stand expecting the others to follow me to the moral high ground. Richard did, but to my astonishment the others didn’t. They did exactly the opposite in fact and willingly handed across their money.

‘Boys, you really should get some of these - it’s going to be really loud when the race starts’ Sian said

‘That may be so Sian, but I am willing to accept my fate if it means I don’t give into these thieves who make a living by bumping up the price of essential items when they realise people have no other option. It’s like creating a cure for cancer, but then charging people millions of pounds because you know they’ll have to pay it in order to stay alive. I won’t do it.’

Rant over, we returned to our space on the grass eagerly anticipating the start. With the pre-race entertainment coming to an abrupt halt, the glistening cars made their way onto the track. I hadn’t expected to feel much emotion upon seeing them, but then I realised that right in front of my eyes was something representing the very peak of human engineering capabilities. I thought about the years of testing, designing and heartbreak that had gone into producing these near perfect cars and couldn’t help but admire the finish product with the up most respect. The speed of them was immense as they stormed along, gripping the tarmac track with impossible accuracy that seemed to defy the laws of physics. My eyes strained to keep up, but all I saw was a sudden blaze of colour as they raced past us, blurring my vision. Even the pure roar produced by their powerful engines seemed to struggle to keep up, echoing behind the car and causing the ground beneath my feet to vibrate majestically. The practice lap was over and my head was pounding. Turning to Rich, I could see he was thinking the same thing. I tried to shout to him, but no words could be heard over the sound of the cars. He understood though. Sneaking off so nobody else had the opportunity to say ‘I told you so’ we ran over to the ear plug man and (with a great sense of relief) swallowed our pride. Racing back to our position, the cars were just taking their positions on the grid and there was a tremendous sense of excitement filling the crowd. All the start lights went on and engines fired to full power. Then just like that, the lights were extinguished and these fantastic machines were released from their cage like an over enthusiastic dog, finally escaping its restrictive chain. Usually, with so many cars converging on such a small first corner there is a lot of drama in Australia, but on this occasion they all passed through problem free with the two Ferraris leading (much to the pleasure of the thirty Italians standing in front of us). I don't really have much more to report, on the contrary, I have nothing more to report as this is how it stayed for the entire race - a Ferrari one-two finish. Not that we could tell as, without a big screen to see, it was difficult to make out which car was winning. Every so often, there would be a flash of colour scream past us followed by the roar of a jumbo jet engine and a loud cheer. The problem was, we couldn’t tell whether that person was winning the race or coming last. After sixty or so laps, it’s quite difficult to keep track of how many times each competitor has passed you, especially when you can’t really see them properly. So I gave up trying to work it out and instead concentrated on reading the facial expressions of the Ferrari enthusiasts who were listening to pocket radios. After a couple of hours, they all leapt into the air and began hugging one another so I assumed the race had ended.

After the cars had completed their laps of honour, all the fans began climbing their huge metal fences. Men, women and children clawed their way up and over in order to get onto the track in an incredibly dangerous and potentially fatal manoeuvre. I took the opportunity to have a sit down and take in the wonderful, joyous atmosphere. I had thoroughly enjoyed this day out. Would I do it again? Probably not. Don’t get me wrong, I can see the appeal of a fast car race, but I wouldn’t want to go to one every other week. I’m sure many people will disagree with me, but let’s face the facts - can a sporting event really be that great if you don’t have anyone to support, nobody really knows who is winning and you have to wear two pieces of overpriced foam in your ears just to prevent a brain haemorrhage? Still, at least I can say ‘I was there’.