Three aces: Force, Gonzalez and Walker

That being so, you would think they might be equally clear about the role of the press, but this is not always so. When they say that we journalists should talk up the sport's strengths, I have no problem with that, but when they suggest we should play down its failings, that is a different matter, for it confuses us with those whose job is to put a positive 'spin' on everything, be it associating with conmen, lying, or merely wearing questionable clothes.

Not all team principals are like that, of course.

If there are times when I recall the day Denis Jenkinson told me F1 would one day 'implode', still there are more when I'm upbeat about it, confident that ultimately commonsense - or, failing that, the survival instinct - will prevail, so that those within it actually listen to fans disillusioned by what it has become and take action, as Niki Lauda said, to put it in the right direction again.

In the racing sense, there really wasn't much to get excited about in 2002, for Ferrari's Business Plan, while doubtless thrilling to Monsieur Todt, rather crushed the life out of the F1 season. Still, though, I had plenty of good times last year, overwhelmingly at the end of May, when I went to my first NHRA drag meeting, in Joliet, Illinois, and met John Force.

Nothing could have prepared me for Force, who makes Eddie Jordan seem shy and reticent. For an hour and more he talked me through the intricacies of persuading a Funny Car to go from zero to more than 300mph in under five seconds, of the problems involved in putting more than 7000 horsepower to the road. "Some guys are talkin' about traction control, because it would save money on blown engines," he said, "but we're all completely opposed to it - it would kill racin'..."

"How would you like to work for the FIA?" I said.

Later, in the evening, I watched him and his rivals blast away into the distance, shaking the ground as they did so. Yes, there was the novelty of it, of course, but undoubtedly this was the most exhilarating day I spent at a race track in 2002.

"A while ago," Force said, "my crew chief, Austin Coil, noticed my helmet was split. The manufacturer said that any time you cut through the paint, and you start shavin' fibreglass, we don't want the liability of the helmet. We said, 'Yeah, but it's not broken...'

"Thing is, it's absolutely seat-of-the-pants drivin' in these things, and only years of doin' it can teach you. When you get the signal to go, you get tyre shake, which is transmitted to the brain through the roll-cage - if you look at my helmets, they're beat up across the top from the vibration against the roll-cage. And we noticed that when we padded my helmet, and the tyre shake would start, my reactions weren't as good..."

The subject of helmets came up again later in the year, at Monza, where one morning I spent a delightful hour with Froilan Gonzalez, the first man to win a world championship grand prix for Ferrari, this in 1951. "I think," he said, "it was a big step forward for safety when we started to wear helmets..."

Yes, I said, I could see that. But I wanted to know why his own helmet had holes drilled in the front of it. "Oh," he smiled, "to be cool..." By 'cool', Gonzalez, 80 years old, was using the word in its forgotten sense, meaning 'not warm'.

"I came to Europe from Argentina in 1950," he said, "and the next year I went to see Commendatore Ferrari, to say that if he needed me, I would be very happy to drive for him - at the time I was driving a Maserati for an Argentine team. Then [Dorino] Serafini was very badly hurt, and Ferrari asked if I would drive for him in the French Grand Prix at Reims. After that, he said, 'If you want to race Serafini's car for the rest of the season, you can'."

Was there a contract? "Yes," said Gonzalez, "but to be honest I didn't even know what it said! I asked Ferrari if all his drivers were insured, and he said yes, so I said, 'Okay, then I'll sign!' I also got a wage, and some money for expenses.

"Three weeks later there was the British Grand Prix, and I was happy to win my first race for Ferrari. At Silverstone in those days, I remember, they marked the course with these 200-litre oil drums, filled with sand! You didn't want to hit one..."

The saddest moment of my year had come earlier, in April, when I flew back from Barcelona, and in the afternoon Betty Walker called to tell me that Rob had died that day.

Her husband, for whose private team Stirling Moss won so many of his greatest races, had been the first 'insider' to befriend me when I came into this business and, as with 'Jenks', I seemed to spend a good portion of my life on the phone to him, savouring the beautifully delivered anecdotes, the languid 'old money' drawl.

"When I was invited to Talladega, for a NASCAR race," he said one day, "I didn't really know anyone, but after practice I got talking to this awfully nice chap, who invited me to his house for dinner. When we got there, he gave me a drink, and offered to show me a video of the previous year's race - and when it got to the end, and they were interviewing the winner, it turned out to be my host! That was Neil Bonnett, and although he'd introduced himself at the track, his name didn't really register at the time. Awfully embarrassing, but he thought it was very funny. Delightful chap. I was very sad when he got killed at Daytona."

If Rob's passion was always for F1, he had catholic tastes, and was always keen to hear tales - particularly salty ones - of something new. Gonzalez he knew, of course, but I would love to have told him of John Force.