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The middle part of June was one of those periods where you're even more grateful than usual that someone has seen fit to pay you to go to motor races. First there was Le Mans; a race that, from a journalist's point of view, is exhilarating and exhausting in vaguely equal parts.
Upon returning to England there was just enough time to get the laundry washed and dried - I'd have been screwed if it had rained that day - before getting back into the car and pointing it in the direction of France for the second time in a week. Destination: Magny-Cours.
Contrary to popular opinion, there is a lot to like about the current home of the French Grand Prix. Yes, it is surrounded by cows. But Barcelona's Circuit de Catalunya is surrounded by highways and an industrial estate, and given the choice I know which provides the nicer ambience. (The Barcelona track is saved by the Basque restaurant 15 minutes away that serves cider direct from enormous barrels).
If you don't want to go to Nevers for dinner there are plenty of nice little restaurants and towns tucked away down quiet country roads, while inside the track, the circuit's remoteness proves an advantage in that the paddock is virtually bereft of celebrities, VIPs and other hangers-on, and therefore far more relaxed than Monaco or Silverstone.
