I suspect that, personally speaking, Interlagos '06 is going to feel just like Adelaide '93.
Michael Schumacher. Where to start?
I'd known Bertrand Gachot pretty well since the mid eighties. He'd been responsible for near heart failure on a Staines street one day when the scream of a tortured engine gave way to tyre squeal and Bert hand-braked an Alfa 33 to a stop about six inches from where I stood. I dropped my king-size bag of cat litter, which spilled all over the road, to his great amusement.
He could be engaging and ever so slightly unhinged, all at the same time. I wasn't at all surprised that he'd cut up a London cabbie, nor that he'd emptied a canister of CS gas into the face of the hacked off Eric Court. But I was as shocked as Bertrand when the judge decreed that he should spend 18 months at the pleasure of HM the Q. Which opened the door at Jordan for M. Schumacher.