Our resident grumpy old git actually quite likes the Spanish Grand Prix but, of course, it used to be better in the past...
This will be the 25th anniversary of the Catalunya circuit hosting the Spanish Grand Prix. So, I’ve been coming here for a quarter of century. Bloody hell, I must have been young all those years ago in 1991. Back then, the world was at my feet and now I’m just about on my knees. I seem to remember we weren’t meant to come here until 1992 to coincide with Barcelona hosting the Olympic Games, but somehow we rocked up a year earlier, keen to see this, don’t laugh, “state of the art” new facility. And 25 years ago it was indeed pretty swish compared to many other places we raced at, whereas now we love it for being familiar and comfortable, like an old pair of slippers.
What we didn’t love about it in ’91 is that it took us away from Jerez. The Andalusian circuit was particularly popular, not least because the race there came one week after the Portuguese Grand Prix, just a few hours drive away. In those less complicated times, that meant pretty much a four day holiday on the beach, before the world’s Sherry capital hosted the final European race of the year. After that, there was just the brief matter of a quick trip to Suzuka and Adelaide and that was the season done and dusted.
After a long Sunday night in Cascais’ “Coconuts” nightclub, we’d hightail it to Spain, staying in a beach hotel in Rota, a few miles from Jerez. It was here that, having celebrated one team-member’s birthday while rebuilding the race cars at the track, the Brabham crew rocked up at the hotel in the evening, stark naked, except for their briefcases – the backpack having not yet been invented – walked through the lobby and jumped in the pool. Hotel security took a dim view of proceedings and actually clubbed some of the lads as they came out of the pool!
The other reason the large number of single lads in F1 didn't want the Spanish GP to move to Barcelona was the Chicas Tio Pepe, the Tio Pepe girls, first created as a marketing ploy for the drink at the 1986 race in Jerez. They would cruise the paddock giving out little badges that were replicas of themselves in their smart uniform and they were extremely friendly. Many an F1 worker sported a row of these little pin badges on their travel clothing when leaving Spain, in much the same way that fighter pilots would mark the number of “kills” they’d made on the side of their plane.
The other reason the large number of single lads in F1 didn't want the Spanish GP to move to Barcelona was the Chicas Tio Pepe, the Tio Pepe girls
1991 was the last time Spain followed on from Portugal on the calendar and we tried to continue the beach break theme, staying somewhere on the coast not too far from Montmelo, the nearest town to the Catalunya track. The hotel was called the Colon, which is actually the Spanish name for Columbus, as in Christopher. However, to us uneducated lot, it was just a great excuse to have commemorative T-shirts made in memory of our stay, with the medical strapline: “I was lodged in the colon.”
Today, the Spanish GP brings the curtain up rather than down on the ever-diminishing European leg of the season. That leads to sightings of one of the most irritating life forms in Barcelona, Journo Enthusiastus. While the majority of the F1 press corps is now well broken in and battle scarred after traipsing the world to attend the first four rounds, Spain is where we see a whole host of hacks and snappers, for whom this is 2015 Round 1. We’ve all got over seeing Sebastian Vettel in red, Lewis Hamilton’s weird picture frame necklace, all the Japanese Honda crew at McLaren and so on. But the new arrivals are bouncing up and down with irritating excitement, asking questions we all dealt with back in Melbourne. Get over it!
Actually, in some ways, it’s harder to work as a journalist at the European races: at the flyaways, you often end up having a cup of tea at the same table as a team principle, a driver or chief designer, whereas in Europe the first sighting of the gargantuan “motorhomes,” as we still insist on calling the team hospitality units, means that team personnel can hide away behind closed doors.
In fact, these luxury leviathans are one of the best things about Formula 1 as they signal the start of the free-dinner season, with teams generously inviting us for the odd meal and possibly even a glass of wine or two: in Spain, Red Bull is kicking off proceedings with a quick Thursday night cocktail, while on Friday, Rolex is looking after us in the hallowed surroundings of the Paddock Club. I better stop there on the freebie front: back in 1995, I did a story about all the free stuff we were given – sadly, it doesn’t happen as much now – and I got into serious trouble with the British newspaper press, as my story was somewhat at odds with the most creative pieces of writing they regularly submitted to their editors, namely their Grand Prix Expense Claim forms.
When most of the races took place in Europe, the lavish hospitality units were an obvious tool for teams to use when chasing sponsors or looking after existing ones, but now with only seven of nineteen events featuring trucks and motorhomes, it might seem a bit of white elephant. But you only have to see how crowded is the Catalunya paddock to understand that, despite all the talk about globalisation in F1, Europe is still the vibrant heart of this sport.
