The weather set in today. An extremely loud shower that quickly turned into something resembling a monsoon.
But luckily there was no need to go out at the time, due to the Malaysian Grand Prix, which I eventually found on a Spanish TV channel. It was only today that I realised the real value of commentators. Having been rather snooty about ITV’s James Allen in the past, and positively incandescent with roll-eyes at Jonathan bloody Legard on the Beeb, it’s amazing how much is lost without people stating the bleeding obvious every few seconds.
For today I had no idea about tyre wear, pit stop windows, or even often any idea about which Red Bull belonged to Vettel and which to Webber. Indeed, the Spanish commentators seem to have been sponsored by Red Bull, talking as they were at a velocity far in excess of the cars they were talking about. “Eth-eth-eth-eth-eth-eth-eth-eth,” they went, in a Channel 9-esque manner, occasionally interspersed with an English word like a driver’s name, or more amusingly, “Safety Car”. How does anyone talk so fast? Truly flabbergasting.
As someone who’s used to commentators getting pretty manic whenever Lewis Hamilton does anything as exciting as putting on a Vodafone sponsored baseball cap, it was fun to see the Spanish equivalent. Whenever the shot cut to Fernando Alonso, the guys in the commentary box practically had an orgasm. “Eth-eth-eth-eth-ethethethetheth-ETH-ETH. Cigarette. Roll over.” How similarly blinkered are our own commentators, I wonder? No doubt just as bad.
Thankfully the rain stopped to reveal glorious sunshine, and I’m now sitting here with my customary red wine. And Alonso’s engine blew up. Result.