The fren­emy in my kitchen

F1 Racing - - F1 INSIDER -

If some­one crosses me they are on the black­list and that’s where they stay. Life’s too short to for­give, my vovò al­ways says. So tell me, why is the-team-boss-who-shan’t-be-named (let’s just call him ‘TTBWSBN ‘) sit­ting in my kitchen right now? The man whose face is on Amor’s box­ing punch bag and whose very pres­ence trig­gers that skin rash I haven’t had since child­hood.

Tech­ni­cally, let him in but that wasn’t en­tirely my fault as 1) he was cam­ou­flaged be­hind a mas­sive bou­quet of my favourite lilies; and 2) he was smil­ing.

There can’t be an F1 fan in the world who doesn’t re­mem­ber the ex­plo­sive end to TTBWSBN and Amor’s re­la­tion­ship this time last year. The images of TTBWSBN jab­bing his fin­ger at Amor’s vi­sor, then his face twisted in pain as Amor ac­cel­er­ated over his foot. I’ve still got that as my screen­saver if you need a re­minder…

Ev­ery sports cor­re­spon­dent got an ‘ex­clu­sive’ with TTBWSBN about Amor’s dis­ap­point­ing per­for­mance, lack of loy­alty, over­due re­tire­ment and how the team’s fu­ture would be way more suc­cess­ful due to his new pre-teen sign­ing. Through­out the weeks of bad press, big lawyers bills, and bald­ness (Not me! God, no! Amor’s man­ager!), Amor re­mained sto­ically silent (me less so, if you lis­ten to the lyrics on track three of my al­bum) be­cause we’d bro­ken free and signed with the best team.

Then the best team be­came good but a bit un­lucky, then al­ways un­lucky, then boom! Sud­denly mid­field. And TTBWSBN’s new in­ter­est, ‘the next big thing’ hit pu­berty, grew to be almost two un­co­or­di­nated me­tres tall and kept shunt­ing at the start.

TTBWSBN’s charm of­fen­sives are leg­endary and un­stop­pable. Be­cause he does his re­search, he knows you can’t think straight if he’s got a bag of your favourite choco­late truffles that are avail­able only from AnaLuiza’s in São Paolo. Or the limited edi­tion Patek Philippe Amor’s been eye­ing. Or, hope­fully, keys to the team’s new pro­to­type su­per­car.

When Amor got back from his cy­cle ride to find the hand­made Ital­ian loafers neatly lined up at the front door, I was ex­pect­ing fury. But he walked calmly to his desk, pulled a list out of a drawer and dis­ap­peared into the kitchen. And that was hours ago.

I sus­pect things will be re­solved F1 style: no sen­si­ble bury­ing of the hatchet and co-op­er­a­tion for the sake of the team. No. They’ll come out as BFFs and we’ll spend the week­end at a happy re­union some­where claus­tro­pho­bic like TTBWSBN’s boat. I’d bet­ter dig out Amor’s loafers. God bless you and even him – so long as he’s ac­cepted all of Amor’s con­trac­tual con­di­tions.


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