THE DRIVER’S WIFE

F1 Racing - - INSIDER -

The first rule of be­ing a celebrity is to never read so­cial me­dia feed­back or com­ments.

I’m not good with rules. So I spent an angry week­end writ­ing draft replies to @PetrolLover @Lew4e­vaaa and @F1ba­be­li­cious de­fend­ing my­self from ac­cu­sa­tions of mar­ry­ing Amor to sell my per­fume, my al­bum and my un­der­wear line (which isn’t re­leased un­til next year, so where’s your logic now @Trac­tionTerry??).

But as my vovò al­ways says ‘Don’t fight with words, fight with ac­tions, Adri’, so to make them eat their words and show @PeteyPanda where he could stick his Sil­ver­stone sou­venir mug… as a ded­i­cated mo­tor­sport lover, I’m clearly a big fan of aero­dy­nam­ics, and I de­cided to join Amor for an aero test. “You want to come to Elv­ing­ton, Adri? Are you feel­ing okay?” Com­pose tweet: Off to support Amor aero test­ing at the Space Shut­tle Emer­gency Land­ing Strip. Might spot an astro­naut?! #Aero­rocks

Un­for­tu­nately Amor was in a ter­ri­ble mood on the drive up, which was a shame as my sup­port­ive pres­ence was lost on him. He kept say­ing he couldn’t be­lieve the team made him do this, how it should be a job for the 17-year-old test driver. He said even I could drive there, which I got quite ex­cited about, but it turned out he didn’t mean it as a good thing.

Then we ar­rived. Not only was there was no hi-tech NASA HQ, rocket or as­tro­nauts, there was noth­ing. A strip of Tar­mac, a field and ten long hours ahead. Team fa­cil­i­ties con­sisted of a truck, a tent for the en­gi­neers and one of those flappy can­vas roofs over the car. “I’ll wait in the…” try­ing to re­tain my pos­i­tive sup­port­ive smile I scanned the empty field “…hire car.”

Straight­line test­ing, it turns out, is not a eu­phemism. I watched Amor drive up and down and up and down and 45 min­utes later I was ready to ac­cept de­feat. I had no mo­bile sig­nal, a rapidly de­scend­ing phone bat­tery from live tweet­ing the jour­ney and a stiff ‘Wim­ble­don’ neck from watch­ing the car.

By 9.30am I’d counted my eye­lashes. At 10am, I did a sand­wich run to the garage, which was sur­pris­ingly fun. At 10.45 Gaz, the truckie, and I be­came BFFs.

What I learnt to­day: 1) Egg mayo sand­wiches taste much bet­ter than they look. 2) I can get inside and close the zip on a stan­dard suit­case in un­der 30 seconds – Gaz needs 36. 3) There’s a trick to win­ning arm wrestling, some­thing to do with twist­ing the wrist. 4) I know the dif­fer­ence be­tween a span­ner and a socket. 5) It is just pos­si­ble to sur­vive a day with­out a sin­gle selfie. And ac­cord­ing to Gaz, that means that I qual­ify as one of the hard­core mo­tor­sport elite.

God bless you, es­pe­cially those of us with fuel in our veins.

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