Scene 3 - The pit lane at Silverstone circuit.
It's qualifying day and the stands opposite are full of
cheering people in Damon Hill t-shirts and caps.
In the garage of another well-known auto racing team,
spirits are equally high.
THE BIG GUV'NOR is talking to a tall elderly man with a
rather military bearing and a good head of white hair.
THE GUV is holding a small silver object.
GUV: ...so you reckon that when he pushes the top on the
fountain pen in his overalls pocket, we'll get an
extra turbo boost on the engine? Enough to get us
up the grid a bit?
Q: As long as he doesn't crash the bally car and ruin
everything. (He shakes his head) My other clients
are always doing that.
GUV: I'll have a word with him about it.
(He moves away, then stops.)
GUV: Are you sure he's got the turbo pen and not the nerve gas pen?
Q: (testily) Yes, yes, I'm sure, of course I'm bally well sure.
GUV: Thanks again. I'm sure this will help.
Q: Jolly good, jolly good. Good show all round this weekend, I hope.
Although I must go and have a word with that Damon Hill chappie too.
Apparently he wants something done with his new private plane.
(Q saunters out of the garage, erect of stance and dignified of
bearing. As he exits, JACQUES saunters in, perky to the tips
of his red-and-white dyed hair.)
GUV: What the bloody hell have you done to your bloody hair this time?
JV: It's meant to be the Canadian flag. Isn't it obvious? The points of
the maple leaf go here and here.... (he points).
GUV: *mutters* Here, I've got that new equipment you've been moaning about
for so long.
JV: Hurrah!
GUV: What the hell are you so happy about?
(We move down to the next-door garage where there is much more tension.)
MICHAEL is talking animated to BERNIE, with BBD standing sulkily in the
background.
BERNIE: Look, I'm really sorry, OK? I'll make it up to you.
MS: I wouldn't have minded so much if it hadn't been in front of all my
mechanics.
BERNIE: She really does need some help. It's my fault I suppose. I'm so
busy, and I find it difficult to give her the attention she needs.
Maybe she should go to a drying out clinic in Switzerland or
something.
MS: She could have killed me with that champagne bottle.
BERNIE: Everything'll work out all right. I'll have a word with a few
people, see what I can come up with.
MS: You'd better. I've had it with this whole situation. My wife is
starting to ask questions. So if you don't take care of it, I will.
(He turns on his heel and disappears into the garage.)
BBD: Daddy, is it OK if I go and get a hamburger?
BERNIE: (distractedly) Yes, Princess, whatever, whatever. Get me a hot
dog or something while you're at it.
(BBD sneaks through the crowds of staff into the next-door garage, where
JACQUES is chatting happily with his mechanics and fiddling with a silver
fountain pen, while HEINZ sits disconsolately at the back, alone.)
BBD: Pssst! Heinz!
HEINZ: Go away!
BBD: I have to explain!
HEINZ: You've ruined my career. The Guv says I have to go and drive for
Minardi next season. Why did you do it?
BBD: I'm sorry, Heinz. I really am. It wasn't - look, I can - oh, I
really need to sort this out - let's go somewhere and chat - are you
free -
(Suddenly JACQUES sees BBD standing there and saunters over.)
JV: Hey, babe, how's it going? Like the hair?
BBD: (meltingly) It's lovely. Really, really suits you. You're looking
great this weekend.
JV: I feel like a new man. Maybe I'll find one this weekend!
Hey, why don't you come and have a coffee with me and the lads.
We're celebrating our new secret weapon!
BBD: Love to.
(She links arms with JACQUES and gives him a million-watt smile, straight
between the eyes. HEINZ, meanwhile, sobs quietly in the corner, forgotten.)
JV: Let's just go and say hi to David and Mika.
BBD: OK.
(They run down the pit lane to the next garage along and tap on
the door of the black-liveried motorhome.)
JV: Hey guys! Look who I found!
MH: That hair... you'd better be careful.
DC: Have you got anything to, you know, relax me? I'm feeling
a bit tense today for some reason.
JV: Careful?
MH: It's exactly the pattern of the secret signal to the
Mothership of the Third Triludan Axis.
JV: I think he's already been relaxing by the sounds of it.
Anyway, no, sorry. I've turned over a new leaf - no more
drug-taking, lots of hard training, lots more support for
the team.
DC: Oh, great.
BBD: *I* think he's done wonderfully well this season.
DC: Trying to put your price up, are you? I've seen your
mate Craig hanging around with a pocket calculator and
a mobile phone. Where exactly does he come from, again?
JV: Tell me about it. He managed to embarrass the hell
out of me on British TV last week. I'm going to have
to talk to him or he's really going to fuck my plans up.
MH: Maybe he comes from the *second* Triludan Axis.
DC: I need coffee.
(He walks to the back of the motorhome and pours
himself a cup. No, we're not going to repeat the
piss-poor refuelling joke this week.)
MH: We'd better get ready.
JV: See you guys later.
DC: Sure, are you going to the Jordan piss-up later?
JV: I meant on the track.
(DC and MH chuckle.)
JV: Wait and see!
(He and BBD exit. Suddenly, as they run back up the pitlane,
there is an almighty thunderclap and the heavens open.)
JV: Oh, shit!
BBD: Thhat's going to spoil your qualifying run, isn't it?
Daddy was just telling Jean and Ross the other day that...
JV: Sod the car! This dye isn't exactly waterproofed!
(They run for cover. As they duck into the garage,
a Stewart comes screaming past to take the first run
of the qualifying session. Alas, a mummy duck and her
seven little baby ducklings, crossing the pitlane
sedately, are mown down by the evil machine.)
BBD: It's going to be an odd sort of day.
JV: For sure.
Scene 4 - The stewards' office at Silverstone circuit
on race day.
Bernie and three other ageing white men are standing
around drinking champagne and occasionally
glancing out of the window to the track below.
STEWARD 1: Who's that again in the red car?
BERNIE: Not sure. More Moet, old chap?
Suddenly a breathless young man clutching a clipboard and
walkie-talkie runs into the room.
MARSHAL: Sir! Sir!
BERNIE: (annoyed) What is it?
MARSHAL: Had a report of a violation of Rule 8(c) revision
5.43 part 6 subsection d clause 5! (This joke
is copyright 'Yes, Minister' and reproduced here
without permission). On Lap 43!
STEWARD1: Remind me. (clicks fingers).
MARSHAL: Car Number 3 ran over a mummy duck and her ten
ducklings, sir. On lap 43. It's his second
offence this weekend.
BERNIE: Stop-go penalty, gentlemen?
STEWARD3: I say! Black flag the murdering bounder!
(He makes a bravura gesture and wobbles around a bit, clearly
rather squiffy on the free Moet, then falls over and is
ignored by the others.)
MARSHAL: Yessir! Rightawaysir!
BERNIE: Hang on, hang on. Get the press release done,
*then* black flag the bastard. Saves time and
energy later. *My* time and energy, that is.
MARSHAL: I say, old thing, won't that rather bugger
up the race?
BERNIE: Depends on your point of view. (urbanely)
Of course, it's your decision. Another
glass?
STEWARD2: Don't mind if I do.
BERNIE: After all, we already have the safety car
out. If we're not careful, we'll clash
with the World Cup final. And I do have
some meetings with the cable TV people
next week, so... but it's your decision.
MARSHAL: Sir? What shall I do?
STEWARD3: Black flag! I say! Black flag the man!
BERNIE: Better not black flag him after all.
After all, nobody really saw him do it
in this rain, and we'll have hell to
pay if some of the others catch on.
STEWARD2: Typical bloody English weather, eh chaps!
(They all harrumph and bray with laughter for a bit.)
STEWARD1: So, chaps, are we agreed? Ten second
stop-go? No black flag?
BERNIE: If you gentlemen insist. You're the boss.
MARSHAL: Yessir!
(He runs out.)
BERNIE: So as I was saying, I'll arrange some preferential
stock options for you ahead of time...
Scene 5 - The garage of a well-known auto racing
team, Silverstone circuit.
(RON DENNIS stands staring at a telemetry printout, flanked
by black-clad heavies. MR OMURA of a well-known tyre company
stands next to them.)
RON: (quiet menace) Tell me again what happened to the
third set of wet tyres. The tyres I need.
The tyres I need *right* *now*.
OMURA: Ronald-san, I am so sorry, the man responsible will
be sent back to the factory, he is shamed...
RON: I'm not interested in your personnel strategy.
I want my tyres. Now.
OMURA: That may be difficult, Ronald-san. I am so -
RON: So you're trying to tell me that Mika stole
the wet tyres?
OMURA: Yes, Ronald-san. Apparently our new, super-absorbent
high-grip tyre compound which we use on the wets
is also strikingly similar to a rare plant which
grows where he comes from.
RON: They have rubber plants in Finland?
OMURA: He did not mention Finland, Ronald-san. Something
more like....Truland? Triluand? Thailand? Is
Mika Thai? I did not think he was -
RON: He'll be thai-dyed when he gets back here later.
OMURA: Anyway, Ronald-san, we have plenty of intermediates
for David. Unfortunately, Mika took all the
wet tyres and - I am sorry to have to tell you
this, Ronald-san - but he cut them up and made
some kind of body suit out of them. My employee
did not stop him -
RON: Why the hell did he do a thing like that?
OMURA: He muttered something about 'the secret
ingredient' and 'going home' and 'need a
suit for the journey through the transworld
spherical axis.' I am not sure what he meant.
I am sorry, I must have misheard what he
said.
(conspiratorially) I think, Ronald-san,
that he is under a lot of pressure right now.
RON: I agree. In the meantime, we'd better get those
inters out for David. (shouts) Lads! Pit board!
David in next lap!
Scene 6 - The garage of a well-known auto racing
team, Silverstone circuit. It's 3.15pm.
JEAN: Next lap, I think.
MECHANIC: Si, signor.
(Suddenly there is a commotion as a fur-coated woman comes rushing
in.)
BERNIE'S WIFE: When is he coming in! I must give him a message!
JEAN: Senora, this is not the time, I beseech you.
BW: Shut up, you fool. You know nothing of love, of
desire, of promises made and broken!
JEAN: You must leave, Senora Ecclestone.
BW: Never! Oh, never! I'm going to get him back
into this pit whether you like it or not!
(She produces a gun with a flourish from her Gucci purse.
Everyone stands there looking horrified.)
BW: Now, aha, maybe now you will listen to me, hmm?
Get on that radio now!
JEAN: But Senora, the radio does not work.
BW: I don't believe you!
JEAN: Truly, Senora! If you put the gun down, I will
let you try for yourself.
BW: Such an obvious ploy - typical of a man like you.
Michael, Michael is a real man. He would never
stoop so low as this.
JEAN: That's what we all thought, too.
BW: Enough! (She fires a warning shot in the air.
A duck comes crashing down into the middle of
the pitlane and is decapitated by a Benetton.)
JEAN: Jesus Christ! Someone get the stewards!
MECHANIC: You are kidding, right? Why would I get the
stewards for a thing like this?
JEAN: They're in charge.
MECHANIC: (shrugging in Continental fashion) OK, you want
the bloke in charge, you should say so.
I find him for you. He is running the
hamburger stall down before Club, but he will
come here if I ask.
(Just then, the small MARSHAL from earlier runs in to the garage).
MARSHAL: For you, gentlemen! Have a nice day!
JEAN: Not now! (He throws the piece of paper away
and it sits sadly in the gutter, soon drenched
in rain and illegible.)
BW: Get on with it! Don't make me shoot someone!
MECHANIC: Bella, bellissima Signora, why are you scaring
us all like this? We have already seen how
good a shot you are with a champagne bottle.
We do not wish to see you with a real gun!
JEAN: I'm not letting you anywhere near Michael with
that gun, Senora.
BW: (weeping) Even in this, I am a failure.
MECHANIC: (gently) Give me the gun, Senora.
BW: Never!
(Just then, a red car enters the pitlane.)
BW: Now! Now is my chance to gain my revenge!
(There is a shot.)
(Theme music fades in.)
What will happen in the dazzlingly damp
qualifying session? Will Mika's relatives return
to Earth to reclaim their favourite son? How
long will JV's good humour last? Find out, etc., etc.,
& co...
Proper HTML to appear as soon as I can be
bothered. Maybe.
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