And – no names, no pack drill – but those dangerous rhythms coupled with strong drink encouraged some male English journalists to hit the dance floor to writhe around together.

The way these events come around so regularly I’m beginning to sound like one of those seasonal cookbooks – you know -  ‘As spring turns to summer, and the purple broccoli sprouts, we get Le Mans, new potatoes, English strawberries and the AMOC Horsefall meeting’. There’s probably an opportunity here for a small book promoting boiled swede and winter cabbage as the ideal accompaniment to some of the more wintery VSCC events.

Anyway, over to Le Mans, which this year was a sensationally good race. Audi had arrived with three cars, a posse of drivers with enough Le Mans trophies between them to lay dinner for fifty, and sufficient chocolate mousse to ensure that no guest went hungry. The weekend was triumph.

I didn’t actually get to check out the Peugeot Team arrangements, but I know they had great cars, faster than the Audi’s, and equally talented drivers. They proved it by leading the race initially, as well as running full speed to the end. For me, Nick Menassian working to keep the pressure on, in difficult conditions over the last two hours, was proper long distance racing.

Unfortunately given the closeness of the finish it would appear that the conclusion to be drawn is that the chocolate mousse provided the critical difference. I tried asking David Ingram for the recipe in the hope of being able to provide my readers with a real motor racing advantage, but its nor been forthcoming so far. It’s possible Ingolstadt put a security block on its release.

The only downside to the event was the inevitable increase in security. The trouble is that Le Mans is such a vast venue that by the time you’ve gone to the wrong gate, had your pass scanned, been turned back to another gate and trudged up and down a few flights of the wrong staircases, you feel as though you’ve been Christmas shopping for a week. And just a tinge of a Naomi Campbell moment starts to simmer. It does seem a shame that along with community service there is not more effort to give anger management counseling to the girl. It’s so obvious that it was wrong for Naomi to harangue the aircraft captain. He didn’t load the luggage.

If only she could be taught to redirect her angst to those Klingons who have clearly taken over the bodies of the BAA security staff she would probably be at the palace by now receiving an OBE for social services…

Anyway, each year it gets more difficult to get to those exciting outposts at the edges of the circuit to see the cars howling through the dark with brake discs glowing.

In the past we have had the services of one of my favourite car dealers who still possesses an ‘Ancien Pilot’ leather armband from the 1950s, as well as a line of verbal that makes authority believe that they are in the presence of a rather corpulent Jedi Knight, and that their duty is to open every barrier and allow the chosen ones through… I suppose I'm surprised that they don’t seem that bothered that this God seems unable to speak French very well…

Somehow we managed to get around enough, and there was some wonderful hospitality supplied very generously not only by our hosts, but also by competitors such as Aston Martin, which gave a really nice sporting feel to the occasion. 

My only gripe is that all the hospitality units seem to feel its necessary to add a live band. With 50 cars racing a matter of meters away, it feels vaguely incongruous.  And – no names, no pack drill – but those dangerous rhythms coupled with strong drink encouraged some male English journalists to hit the dance floor to writhe around together. I made my excuses and left

To be fair there’s a fairly good tradition of poor behavior at Le Mans. Some years ago when Alain De Cadenet and Chris Craft were doing particularly well (heading for a magnificent 3rd overall) in Alain’s privately entered Lola, A team directive was issued to find a way of keeping Chris alert at the wheel during a late night stint.

After consultation, the technical and engineering department sent a team member (Now the dignified CEO of well known motor dealership) onto the bank at the signaling point on the Mulsanne corner.
 
In those days, with a fast straight past the pits, all signaling was done from four miles away on the slowest corner. With no radios or mobiles all information was transfered by a set of hand turned telephones. These were vaguely reminiscent of an early police thriller – ‘Hello…Whitehall 1212’ -  or perhaps the Keystone cops might be closer, it was fabulously inefficient, and all sorts of incoherent information was frequently passed on to a confused driver…

Anyway…said assistant was positioned on the bank as the car came around Mulvane. Said assistant then opened the large Macintosh he was wearing to reveal no other clothing. It certainly woke Chris up, and caused the car behind to undertake a series of rather lurid tail slides. Sadly it’s not a technique that has transferred easily to the Formula 1 pit wall…