Ever since I was a child, when my father used to take me to the local motor racing tracks – Brands Hatch, Crystal Palace and Silverstone, I have had an interest in motor racing. My father had kept pretty much every copy of Motor Sport from about 1950 to 1961, and I read them avidly; there was a time when I could have told you which driver had won which Grand Prix during that period. I had a collection of model racing cars which I used to test around the bath, the shallow end of which was my personal Parabolica. And of course, my father bought me a Scalextric set; my first two cars were BRM and a Vanwall.
In those days, motor racing was quite stylish, quite unlike now when it has a distinctly yobbish characteristic.
One of the more annoying things is that the commentators, here in Australia at any rate, do not even know how to pronounce the drivers’ names.
And the cars look naff these days. They will not be beautiful again until they ban the wings on them.