Life, Death, Deep Meaning. But mostly Formula 1

It's been an interesting few weeks. We’ve seen the culmination of this year's Wimbledon and with it the end of our nation's interest in the sport for another eleven months. We've also seen England's ladies crash out of the World Cup at the hands of the French. Not a fantastic few days for British Sport, so it looks like our reputation lies with Jensen and Lewis "Gung-ho" Hamilton in the Formula 1. The latter being a man who's been on the receiving end of flak from people saying his style is dangerous.

Really? Driving repeatedly around a track at 200 mph every other week and now one of them is considered dangerous? Are we talking mild danger here? Like turning up the music in the car AND having the windows down or putting a blue sock in a white wash? No... this is literally life and death. These lunatics are putting their lives on the line nearly every week in one long adrenaline rush purely for our entertainment [and huge amounts of cash]. I've no doubt that being involved with the sport is huge fun, like building a really complicated lego contraption and then watching trained mentalists drive said contraptions around a track at astronomical speeds but watching it? I can't see the appeal.

Remember how depressing it was to watch your brother/sister/friends [the last one for me... could never afford one ourselves] set up a crazy Scalextric track and then sit as they raced tiny cars and had the time of their lives? Why on earth would you sit and watch it on the TV? I've no doubt that with a ten minute highlights reel it'd be great fun but I can’t be doing with sitting there for hours watching the same people drive around the same track at fifty slightly different times. If you were colourblind you'd have no hope. If you were completely blind you'd be listening thinking someone was commentating on how flies were buzzing around in a small jar.

It also has the slight problem of severely affecting my driving. While I love my [well... Dad's] 1.4 litre Ford Fiesta it doesn't do much for the adrenaline. If you drive above 65mph it feels like it's going to take off. Which is fine in Wales where it's physically impossible to drive above 45 [you'll either be stuck behind a caravan/tractor or the remains of your car [and yourself] will become part of the lovely welsh scenery. That can’t be good for the tourist board...

 I'd actually love to see a set of regional Formula 3/4 races around the UK, drivers from the local areas in their own cars along slightly purpose built courses. A truly amazing spectacle... Dai Bach cruising around  Aberystwyth's hills and bends in his slightly modified Citroen Saxo, or Humphrey Barton-Joyce taking his Rolls Royce on a death defying trip around Buckinghamshire. I'm already in talks with Somerset County Council to host Frome-ula 1 sometime in 2012. If it gets the green light... the world will be a better place.

My alter-ego's ruled out Schizophrenia...

Confession time: I have a deep seated psychological problem that genuinely affects everyday life. I’ve just turned the TV off and got myself away from Facebook; ruling out Attention Disorders and according to my alter ego I’m not schizophrenic. No, it’s that I can't be late. If I'm even a minute behind schedule something clicks in my brain that no matter what the event is, it's more important than anything else; even personal safety. This means I'm far more prone to running across roads at full pelt and God help you if you're old and walking irritably slowly. You know who you are.

This impulse makes even the most run of the mill tasks incredibly difficult. Take last week when I had to dash to the shop before heading to the pool for the daily 1500m swim [I’m proud of that... can you tell?]. In all honesty I had five minutes to spare but if I say I'm meeting someone at 10:30, I’ll bloody be there. Now I was buying a couple of bags of Doritos, chewing gum and enough beer to drown a small village for the weekend [standard buying for any student really] and sure enough, I had to flash my driving license to prove I was indeed old enough to buy such outrageous products.

This in itself isn't really a problem, I'm used to it but surely you don't have to spend two minutes checking the card, looking at my face, checking the card and look at my face again [I'm guessing the vague hope that I'll magically grow five years younger so my face looks more familiar]. Eventually the poor woman decided that I was indeed who I said I was and eventually put through the beer and crisps. The next question had me fuming... "Do you want any savings stamps?" Savings stamps? I don't even know what they are. I don't even have any postage stamps. I'm buying beer and crisps. Savings stamps are very much not on the agenda, unless it means that my shopping will be cheaper next time... which I very much doubt.

It's not all bad though, this psychological block that means I can't be late. You never miss the start of the football or a film at the cinema. But you also get the comfy end seats at the side of the lecture theatre so I can snooze. Its only downfall is when it comes to going to the shops for your last minute beer; you get the choice of the lonely cashiers who are all too keen to sell you savings stamps. Next time I’ll go even earlier and give the cashier hell. Get to the checkout with my shopping and give the “ooh, forgotten something... I’ll run back and get it” before going back to the beer aisle and picking up exactly the same stuff and taking it to another till. Yeah, that’s right ladies and gentlemen... Power to the people.

I know they’re just doing what they’re told to say but it’s never the rare good looking checkout girl that bombards you with questions, it’s always the ones that look like they’ve been lured down from a mountain with a hunk of meat... or the ones that have been living in the bins outside the back of the shop for so long eventually they offered them a job. Absolutely no justice whatsoever. 

I’d also like to point out that if you were in any way disappointed in this blog, it was because my aforementioned alter ego Ted wrote it... I’m watching a DVD and reading a book.