An almost oops....

I am currently house sitting a large abode in Muswell Hill for a journalist that I am currently working with, a well established woman in the food and travel arenas hereafter only ever referred to as 'EE' (El Eccentrico)
EE has jetted off to Barbados where stories await her, and in her absence I am to make sure that the dog is walked and fed (insert snotty 'Eloise can't look after a living creature' joke here. Because that hasn't gotten tired. At all.) and that the house basically remains in one piece. Today, after walking the dog (Insert another joke. Go on. I'm loving it. Eye roll.) I got home and made my way into my bedroom. And there was the distinct smell of something burning. Panic ensued.
Okay, let's backtrack a second here.....
Today is the second day of Spring. The sky is blue, the sun is shining. Sure, it's cold, but this is England and we take what we can get. So in a fit of spring madness, I flung open my blinds (Can one fling open roller blinds? Can blinds be flung? 'I rolled up my blinds with enthusiasm' doesn't have the same ring.....anyway....) and threw open the window (I am almost certain one can throw open a window. It has a certain 'Sound of Music' feel about it.) and let the sun shine in. (Cue background music from Hair) Then I took the dog for the walk. The sun continued to shine. I got back. There was burning. Are we all up to speed?
So, I frantically searched all the plug points in the room to check that I did not have an electrical fire on my hands. And I didn't. Couldn't find a thing. I was perplexed. I sat down at this very computer to check that the charger hadn't blown (again) and as I reached around to the back of it, I caught a distinct whiff of smoke and then saw a thin stream of it rising, like some ethereal totem pole of doom. Something sparkled. The sun momentarily blinded me.
Oh fuck.
The glass paperweight on the desk had caught a beam of light, and like a magnifying lens, had concentrated the rays into one incredibly hot spot. The stack of paper that it was holding down, was now smouldering, a fiery ring spreading underneath it. OH fuck fuck fuck. Please, oh please, do not let me get caught in some situation where I inadvertently burn this house down.

Anyway. I put it out. I shut the blind. I put the paperweight in a drawer. That thing is a goddamn fire hazard.

Miserablism and absolutely nothing for those not automotively* inclined

Miserablism, that rough tongued sonofabitch, has set up home amongst my insides. It’s my own fault really. I did a Bad Thing. Bad things often lead to similar nauseating circumstances, but I must confess I did not think that the Mother of the Blueness would have come to stay for quite so long. I thought I could be done with it, that I could shrug and duck my head and it would, if not be forgotten, at least not be spoken of. No such luck. Having said that, while the repercussions of the Bad Thing have been further reaching and more damaging than I initially thought possible, this overwhelming sense of sickness does have some glimmer of hope on the horizon. Sadly, I do not speak of some sort of time travel where I can go and undo the Bad Thing. No, this is far more selfish. (One would think, after the aforementioned Bad Thing, I would seek to be less selfish. But apparently my fallibility remains wholly intact, and I do not.) Instead, I speak of the holy grail of distractions. The one thing absolutely guaranteed to hold my attention in such a way that I do not dwell quite so obsessively on this wrong that I cannot right.

That’s right. I speak of the return of the season.

It’s F1 time again and I can assertively say that it’s with a momentous sigh of relief that the cars have been unveiled, the teams announced and the drivers decided. There are big changes this year. Huge. Drivers are all over the place. Great teams no longer exist. This is also true for shit teams. Old teams of legendary status have returned. Richard Branson has poured an incredible amount of money onto the grid in what I can only foresee to be a massive hydraulically challenged waste of time. World Champion Button (or, to quote Shelley, ‘Stitch, Button, whatever that guy’s name is’) has moved to McLaren (the world’s most morally bankrupt team) to partner with Hamilton. Remember the last time McLaren signed a World Champion to drive with Lewis? Remember how well that went? I expect a similar scene. I am on the edge of my seat about it. Toys will be thrown. Tantrums will take place. Expect two very stroppy British World Champions any day now. Ayrton Senna’s nephew makes his debut. Alonso, the severely browed Spaniard, has scooted EVERYONE’S favourite party boy Kimi out of his Ferrari seat and into WRC. Does this mean I will start watching WRC? I don’t have time for this shit. Really. I’m not ruling it out though. In matters such as these, I am easily swayed. The new Renault looks like a giant, aerodynamically inclined bumblebee. The new Lotus livery is lovely, it’s been too long since there was racing green on the track. Rubens didn’t retire. Irritating. The good news is that I doubt the Williams will be fighting at the front, so we won’t have to see him cry too much on the podium. New boys are everywhere. Kobayashi got a drive with Sauber. He is insane and I like it. I am excited to see that crazy, brilliant Jap fuck with everyone’s races. (Well, not everyone. When he gets in the way of you know who I will be fuming.) No more refuelling. Pit stops down to 3 seconds. THREE SECONDS. Renault has said in practise they can change the tyres in under that, but we’ll see what happens. Test drivers back on the grid. That preemie beast, Alguersuari, he who cannot finish a race for love nor money, is back in the Torro Rosso. Vettel’s neck is thicker than ever. His head is in danger of looking like a baseball on a tree stump.

And then there’s Merc GP.

Oh Mercedes. I want to weep with joy when I see you. Ross Brawn, the strategic genius. The return of Schumacher. And of course, be still my wildly beating heart, Nico Rosberg. I’m pleased to report that Nico has been kicking ass and taking names (that’s right, I went there) in winter testing and I do believe that the 2010/2011 season will be that of his inaugural grand prix win. I am willing to put money on it. I really am. I’m not prone to gambling, I’m just THAT confident. For those Schumacher haters out there (and you know who you are) I am not saying that this team is without fault. I mean, did you SEE the press pictures? Tragic. But let’s be honest. They are a formidable team. There was a lot of shoulder shrugging and confused looks when Button was looking to leave his world championship winning team at the end of last season and it was only when the rumours of a Merc buyout surfaced that the whisperings of an all German team were heard. The rumour mill was pretty spot on and the return of Schumacher has caused much consternation amongst those who care about these particular cars. Will he still be great? Can he do it? Is he too old? I’m not sure really. He’s a fiercely competitive driver who has not yet stopped looking for occasions to go as fast as possible. And let's face it. He is SCHUMACHER. The Mercedes engines, last year at least, were unsurpassed. Brawn in a genius. And Nico.... well, we all know how I feel about that beast. So a German team running German engines with German drivers it is then. I just hope this doesn’t go the same way the last time the Germans attempted world domination.

From now until November, I am no longer available on Sundays. Not even to talk on the phone. That is unless you’re calling to talk about the illegal overtaking on corner 9.

*I am fully aware of automotively’s meagre credentials as a bona-fide word. In this particular instance, I don’t care.