Luckily, I had remembered to record the race itself before the drinking commenced, accepting the similar inevitability that I'd be deeply unconscious by 6 o'clock. As is always the danger in these situations (a danger I apparently insist on placing myself under with any televised sporting event), I had to guarantee avoiding the result, but only within the narrow confines of my own home. No matter how many times you begin a conversation with "don't mention anything about the F1," things rarely fail to escape your knowledge. It was, on this occasion, a mishap on my behalf; I couldn't resist the sound of an F1 engine from downstairs, and craned my neck to listen only to hear "number one spot for Sebastian Vettel." This piece of information on its own was manageable, as the one thing I could remember from last night's inebriated viewing was that Vettel was on pole. Unfortunately, I couldn't resist shouting at my father to turn it off, only for him to reassure me that he'd finished watching the race himself. So from the outset I knew the name of the winner. But it was always a likely outcome. The beauty of Formula 1 is that there are so many incidents and battles besides those at the front. And the 2010 Japanese Grand Prix proved plentiful.
I'm beginning to think that my analysis of a race is pretty redundant considering: a) the wealth of analysis the BBC provides throughout a racing weekend, and b) my lack of knowledge compared to those on our screens. I must confess that I'm a relative newcomer to the sport, having begun watching religiously from the middle of this season. Nevertheless, it has fast become an obsession of mine, and I long for grand prix weekends as if it were a lifelong love. In fact I find myself becoming increasingly disinterested in football compared to F1, something I could never have predicted. Surely that is testament to the excitement of this season, as my father assures me F1 has been predictable and stale in recent seasons. Although I must qualify that floundering interest as the Premier League and International game; my love of the football league is as strong as ever. To prove my commitment to the lower leagues, I'm currently working on an article in honour of some of my local clubs that are no longer with us. Having recently become a resident of the fine county of North Yorkshire, I'm remembering the history of Scarborough Town and Halifax United, two teams that are present in my memory of the football league as a child, and who sadly cease to exist.
On a more upbeat and promising note for our smaller clubs, my boyfriend, a life-long Manchester United supporting Londoner, has made the conscious and honourable decision to start supporting his local team, Leyton Orient. This I applaud, although I do wish he'd opted for a club with a marginally less obnoxious chairman.
