For a little over 20 years, some may think that Formula 1 has collectively been disappearing up its collective anus. The recent social media ‘most podium trios’ graphic made me realise probably since 1999 F1 ceased to be a true sport in competitive terms and has been in reality a race to squander more money than the proverbial Arab goat herder who struck Gulf oil.

Come to think of it, a mission to colonise Uranus would probably have been less expensive than the double decade gazzilions spent by Formula 1 teams.

Not only has this spend been prolific, most likely equivalent to numerous medium nations emptying the bowels of their national banks, whilst issuing bonds they can never repay (Don’t mention ‘the war’ to Italy), but our beloved F1 circus has utterly failed to create a spectacle much better than the low budget cartoon Rhubarb and Custard.

During this epoch, F1 has in duly spawned a spectacle that sees ‘the greatest ever’ overpaid competitors win fame and fortune primarily because their team has a bigger wedge wrapped with an elastic band than the next richest spic outfit.

The infinite greenbacks then deliver a racing machine that is as indefatigable as George Galloway once believed Saddam Hussain to be – before his wizard of Oz trick was exposed.

Bugger social media, millennials and snowflake F1 trolls – and the Hamfosi.

(Shouting through the old fashioned megaphone) Calling all F1 fans who remember the bonfire of the Ferrari’s in the 1980’s. Change is in the air!!! (Echo, echo).

The F1 spending cap whilst nominal at present will gather momentum and prevent global car manufacturers spending $1 billion a year on a BLM branded driver and car, because its ‘better value for it’s shareholders’ than the $7bn a year that similar other forms of marketing would cost.

Further, the end of the F1 driver cloned with ‘Schumacher’ levels of Megan-esque believable levels of competitive intensity is nigh. The end of the Earl of Nowhere – well the nowhere he himself calls a slum – and his puerile bandwagon philosophy is nigh. Sir, ‘I’ve got the attention span of a newt’, and his cohorts championing non-existent causes to deaf ears are soon to be banished from our presence.

There are ‘Sirs’ everywhere. It’s pretty meaningless today to be awarded this tawdry honour. Particularly since BLM believe it to be representative of the racist British Empire’s values. Irony personified.

Monaco is no Land of Hope and Glory. Nor is it a ‘beacon of race relations’ to other white majority societies.

An example of another meaningless Sir springs to mind. Sir K, leader of the British political party formed to represent the ‘working man’, is an example of this contradiction in terms. He is an Islington elitest Human Rights lawyer now is battling for the hearts and minds of those whose forefathers died in the coal mines of ‘the North’ (a barren wasteland North of Watford, England.. where everyone is racist and holds cockfights in their back yards.)

Replacing this cancel culture fiction within the F1 bubble of fantasy, will be the Bonhomie reminiscent of a proper Sir. Stirling Moss and also of his truly great mate Graham Hill. Jocham Rindt, Jim Clark et al. These guys literally risked their lives to compete on the edge to win and have sex with women (James Hunt particularly), and in doing so brought us true joy.

Not only were these historic heroes truly ‘brave’ but they conducted themselves predominantly with an air of grace and humour, they portrayed a light hearted view of racing; one lost on many of today’s F1 brats, who since their Aldous Huxley-esque test tube birth have been coached into the ‘Transformer’ type machine existence they represent.

I could continue, and I will in the next episode of ‘F1: A New Hope’. This of course being the first published edition will be Episode IV.

Yet before we conclude this prologue, we must meet the hero who will save Galactic racing from the grips of Darth Lulu and the evil Mercedes Empire.

Ladies and Gentleman – I present to you my Viceroy, LaaaaaaaandOOO NORRIS.

Appendix A.vii

I, by the way am the newly unelected president of the world, earth, humanity et cetera, et cetera. Here to offer you a choice. Red pill – or blue pill?

Oh by the way, happy Easter to all you who celebrate it. My good friend Parth tells me that India even have Good Friday as a holiday. Presumably a gracious bequeathment from The Empire.