Every year, burly men deny me access to the paddock at Austria. This year, I feigned a heart attack while clutching a full-fat, half-liter can of RedBull just outside Entrance A in Steiermark Village. I knew there was a good chance I would be rushed into the First Aid tent near the Welcome Center. It worked! I ducked out when the girl turned around to get the defibrillator. I donned my custom-prepared Paddock Pass and was off to the races!

My custom-prepared VIP Paddock Pass The first thing I did was look for my dear friend Helmut Marko. He often pretends like he has no clue who I am. He’s quite the comedian. One time, he leaned into the bit and had me thrown out of the pitlane. Such a joker. I pass Lando Norris, rush to hug him and ask how his mum’s doing. He recoils and backs away from me as if I were some crazed attacker. The next thing I know, my cheek is grinding into the asphalt while some hulking oaf drives his knee into my back.

“Lando!” I scream, “Is this how you treat your good friend? You’ve seen me countless times outside your house by the bushes! Surely we’re family by now??”

My appeals fall on deaf ears, and finally the circus bear lets me stand up, points at me, and tells me to keep my distance. I dust myself off with a heavy heart, trying to understand what I could have done to sour our long-standing relationship. LN’s only known I was really hiding in the bushes for 3 of the 4 years. Surely that counts for something. Sigh.

I continue my walk to the RB garage, and I see him! Turned away from the people, hunched over a laptop, liver spots on his neck. I take my opportunity and sprint into the garage, deftly dodging the pit crew - they used to be so much faster when Max was winning. Before he has a chance to turn around to survey the chaos, I give Helmut Marko a huge hug from behind.

“Helmut! So good to see you!” I say, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

Recoiling again from me and the situation, Helmut drops his laptop with a crash and is momentarily stunned. He’s probably thinking if his new plans for rebuilding the junior driver assembly line are saved.

“You absolute ARSE!”, he screams at me, incredulous. “Who are you and what are you doing here, and more importantly, why hasn’t security done its job?!”

“Now now, Helmut, you know we had coffee together that time in Abu Dhabi. Surely you remember me? You do this all the time”, I countered.

“You’ve fucking RUINED all my work!!”, he screamed. I was afraid his rising stress level would be detrimental to his health.

“Now now, calm down. I just want a selfie with you.”, trying to pacify him as best I could. I don’t understand why all my friends in Formula 1 always behave like this.

Before he could say anything more, I was whipped off my feet by two large Austrian gorillas and led away. “I hope Max wins this race!!!”, I scream as I’m unceremoniously carried out.

I wrap up this report by reflecting on how close I came this year. I think I need new friends. The ones I have in Formula 1 are so nice in their interviews, but are absolutely uncharitable when I show up at their houses unannounced. Friends shouldn’t behave this way. Also, I lied when I said I wanted Max to win. I hope my close personal friend Lew takes this one. Forza Ferrari.