Jenson on the Button in Melbourne

Lewis Hamilton thinks he is P.Diddy.


Georgie Thompson, the face of Sky Sports News for 10 years, has finally got her big break. Swapping her news desk for the Sky F1 interactive studio, she travels the world providing viewers ill informed, F1 inspired dross which is patronising to the even the most fleeting of Grand Prix fans.


Her only saving grace, and most probably the reason she got the job in the first place, is that she is really really beaut. However, her beaut face and diminutive frame seems somewhat out of place in a sport that, let’s face it, is full of nerds. From Ross Brawn to Adrian Newey, being exceptionally clever, anally retentive and poorly dressed is a given and this is where Thompson really doesn’t cut it.


Leaving Miss Thompson and the hot hair that accompanies here aside, with SkyF1, the sport has finally got what it deserves: Martin Brundle, David Croft and Ted Kravitz. This dream team, poached from the BBC, provide detailed commentary and technical analysis now without the irritating and frankly mildly insane ramblings of Eddie Jordan.


Jordan, with David Coulthard and Jake Humphries, are aboard a sinking ship. The BBC’s coverage, since losing their star commentator (Brundle) and the rights to televise all races live, is thinning faster than Coulthard's hairline.


So Sky has won the battle, but not the war. This will be decided upon the streets of Monaco. Here, both broadcasters are ‘live’ and will slug it out for viewing figures to see where the British public's loyalties really lie. What Sky needs is a Churchill, a man who will lead them into battle and put Jordan and his chums out of their misery.


What the Sky executives have not realised yet is that they already have such a man in their ranks; a true master of his art, and a king amongst men.


Gary Neville has astounded the football viewing public with his superb punditry. Appearing from nowhere, Neville has made Jamie Redknapp look like Ray Wilkins (who is mediocre at best and very bald). A swap, Thompson for Neville, will destroy any hope for the BBC team and end this debate for good.


The Race In Melbourne


The first race of the season is always exciting and Melbourne’s Albert Park circuit is a great place to start the year. Due to updated regulations, the new cars looked ‘ugly’ in such picturesque surroundings with the notable exception of Mclaren.


The Woking based team’s design looked sleek and elegant but this aesthetic superiority was soon negated with the presence of Nicole Scherzinger amongst the team. Lewis Hamilton’s ‘on/off’ girlfriend looked gratifyingly uncomfortable as she wasted valuable space within the Mclaren Garage. Complete with ‘friend’ Lenny Kravitz, her desperate self promotion was as evident as her feigned interest.


Hamilton’s poor performance last year is wildly accredited to his breakup with this Pussy Cat Doll and this is where I have a real problem with him. Lewis Hamilton thinks he is P.Diddy. He needs to stop pretending to be a rapper and take a look at a proper Grand Prix driver, James Hunt.


The 1976 world champion was a man whose driving was not affected by romance or breakups. He had no time for such rubbish: he raced, he won, he smoked a cigarette and then he disappeared into the garage to shag multiple pit girls. He did not sulk around blaming everyone but himself.


Hamilton was probably in the thrall of such a mope as the lights went out, allowing team mate, fellow Brit and generally better lad  Jenson Button through, going on to win unchallenged. It was superbly dominant performance by Button and Mclaren. I highly recommend watching the race (on Sky) if you think my race summary is rather thin (which it definitely is).


In Summary:

Driver of the Day: Button, for being pluer.

Move of the Day: Raikkonen, for his move around the outside at turn 4… beaut.

Dick of the Day: Maldonado, for binning it in the wall on the final lap and for having braces at the age of 27.