Yes, it’s that time of year again. We’ve seen Grand Prix in Australia, China, Malaysia and Bahrain, it’s mid-May and I haven’t left the country for at least a fortnight. To many people, this constitutes little more than normality. But for me, it signifies the start of my F1 season. So as Bernie brings the circus to Europe, my effort to fill up a third passport in seven years begins. I’m excited, of course, and have been for some time. But things really started to ramp-up on Friday… (did I just say ‘ramp-up’? Oh lord, I’m spending too long at work, taxi…)

When I bought tickets for the Canadian Grand Prix a few months ago, I was told they’d be delivered by UPS a couple of weeks before the event. So after some initial squeals of excitement, the novelty soon died down until I received emails from both UPS and Gootickets this week, suggesting ‘my delivery had been despatched’. At this point I naturally reverted to a mental age of five and became fidgety at my desk, much to the amusement of those around me. That was, until Alix pointed out that I probably wouldn’t be here when said delivery was delivered, as I’d be gallivanting around the Catalonian countryside chasing racing cars. She also kindly pointed out that, if said delivery (unlike the despatch notice) actually bore any markings which gave away its contents, said delivery would most likely be delivered, coveted, and auctioned-off to the highest bidder before my return.

At this point, I recruited the help of the someone else who has shown a tendency of getting excited when the post team approach her desk with packages. Michelle sits beside me at work, and last week was heard to mutter ‘I do love a delivery’. (She could, of course, have been referring to her ASOS parcel at the time, but hey). I then forwarded to Michelle all email correspondence I’ve had with Gootickets, UPS and the organisers of the Canadian GP, giving her full responsibility to sign for my delivery on arrival, and strict instructions to protect its contents with her life. Needless to say, such empowerment left Michelle totes emosh and the prospect of the UPS man walking up to her desk again suddenly became amaze balls.

AN: my lack of understanding of descriptions such as ‘totes emosh’ and ‘amaze balls’ caused further entertainment, and any potential misuse of such language should be excused entirely.

My tickets now scheduled to have more security that Lewis Hamilton’s dog Roscoe, I happily went off to my Friday morning meetings. As I returned to my desk, a strange air of silence (typically unusual of our office) was noticeable, only to be broken by Alix asking whether my morning had, so far, gone well. Slightly bemused, I answered cautiously with not bad (token non-committal answer), from where Alix continued her coy interrogation of my state of mind, asking whether it could possible get any better in any way. Still bemused, I answered again, cautiously, that it could, possibly, I suppose? At this point, she produced a UPS package and, you guessed it; my five-year-old self returned, the typically unusual silence was broken, and the more normal excitement that is working in Wealth Management resumed. In other words, Rebecca got all excited about F1, Scott tutted a bit, Janice opened a can of Dr Pepper, Michelle got totes emosh, we can’t talk about what Alix was doing and Mark was nowhere to be seen (probably grabbing coffee).

So excited, I think I’ll go to Barcelona and watch a Grand Prix!

Hasta Luego! #letsgoracing
Rxx