Every grand prix has two specific sets of journalist: there are the internationals, follow the series around the world, living on free paddock food and juggling enthusiasm and cynicism with hopeless dexterity; then there are the nationals, who turn up at their local race looking for a bit of colour. It’s easy to tell them apart by the questions they ask in press briefings. Internationals are all prying enquiries about contracts, performance and the scandal of the moment. The locals usually start things a little more gently with a “So, how are you enjoying your time in WhereverWeAre?”

 

Of the two, it’s the latter that’s deadly. Any driver good enough to get all the way to an F1 drive is a dab hand at batting away questions about where he’s going next year, why he hasn’t been constantly on the podium, and what it’s like having a manager crooked enough to walk through a corkscrew sideways. But the other questions, the ones about local nightlife and attractions, require a rather more deft touch. The brave ones (and both Mark and Seb fit into the category) dive in and talk about whatever they’ve seen or done this year or in the past. The others do the bunny in the headlights ‘very happy to be here; great fans; lovely circuit; thank you for the welcome.’ And they dread the follow-up. Men who will unflinchingly keep it planted through 130R suddenly adopt a mannerism best described as ‘clenched’, fearful of being asked for specifics on why they’re so happy to be here; what’s so great about this set of fans etc.,

 

This week more than any other it’s easy to feel a degree of sympathy. Last night, leaving the track at half past two, there were plenty of drivers still around: running the track with their trainers, talking to engineers, and generally doing the stuff they do at work. It’s very unlikely any of them will have been planning to nip back to the hotel for a shower and then set out to see the sights at 4am.  They might get out in the afternoon for a sponsor event in another hotel, but most of what they’ll see this week is paddock, garage, circuit and hotel. Good luck generating a story from that.

 

Of course it’s the same for the crews, who will finish work in the small hours. The exception is going to be Saturday night. With everything locked down in Parc Ferme there is a limit to what the team can do after debriefing, cleaning the garage and preparing for the morning. In the past they’d have probably torn both cars to pieces and rebuilt them before clocking off, so when the parc ferme rules came in the paddock mechanics greeted it like all their birthdays had come at once. Of course with a race to run on Sunday, it isn’t exactly a wild night of hedonism that awaits – team managers tend to take a dim view of that – but after four days of hard graft, even a quiet night with a good meal and a glass of wine is very welcome.

 

But in Singapore it’s a little bit different. If everything’s locked down by 1am, the natural instinct for most is to go back to the hotel for good night’s sleep – but with the team not due to reassemble for breakfast until the following afternoon, they’re not supposed to go to bed too early. A team-manager two doors down the paddock summed up the dilemma rather neatly: “This could be the only time all season I actively urge them to go to a nightclub…”

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