BLOG: Why does motor racing make me cry?

Over a couple of beers in the local pub last night, Mrs Motorcardiaries and I were discussing what pushes our emotional buttons. In spite of our many years together, Mrs S still can’t understand how or why motor racing manages to elicit in me such strong emotions. From the ecstasy of witnessing a truly great drive to the horror of a serious crash, the depth of my feelings for the sport brings out extreme emotions.

The catalyst for this conversation was the appearance of Billy Monger as Lewis Hamilton’s guest at the British GP. Like so many in the racing community, I found the violence of Billy’s Formula 4 accident hugely distressing but the knowledge that this charming young man had lost his legs – and at just 17 – shook me. My adoration for the racing is such that its dark side hits twice as hard. How dare this wonderful sport so cruelly kill and maim its protagonists? It’s the ultimate paradox and one with which I regularly wrestle.

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Italian Road Trip – Part Four

Euro 2016.191

We hit Florence at rush hour. Doing so as a passenger in my new and rather precious motor doesn’t do much to relax me. Mercifully, after many navigational errors (mine), honked horns (the Florentines’) and a couple of aggressive launches from the traffic lights (Mrs Motorcardiaries’), we finally find ourselves at Hotel Royal. This Fawlty Towers-esque establishment suffers from awkward access, ambivalent staff and a sense of rapidly fading grandeur. Still, there’s a sizeable car park and we’re five minutes’ walk from the bustle of central Firenze.

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