The Monaco Grand Prix
Page 2
Prix had arrived, the room was pitch black. I opened my eyes, and I could not see a thing. Worse still I had no idea where I was. I was lying on a strange sofa, in a strange apartment. Suddenly the door to the living room opened and the light was switched on.
In front of me, stood a beautiful, willowy brunette in a nightdress. “Cameron are you ok?” she asked in English, but with an incredibly sexy French accent “Its Adeline isn’t it?” I blinked getting used to the light
“Don’t you remember last night” she said in her silky voice “Not really no, I don’t” I replied “You could not get back home, so I brought you here” Slowly I began to remember walking back to her apartment, climbing the 380 steps up the hill to her apartment at the top of the hillside, nearly having a heart attack on the way.
“Thank you so much Adeline, I really appreciate it, you are so kind” “It ees no problem, I think you were a leetle bit drunk” she said “I think I was, and I’m so grateful to you” I replied. Soon she had got dressed and she escorted me back down the mountainside, and down lots of passageways and lifts and tunnels, until eventually we made it back to my cousins apartment. For every one step she took, I took two, my little legs could hardly keep up with her. Now the security for the race was in full swing.
Because the apartment was in the ‘red zone’ we had to show our passports and our security passes just to get near to the apartment, we were checked and double checked in the space of a few yards. Once inside the apartment, it was obvious that preparations for the race party were in full swing, dozens of bottles of Cote du Provence were being placed in large plastic buckets and covered in ice. The caterers were preparing some delightfully yummy French style, nibbles to be handed out to the guests, ear plugs were being handed out to the incoming guests.
Now I have watched many a Grand Prix on TV, but nothing, simply nothing can prepare your ears for the sound of 20 formula 1 grand prix engines as they are revved up all at once, the din was simply ear splitting. The noise from the street below seemed to be being diverted up into the air as the sound waves bounced off the surrounding concrete apartments, it was hard to hear anyone else talking unless you went up to them and shouted in their ear.
Just as the main race was due to begin, my cousin came up to me and yelled in my ear. "Cameron, I'm sorry but I've got a job for you to do" "What is it" I yelled back "You need to walk the dogs, the poor things are desperate" "OK no problem" I shouted back. Manu and Barca were lying down beside the front door. As soon as they saw me with my plastic poop bags in my hand they had jumped up and were panting expectantly. As soon as we opened the door to our apartment, the dogs made a beeline for the open door of the apartment opposite.
Inside all hell broke loose, this was the party for the Maclaren racing team and their friends and families, eventually the dogs were shooed out of the door, and I apologised in my broken French. Soon we were going down in the lift, the dogs panting wildly. As soon as we got outside the apartment, both of them did a pee on the gravel beside the front door, they must have been so desperate.
We were still inside the security cordon, Just as we came up to the security checkpoint, Manu to a huge poo, right in the middle of the path. "Excuse Moi Madam" I protested, as I bent down and scooped up the poo into a plastic bag. "Pas Problem" said the security guard, pleased that I had acted so quick. From now on the dogs were on a mission, they seemed to know how to cause maximum embarrassment.
If they found a police van, they would stop right in front of it and do a poo. I took them round the corner to where I knew there was a quiet little park. The park was far from quiet, this was race day and the place was packed out. Every patch of grass, bar one, was occupied by day trippers eating their sandwiches. Barca went up on the grass and squatted down right in front of a man sitting cross legged on the grass, he was eating a ham and cheese baggette.
Barca strained and did a huge crap right in front of the guy. I was mortified! "Excuse Moi Monsier, Pardon est Moi" I promptly scooped the hot steaming stools into another poop bag, and walked off, the man said nothing, and I didn't look back. The dogs were now incedibly excited, as we walked around the neighbourhood, every bar and every cafe was packed with happy, excited tourists eating and drinking and generally soaking up the atmosphere. The dogs were enjoying themselves too, at every bar, they would disappear inside and not come out for ages, drunken tourists would be stroking them and cuddling them, and the dogs were loving the attention they were getting.
I would be frantically trying to keep tabs on them, calling their names and clapping for them to come out. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only half an hour, we made our way back to the security cordon sanitaire.
By now the dogs and I were famous, I found I didn't need to show any passes at all, the dogs were my identification, and the security guards just waved us through. When I got into the foyer of the apartment block, I couldn't make out what was going on, there were lots of shaven headed guys in black suits and ties, with ear pieces in their ears, they had all formed into a lineup lining both sides of the foyer.
The atmosphere was electric, you could cut it with a knife. Suddenly the lift opened and the dogs bounded forward, all hell broke loose, the security guards leapt forward and grabbed the dogs and pulled them back out of the lift, it took three of them to hold Manu, who was determined to go back to HIS apartment. All of a sudden everyone around me stiffened to attention,
I looked up and there was this amazingly elegant blonde woman, dressed head to toe in a Chanel gold coloured suit and jacket, carrying a daintily matching handbag on her arm. She smiled at me and the dogs and bent down and stroked them. "What lovely dogs you have" she said in a distinctly South African accent. "They are gorgeous" she continued, smiling and beaming. Fortunately, now that this vision of loveliness had given her approval, the shaven headed goons all relaxed too. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief as the super model blonde, strode effortlessly into the lift and disappeared from view.
The next lift arrived and the dogs and I were given priority treatment and ushered like royalty into the lift. When I got upstairs, I was rather bemused by what had gone on and proceeded to explain what had happened to my cousin. "Cameron, did you not know who that was?" He grinned "I've no idea, not a clue" I replied "You've only gone and met Prince Albert's other half, Charlene Whitstock, she's getting married to Prince Albert in a couple of weeks time, that's our future Princess!" "I wondered why the guards were getting twitchy" I said "good job the dogs and me weren't shot" I joked.
"Oh by the way" shouted my cousin above the din of the racing engines "What's that" I asked "Can you carve up the roast beef, it’s in the oven, it should be cooked by now" I opened the door of the oven, and inside were two huge ribs of beef, they were more carcasses that joints of beef, they were huge. "Where did you get these from?" I asked
"Raymond brought them over from England in his suitcase" he laughed. I immediately decided to go and get changed into an old T-shirt, as I knew that this carving lark would get messy. The French caterers were very friendly and smiling, I got chatting to them in my pigeon French, and as I got the two huge joints of meat out of the oven, I managed to crack a joke in French. "Les Rosbifs pour Les Rosbifs" I said with a smile (the Roast beef for the Roast Beef's) This managed to break the ice with the French caterers, and from then on, they were exceedingly friendly and helpful. I really struggled to carve the joints of beef, there was no electric carving knife, and I had to carve them by hand. Blood was dripping from the meat on the carving board, onto the floor.
It was so hot, that I opened the windows to get some air. Within a few minutes, a whole posse of seagulls were swooping around and trying to get into the window, one landed on the windowsill and made a lunge for a piece of English Roast Beef. "Allez Allez" shouted the caterers who waved knives at the seagulls, who eventually got the message and beat a retreat. Once I had finished my carving duties, I changed back into some clean shorts and shirt and m
ade my way up to the top deck of the apartment.
The atmosphere was fantastic, everyone was having a great time, the noise from the racing was deafening. "Cameron" shouted cousin, pointing to the chilled crates of cote du Provence "Try and make sure everyone is kept topped up" he bellowed in my ear "Sure thing" I replied. That afternoon, was one of the most blissful and enjoyable afternoons of my life. I simply plodded around the deck, topping up peoples glasses in the baking hot sunshine, chatting, making new friends, taking a few pictures and generally having a great time, all in a state of mellowness from the lovely, ice cold, Cote du Provence.
One of the guys, a young trader, gave me a Cuban cigar, the taste of this thing was so mellow and sweet, I could almost taste the salt from the Cuban thigh that it was rolled on! The whole afternoon was simply bliss. The race was won by Sebastian Vettel, who was presented with the cup by the very nice blonde lady that I had met in the lift.
Once the race was over, everyone mingled and chatted some more, until finally in the evening, we had to go and get changed into our 'glad rags', we were all going out to one of the swankiest nightclubs in town.