The Phone Call To Derek Warwick

Did lots of work today so by 10pm I thought I deserved to take the rest of the night off. Me and Tom made some dinner and watched a film.

All in all it should have been quite dull. But we didn’t really watch the film, we talked over most of it (Fever Pitch, shitter than you’d remember). The conversation started with sport, moving through to motor racing (my sport of choice as a child).

I remembered that I had an old review of 1989 Formula One season book (haven’t looked at it for years, it’s been used, along with a Noel Edmonds annual, as a monitor stand, so yes, inadvertently I’ve been looking at it whenever I use my computer, but I haven’t actually looked in it). I fetched it and we marveled at these old pictures and sports reports.

I’d honestly forgotten quite how obsessed I was with Formula One. Even going so far as to write down all of the times (am I actually admitted this) from ceefax and putting them in a folder called my Formula One project.

The pinnacle of this was a holiday in Jersey in 1990, I was 10. I knew that Derek Warwick was a Jersey inhabitant (for those of you who don’t know, and Christ who would remember a crappy British Formula One driver from the late eighties, in fact, if you do remember him, then you were as bad as me, but he drove for Arrows, never won a race and was a bit dull) in the hotel with all my ten year old precocious ways I went to the phone box, picked up the phone book tied to it and found him in there.

I dialed the number, getting very excited (possibly getting aroused, at the time I was unaware of these feelings…oh god, my mum reads this) it rang. Eventually a Spanish voice answered.

“Hallo”

“Hello, Is Mr Warwick there?”

“No, ee eez away for a weeek.”

“Oh, ok.”

“Bye”

And that was it, actually I feel quite lucky. What exactly would I have said to him, and can you imagine a dull Formula One driver (though still a Formula One driver with money and women) wanted to meet up for a drink with a ten year old, not only that but a wanky ten year old who rang him?

No

I am glad he was away.

I shall now go and hide in the floor.

And not tell you all about the letter from Nigel Mansell.