Bom Dia sports fans. Spy here, making a bee-line for the big metal bird and – eventually – Milton Keynes, the cultural centre of the universe.
The end to this season is, frankly, weird. Every car is always better on some tracks than others, but at the moment the racing seems to be ridiculously bi-polar: last time out Max could win without breaking sweat*, this week, we were nowhere. Frankly, it's disappointing – but then the day started badly when we ran out of teabags. There's just no coming back from that.
Both cars home, however, is a decent consolation, as it's been a while since that last happened. And Daniel's going to be pretty happy with a good recovery after being punted off at the start. Daniel with a bunch of cars to pass is like a child with a box of crayons and a freshly painted white wall: he's going to cause mayhem until somebody makes him stop.
Not that any of it matters in the grand scheme of things: there's a definite sense of end-of-term in the paddock now. The championships are done, there's still some of the minor placing to sort out but basically, everybody's looking to 2018 already. Also, and with the greatest of respect to Yas Marina, this feels like the place where the season should end. Certainly, the teams tend to treat it that way, with most still having their end-of-season outings here. You can always tell who's had theirs the previous night: they're the ones drinking water directly from the cooler bottle, desperate to rehydrate after several pounds of salty meat and – perhaps – the odd caipirinha.**
There are other dinners too, including one for the paddock's small army of press officers. After a year of defending the bad behaviour of others, they finally get to lead by example. No doubt on Thursday night some of the boys and girls in the press room felt their ears burning. Spy's sources in the room haven't been able to confirm who won the coveted 'worst journalist in the world, ever' award this year – but that's because the communications specialists weren't feeling particularly communicative after a night on the tiles.
Interlagos, as usual, put on a great grand prix. It's worth mentioning that because most of the press the Brazilian Grand Prix gets is bad. Every year somebody gets robbed, every year it's in the same place (because there's only one way out of the circuit and it has a choke point), every year the authorities vow to do something about it and firmly close the stable door with the horse already sold on eBay, only to leave said door swinging wide open again the following season.
But. Inside the circuit it's a hell of a race. There's always a great atmosphere with a huge crowd that's going to shout and sing and cheer every attempted overtaking move. Has there ever been a dull race in São Paulo? Spy can't remember one. There have certainly been plenty of classics. At the moment Brazil is geographically isolated on the F1 calendar, but make no mistake, this is definitely part of the F1 heartland.
*He's a very unsweaty driver... it's weird.
**Not us. Our bodies are temples: we do not partake of strong spirits, and eat only salad leaves and pulses.