“I think John Surtees should get a knighthood” I mused to the people who happened to be looking around the show with me. I had just got to the NEC, found the media centre, picked up my pass and decided to explore with Katie Grimmett and Jack Leslie.
“Dan! He’s right there!” says Katie in a tone that suggests that I should probably look before opening my big mouth, as we scuttle away and blend into the background to an otherwise quiet hall full of priceless cars. “Great start, Puddicombe” I think to myself as I sheepishly walk as far away from the Surtees collection as I can.
Let’s rewind a bit. The reason why I’m suggesting that John Surtees should get a knighthood in an empty – yes, devoid of people - NEC is because I was asked to be a blogger for this year’s Autosport International Show. In return for writing a few words about
the greatest driver of my generation they’d give me a media pass (see, all grown up now) and accredit me for the trade days. Sounds like a good deal, doesn’t it?
Safely out of earshot of John, Jack turns to me and just laughs. I realise that I’m not going to be made to forget this in a while, and as we look around the halls I struggle to walk and type at the same time prompting more mockery from Katie and Jack.
Still, could be worse; thanks to the inclement weather that week there was a concern that none of us would make it to Birmingham, let alone say things about someone without realising they’re stood in front of you. I make a mental note to look before speaking in the future and probably forget it in an instant.
The idea of having a quick walk around on the Thursday evening to get our bearings was a good one, but a flawed one at the same time: it didn’t really help us as the NEC is huge and without any maps is very easy to get lost in.
The three of us found our way back to the media centre and relayed our findings to the rest of the guys we knew in there – mainly Richland F1 people, who had taken over a corner of the media centre, which we then left in search of some food and drink like great explorers.
Like great explorers who can’t be bothered to look very hard for places to eat and drink we turned into the Weatherspoons that must’ve been, ooh, 300 paces from the media centre.
Feeling quite peckish after a while, I went up to the bar and asked for some food, as you generally do in these places only to be told in a thick Brummie accent that the kitchen was closed. “But it’s only 7.30 and I’m hungry!” I protested in my best Brummie accent, pointing at my media pass in an attempt to show that I wasn’t just a pleb, but a pleb with a media pass that needed feeding. After a short pause, I got a look that suggested I was going to get a wallop around the face unless I stopped mocking the bartender’s stupid accent. I walked back to the table, irritated and hungry.
“The kitchen’s closed guys. Now what?” I said as I sat down and continued drinking my drink. Everyone looked at each other and then time, and carried on drinking. Half an hour later, the bell dings and we’re effectively kicked out of the NEC.
“Birmingham Airport isn’t very far away” someone piped up, “and I’m sure you can get food there”. Yes, that’s right; my life was reduced to trekking to Birmingham Airport in the vague hope that we could get some dinner. Since I couldn’t think of any better ideas I followed the crowd, which was smaller than the Whetherspoons crew – Alex, Phillip and Leigh had to disappear for various reasons – leaving just the six of us to discover what Birmingham Airport has to offer. When I woke up on the Thursday morning I did not imagine I’d be getting on a monorail to an airport, but it’s funny how these things work out, isn’t it?
It turned out that Birmingham Airport offered us some food and drink, and very nice it was too. We were the only people in the restaurant and it stayed like that until we got kicked out at about 10.30pm or so, probably because the staff were bored of six bores arguing over a front wing while pondering how to get ‘the boss’, Luke, on a plane to Abu Dhabi for giggles.
Katie, Jack and I had booked rooms in the Hilton, so as we (smugly) left the others to go to their hotel – an Etap – we boarded the monorail back to the train station and set about finding the hotel. After a lot of walking around, we each checked in and promised each other that Friday would be more fruitful.
Part two of Daniel Goes to Birmingham will be online tomorrow, and I promise I’ll talk about some cars and not rabbit on about not eating.
All images © LAT, aside from the last one which is my own.
