Ann Bradshaw, a journalist and press officer with three decades of experience in motor racing, and one of the most respected workers in the F1 paddock, follows the 2002 season in her post-race column, offering F1 fans an insight into the life of those who spend the GP weekend inside the paddock

The first time most of us went to Hungary in 1986 it was quite a culture shock. It was the first trip most of us had made behind the Iron Curtain and, although we had heard that cities like Budapest were beautiful, it was the unknown we were going into. Some of us remembered stories from 1956 when the Russian tanks went rolling in and were not sure what sort of damage we would find and what the people would be like.

Once through the passport procedure, which if you had no visa could take hours, we found ourselves in a very large, dingy hall with a couple of car hire desks to one side and lots of people milling around wearing the sort of clothes we had all abandoned in the sixties - crimplene flairs and winkle picker shoes seemed to be the favourite attire for the men. If this was a shock then it was nothing compared to what was waiting for us in the hire car parking lot, there were only Ladas for us to drive. Not a single modern European car was in sight. Even the Grand Prix drivers were treated no differently and I remember seeing them racing each other to the circuit in cars that were not designed to be driven that way.

One of the funniest sights I remember was a race down a very long, wide avenue that goes out of the city to the motorway that eventually leads to the circuit. This was between Ferrari driver Stefan Johansson, and McLaren team principal Ron Dennis. This culminated at a set of traffic lights when the usually calm Mr Dennis leapt from his car and proceeded to walk up the bonnet and across the roof of the similar model driven by the Swede. Although racing drivers are used to driving cars, for most this was a unique experience and several couldn't resist the temptation of taking them on the circuit. I remember the Lada of Derek Warwick being thrown 'round the Hungaroring with the tyres squealing and the door handles almost scraping the tarmac.

While the cars were from a different era, much to our delight the hotels were not. In fact, the Forum, one of the newest hotels there at the time, had just been voted something along the lines of 'top hotel in Europe' by American Express. While the rooms were very comfortable, it was the view that really made it exceptional, as if you had a river view, you could sit all day watching the Danube roll by while humming Johann Strauss's Blue Danube.

The Danube was not only for watching, as it was also an important link to other parts of Europe. In view of this, a group of us including Johnny Dumfries, who was then driving for Lotus, decided to take a hydrofoil down the river to Vienna after the race, as the next GP was just a week later in Austria. This adventure was marvellous, but a little scary, as for most of the six hour journey we were shadowed by Russian helicopters and at certain points down the river there were look out towers manned by soldiers with large guns.

When we were hit by a fierce hailstorm the boat ground to a halt in the middle of the not so blue Danube and we were buffeted about in the water. As we sat there hoping it was sea worthy someone pointed out that if we had to swim for it had we decided which would be the friendliest gun-toting border guards - as the river was the border - those in Hungary or those in Czechoslovakia! Luckily we never found out.

*   *   *

Prior to this trip down the Danube we had also attended an international athletics meeting at the Nep Stadium in Budapest. There were all the top athletes of the day, such as Ed Moses, Tessa Sanderson and Allan Wells, taking part. As we just happened to be in the vicinity, several of the F1 journalists and photographers had been asked by their papers to cover the event. They had all readily agreed, I went along to watch this and still laugh at the confusion of the poor journalists.

They were used to watching one race, not as many as four or five events going on at the same time. They were totally lost as to which direction to look, as just when they were watching a sprinter in one part of the stadium there would be a cheer from the opposite side, which signalled another event. Luckily there was an athletics regular from one of the news agencies who eventually felt sorry for them and helped them get the stories. The photographers were not so confused as all they wanted to do was picture the prettiest girls who often even bent over to do their warming-up routines directly in front of them.

They did however have one shock, and that was the realisation that athletes did a lap of honour after winning an event. They were thus expected to run alongside some of the fittest men and women in the world and get the shots, despite the fact many of them were very unfit and had pounds of heavy camera equipment. As they eventually came back to us at the end of the event, there was not one not perspiring heavily and they were all happy to report this was going to be a one off. They would happily go back to F1 and never complain about having to carry their equipment from their car to a waiting shuttle that would take them to the best vantage points.

*   *   *

One of the most magnificent buildings in the city was the Opera House and although not a fan of opera, I always felt as we passed this on the way to the circuit it would be wonderful to see a performance there. I had to wait about ten years to get my opportunity but it was worthwhile. Renault, who sponsored some of the productions, invited me. At this particular race a company making a documentary on WilliamsF1 and Damon Hill was filming us. The front man for this was the wonderfully funny Australian Clive James. Clive is a very cultured man and a great opera buff. He explained to me he had shared a flat when he first came to England with another man who took quite a shine to him.

Clive was having none of this, but this did not stop them having a close friendship and this man teaching him all he knew about opera. For me, having Clive sitting beside me in a plush box was the icing on the cake as we were watching a production of Othello and he knew all the words. He sang along and cheered at the finish until he was hoarse. I loved it as I knew Othello well from studying it at school, and so could follow the plot without having any knowledge of the words.

While on the subject of Clive, he is a great linguist and used to sit reading books in Spanish and German. He also had lots of 'down' time while waiting for the film crew to do their bit and then invite him to do his. He had the wonderful knack of sitting in the motorhome awning with a book in front of him looking absorbed in what he was doing oblivious to all going on around him. It was only after seeing him do this several times that I realised he was in fact sleeping while the cars were thundering round a short distance from him.

*   *   *

In my years with WilliamsF1 we had some great times in Hungary as the team won seven of the first twelve races there. Two of the most memorable races were 1992 when Nigel Mansell eventually won his World Championship and then in 1993 when Damon Hill won his first Grand Prix. Both as you can imagine were reasons to go out and celebrate after the race. I remember in particular the party after Damon had won. He had been whisked off back to the UK immediately after the race on a private jet but the rest of us had to write releases and, therefore, spend another night there. I had my first alcoholic drink after his win for nearly two and a half years, so the champagne had gone to my head and I was up for anything. We had a nice meal and then it was nightclub time.

I think it was ITV reporter (then Jordan PR lady) Louise Goodman who said she had heard her mechanics mention the Blue Angel. That name sounded good enough for us, so a group of us, including Derek Warwick and a member of his notorious family leapt into taxis and asked for the club. I should digress here to mention that Derek also had good reason to celebrate as he was driving for the Footwork team (Arrows under a different name in those days) and had just finished fourth, the team's best result of the year. He had three points and the aim was to buy one member of his party, who shall remain nameless, three women to celebrate this.

We all arrived at the club and started handing over our forints to gain entry. At this point one of the doormen stepped forward and told the girls in the party we could not go in. When asked why, we were told because there were naked women there. We had to laugh, as this man had no idea what sort of things we had seen in clubs in Brazil. Luckily he was not that big, so when Louise, who I would say would be 5'10" in her stocking feet, strode up to him, put her hands on her hips and then showed him the heavy silver bracelets that go half way up her arm and suggested he reconsidered this, he did just that and in we went. He was right, there were ladies with no clothes on, and I think at this point I should stop this tale to protect the other members of the party. Suffice it to say I saw things done here with a lighted candle that I thought impossible without snuffing it out!

*   *   *

Another memorable experience in Hungary was with one of my favourite drivers, Riccardo Patrese. I always claim that if you wanted to see a man who was the perfect Formula 1 driver then this was Riccardo. Italian, bronzed, incredibly handsome and with a physique that had muscles in all the right places. I always held his umbrella before races and found him a charming person with a lovely family.

This particular year we arrived at the race after considerable controversy over the Elf fuel we were using. The powers that be had decided the fuel companies were using 'rocket' fuel, which could be dangerous, so they must change to 'pump' fuel. After weeks of negotiations we arrived at this race to see if this would make a difference to the performance of our Renault engines. The first session was quite nail biting and as I stood in the back of the garage just before the flag came out suddenly Riccardo's name jumped to the top of the timing sheets and a collective sigh of relief was breathed.

While I was standing there waiting for him to get out of the car and come and tell me how the car felt, I was surprised to see a rather agitated Riccardo rush up to me to say 'Can you take a message' and when I said 'yes', gesticulate for me to follow him into the back of the truck. With pen and paper in hand I followed him into the part of the truck where the drivers debriefed - this was before the advent of today's magnificent motorhomes and trucks - and realised it was quite an important one when he told me to shut the door separating this room from the part of the truck where I wrote my press releases and the gearboxes were prepared.

Imagine my surprise when he suddenly started ripping his overalls off, and when clad in only his white Y-fronts, he pushed a bottle of massage oil into my hand with the instructions to give him a hard one. Luckily by this point he was laying face down on one of the benches, so did not see the look of shock on my very red face. I realised there was only one thing to do, so I put my pen and book down and started pouring this onto the small of his back and rubbing where he was telling me was the sore point. My discomfort at this was not helped when suddenly the doors were opened by one of the race engineers who just grinned and said 'I think I shall leave you two.'

I was getting redder and redder as time went by and kept thinking I was most probably doing what lots of women would love to do, rub Riccardo's bare flesh. At last I was relieved when the rest of the engineers came in and sat down, and Riccardo had realised I had done as much as I could, and asked me if I could find the Ferrari doctor. I rushed out of there, grabbed the Ferrari doctor and dragged him back to Riccardo. This is a story I have told over the years, and when telling my girlfriends, usually a look of envy comes over their faces.

My discomfort at this time was nothing compared to that of Nigel Mansell in 1989. He arrived at the circuit as usual but it was soon obvious something was wrong as he was covered in spots and he told us he had caught chicken pox from one of his young children. This is a most uncomfortable ailment at the best of times, but when you are battling tooth and nail with Ayrton Senna and wearing thick overalls that are going to make the itching almost unbearable, you can imagine how he must have felt.

Nigel is one of the most dogged drivers I have ever met - I am sure lots of you remember him pushing his Lotus over the finish line in Dallas in unbelievable heat. Sadly this time he just ran out of stamina and had to retire from the race. When he apologised to the team and said 'I have never given up before' not one person doubted that if it had been humanly possible for him to continue he would have done.

*   *   *

As I said before, Riccardo has a lovely family, with Suzie his wife often joining him at races. One of the highlights of Budapest at night was to wander down a traffic-free street in the centre of town where all sorts of stalls were selling local goods and street entertainers were signing or dancing. The street sellers often had strange goods and this particular time there was a man selling the most adorable longhaired white kittens. Suzie immediately fell in love with them, and so to keep her happy, Riccardo bought one.

The problem was then what to do with it for the rest of the weekend. During the day it was no problem, as it ran around the motorhome at the circuit, but at night it was a different matter, as in the hotel room there was only one place it wanted to sleep - on Riccardo's head. This, he realised, was not the best preparation for a Formula 1 race, and luckily one of his best friends was with them at the race, so this poor unfortunate person very quickly had a roommate, and it was his head that was slept on for the rest of the weekend.

*   *   *

This year I watched the Hungarian Grand Prix from the comfort of my home and have to admit found it a rather boring race. The circuit is notoriously difficult for overtaking, but you can always hope for excitement. It was soon obvious that the Ferraris were going to be able to dictate the pace of the race, and if this was not obvious before, it was when, with a handful of laps to go, Michael Schumacher set the fastest time of the race that was half a second faster than that set by Mika Hakkinen last year.

Having said this, I think the off track excitement gave the journalists something to write about. Arrows had failed to make this race, young Brit Anthony Davidson was getting his first taste of racing an F1 car in the Minardi of Alex Yoong, and Eddie Jordan was at the centre of what must be regarded as the coup of the decade, not just the year. Ford is in Grand Prix racing with its Jaguar brand and it is a firmly held belief in motorsport that they will never pitch brands against one another.

This means that Ford, Jaguar, Volvo and Aston Martin will keep well apart. Jaguar goes F1 racing, Ford rallying and Volvo touring car racing. Suddenly this was not the case as Eddie Jordan announced that he had a new Ford contract in his pocket for the next three years, and that the company's blue oval would appear on his cars - this was not just a Cosworth customer deal. The Jaguar team was caught off guard, and if the story that this all came as a shock to Niki Lauda is true, then perhaps there will be more repercussions in the near future.

*   *   *

Hopefully as you read this the water level of the rivers in central Europe will have receded and Budapest will no longer be under threat from flooding. The devastation to life and property has been enormous and it was heart warming to hear that this has not gone unnoticed in the F1 community, with Michael Schumacher having contributed a million euros to the disaster fund and his brother, Ralf, also having given a much needed donation.

The teams now head towards the most popular circuit of the year, Spa-Francorchamps. We are all worried the new laws banning tobacco advertising in Belgium may bring about the end of this race, but I am hoping that a rumour I heard about it becoming the Grand Prix of Luxembourg to get round this problem may be true.

About the author:
Ann Bradshaw - Annie - began her motor racing career as a teenager, helping out her brother in local rally races in England, where she grew up. In the 1970s she organised motor racing events in England, and was later the press officer for the RAC MSA - the motorsport governing body in Britain. In mid 1980s, she became press officer to team Lotus, where she worked with Ayrton Senna. Shortly after, she moved to the Williams team and was working there for several years, when once again she found herself working with Senna. She worked with Damon Hill after the Brazilian's death, and moved with the British Champion to Arrows. She also worked with the Panoz team in the United States, before becoming a freelance press officer, now working with Compaq and BAR among others. Annie joined Atlas F1 as a regular columnist in April 2002.