Ann Bradshaw, a journalist and press officer with three decades of experience in motor racing, returns for another season of View from the Paddock - offering us a glimpse into the the life of those who spend the GP weekend inside the paddock. This week, Ann recalls her first trip to Brazil, explains what drink fuels both the Brazilian people and their cars, and recalls some memorable moments of this year's race

I saw written on a tee shirt a few years ago the phrase 'I remember when motor racing was dangerous and sex was safe'. There was never a truer phrase and I think it was written specifically for Brazil.

It was 1986 and I was due to visit Brazil for the first time for one of the regular pre-season tests at the Jacarepagua circuit just outside the famous seaside resort of Rio de Janeiro. I was working for JPS that year so was going to see the new Lotus car that was being driven by one of Brazil's most famous sons, Ayrton Senna. To say I was excited at visiting both the circuit and the city would be an understatement. However, I had no idea just what sort of experience this first trip would prove to be.

I was a little green in those days and had no idea what exactly lay in store for me. I, therefore, had no idea how lucky I was to find Steve Bryan from AP and Simon Arkless from Champion on my flight. Realising it was my first trip they suggested I follow them to the hotel. Once I had taken delivery of my hire car - an original VW Beetle - it was a white knuckle ride across Rio in the morning rush hour to the hotel. As if the traffic was not bad enough, I had the extra stress of believing I was being shot at. Luckily this was not the truth, but I had not been warned that the cars in Brazil mainly run on alcohol rather than petrol and this tends to make them backfire. The first experience I had of this was in a long tunnel and believes me it sounded as though someone had shot at me. Once I got over my fright I realised this was happening a lot and soon cottoned on to what was the cause.

We arrived at our hotel called the Nacional and I instantly knew why my photographer friends, who had wisely gone out a few days in advance to 'acclimatise', called it the Towering Inferno. It was a tall round building and it was quite obvious that in case of a fire there was no escape as none of the windows opened.

I decided to put such thoughts out of my mind and after a quick shower joined Steve and Simon for a drink. They were most insistent I joined them in having the local concoction called a caipirinha. Again being a bit naive about the place, I readily agreed. It was wonderful. Cold and refreshing. As we were not going to the circuit that day a second one didn't seem a bad idea. However, when I went to get up I could not understand why my legs were not that steady. When I saw the smiles on their faces I realised I had been had and demanded an explanation. They explained what I had just done was drink a couple of glasses of the same liquid that made my car go. In Brazil the same substance - sugar cane alcohol - fuels both the people and the transport. While it goes neat into the cars, for people it is pored over a whole fresh lime that has been crushed up with a couple of spoons of sugar and mixed with several ice cubs. I was assured this was to make it taste better and also the sugar was to aid its quick transfer into the blood system.

Luckily since this early experience I have practised at consuming more than two of these delicious drinks before becoming wobbly - now I can still count up to six but after that things become a bit blurry. However, the morning after the night before on these beverages I always remember British journalist Mike Doodson describing his wife in similar circumstances as smelling like a 'Sao Paulo taxi rank'.

This was not my only education on that very first trip. I was also to learn the difference between a Hotel and a Motel and also what went on behind the doors of the clubs that were everywhere along the famous Copacabana and Ipanema beaches.

In the mid eighties we didn't have a lot to worry us and certainly the aids epidemic had not hit. In view of this the 'ladies of the night' who were very plentiful in Rio did a very nice trade from the Grand Prix circus visiting town. Brazilian women are incredibly beautiful and so it would have taken some very strong minded men not to indulge in the delights they were offered for the price of a round of drinks.

I shall certainly not name any names at this point, but will tell the story of one of my good mates who decided the best way to fend off the ladies who were pestering him was to produce a minder. I was that minder! However, as you may quite rightly surmise just saying I was his minder would not put most of them off. No, he was much cleverer than that. He introduced me as his mother and it did the trick. Bearing in mind that in 2001 Juan Pablo Montoya 'adopted' me as his grandmother, I suppose it is not difficult to understand that 15 years before I could be passed off as a young lad's mother. The new title quickly stuck and to this day the person in question still calls me 'Mum'.

Not all the boys I visited the flesh pots with were as well behaved. This is how I came to find out the difference between a Hotel and a Motel. At the end of each night, which was usually in clubs with names like the Lido and Don Juan, we would head back to our hotel via a place called VIPS, which was along the coast road between our hotel and the track. This was a motel as it had not bright open reception area. Instead you drove up to individual garage doors, which opened and immediately closed once your car was inside. All the signing in formalities were done on a one to one basis and the bill was calculated in hours rather than days. One or more of our party would then be deposited here although all would be back in our hotel by 9am the next morning ready for the journey to the track.

As I explained this was after a night at one of more of the clubs. Like most clubs they were dark and noisy and had live entertainment. However, this was entertainment with a difference and every so often a couple - they could be mixed sex or two girls - would walk onto the stage, unroll what looked like a thin mattress and do what should only be done behind closed doors. The things I witnessed in the name of entertainment is not what I should detail here on something that could be read by youngsters, but suffice to say it opened my eyes! I was a regular visitor to these places over the years and for one reason only, I was a witness and an alibi. The boys wanted to go and have a look for themselves and they felt if I accompanied them there was no way they would get up to any mischief and if their other halves back home found out they could quite rightly explain it was all innocent as Annie was with them!

Brazil is a place full of life, but sadly also full of dangers that have nothing to do with motor racing or sex. I have had more than one friend who has been robbed at gun or knife point for a few dollars. It is imperative never to wear good watches or nice jewellery and the last thing to do when travelling by car, especially at night, is stop at red traffic lights. This practice of jumping the lights is something that once you get used to can be fun. However, I once found myself in the same car as the Chief of Police for the West Midlands and I thought he was going to have a coronary the first time our driver, the photographer Steve Tee, did this. He was part of a delegation visiting Brazil to canvass for votes for the Birmingham bid for the Olympics. They also wanted to get some first hand information on how to run a motor race before their own event round the city's streets later in '86. They certainly had a few shocks in store for them!

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Once the Brazilian Grand Prix moved from Rio to Sao Paulo things became a little more sedate. While you can find the same sort of clubs, they are not on your doorstep, as the track is on the outskirts of the city and it can take up to an hour to get to the centre through horrendous traffic jams. However the dangers are still there and it was on my way to the circuit one day that I found myself involved in a bit of bother. We pulled into a petrol, sorry I suppose I should call it alcohol, station to fill up the car. While sitting with a couple of British journalists waiting for our driver to pay for the fuel we heard a screech of tyres and a thud on the boot of the car. When I looked out the rear window I saw a young lad sprawled across the boot with a policeman pointing a gun at him. Needless to say I hit the floor leaving Stan Piecha, the Sun's motor racing correspondent to explain to me what was happening. Luckily the youth, who had come into the garage on his moped, realised he was on a hiding to nothing against the police so gave in without a struggle and was hauled off the boot of our car without a shot being fired.

I am not sure whether anyone encountered such problems in Brazil this year but one person I must mention is my mate of many years Sally Blower, who is a member of the production crew that attends all the Formula One races for ITV. Sally made the headlines here in the UK last week for all the wrong reasons. On the way to Sao Paulo she developed serious symptoms that lead the doctors to think that she could be suffering from the killer pneumonia bug SARS, especially as they saw she had recently visited Malaysia. She was immediately put into isolation and, although thankfully she does not have the serious strain, she does have pneumonia and so has to spend ten days by herself in an isolation room at a Sao Paulo hospital. Luckily she has retained her sense of humour and is hoping the least this enforced incarceration may do is lead to her giving up smoking.

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I cannot write this column without mentioning this year's amazing race. The carnage was unbelievable and not even a Sly Stallone movie about motor racing could have come up with such a far fetched script. It was great entertainment but we were lucky to see drivers escape from what could have been serious accidents. The incident that could have been particularly nasty was when Michael Schumacher put his car in the wall where Juan Pablo Montoya and Antonio Pizzonia had only a short while before put theirs. With a large crane and marshals standing in that part of the circuit, the possibility for disaster was there but luckily everyone scattered in time so all the German hurt when he hit the barrier was his Ferrari and his pride. As if the three drivers in there were not enough, by the time the race was red flagged there was a total of five cars behind the barriers as Jenson Button and Jos Verstappen had also chosen this point to spin off.

I watched the actual race while sitting in the Barcelona circuit press office, as I was there for our first European Touring Car Championship weekend. The atmosphere was very exciting with me shouting each time one of my 'boys' did well and them urging Fernando Alonso on. I am sure you can imagine their worry when we watched his horrific looking accident and also their relief when he got himself out of the car and then gave the crowds the thumbs up when stretchered off for a check up at the medical centre. Thankfully everyone escaped unscathed.

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Thinking about my weekend in Barcelona working for BMW brings me back to where this column started. On Friday night BMW invited all the 320i drivers to a dinner at a typical Spanish restaurant close to the circuit. I was lucky enough to sit near to the ever entertaining Tom Coronel. Tom was regaling us with even more stories of his misadventures both in Europe and Japan and telling a few 'tales out of school' on some of his fellow racing drivers. When talking about one driver's girlfriend who turned up to see Tom at a race, he stressed to us he never went out with his friends' girlfriends. Tom, who is not the sort of person you would expect to heed the advice of his father, seriously pronounced: "My father told me the two most dangerous things in life are your best friend's girlfriend and motor bikes."

Sadly last weekend proved that motor racing can still be dangerous and Tom's father was right. At the time of writing this column the popular Japanese Moto GP driver Daijiro Kato is fighting for his life in a hospital near the Suzuka track. He crashed during Sunday's race and suffered serious head, neck and chest injuries. I am a great fan of these bikers, who I consider totally mad, and I am sure I am joined by every motor racing fan in praying for his recovery while taking part in a sport that we all gain so much enjoyment from.

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.