Nostalgia Scoundrel

In 1991, I was seventeen and had a room full of motoring magazines. I knew everything about bores, races, chassis. For me, Formula 1 was a mystical event: the alarm clock ringing even in the middle of the night, the darkness of the kitchen, the screen lit up on circuits on the other side of the world. The drivers were superheroes made of steel and gasoline. Today, the…