German Grand Prix diary

The crowds were sparse at Hockenheim on Friday but they certainly know how to enjoy themselves.

Monday Don't let anyone - I suppose I'm minded of those who speak of the German way of doing things and how 'efficient' it is - tell you otherwise: getting out of a sporting event over there can prove just as problematic as anywhere else. No matter that the Autobahn runs right past Hockenheim; it was just as susceptible to the sudden dash for the car parks and proved just as constipated out there on the road itself. We left three hours after the race had finished and were cutting it pretty fine by the time our coach reached Frankfurt Airport. We had to get a move on...but first a quick diversion to the nearest Gents to get changed into one's civvies. After all, what difference would five minutes make? With hindsight, it was not the best idea. I mean...from just where exactly had that massive queue suddenly appeared? The clock was ticking - much faster than the queue seemed to be moving. Perhaps desperate measures were called for? No, I couldn't: there's all manner of ignominy an Englishman would rather suffer than jump a queue. Instead, I stood there and simmered while, inevitably, a small child nearby burst into tears. Boiling point was reached when the bag was eventually dropped at 8:56pm; boarding commenced at 9 and yet the twin bottle necks of security check and passport control had still to be navigated. "I've got to make that plane; I can't miss that damn plane," I thought again and again as I made a dash for it. I also imagined the tannoy announcement that might be played at any second: the strangulated Germanic pronunciation of my name for all in the airport to hear. Oh God. Feelings of embarrassment had to wait, though: I had to keep running. Was a four-minute mile needed? It seemed that way. Of course, there only ever could be one outcome: I arrived at the departure gate looking flustered, and probably more dishevelled than Fernando Alonso had after winning yesterday's race, only to find, inevitably, that the plane had been delayed. I stood there checking my clean-on t-shirt for sweat patches while nearby, movers and shakers - the likes of Boris Becker and Ted Kravitz - stood with calm nonchalance as if at an embassy drinks reception. I don't want to do that again in a hurry and yet there's no let-up: Germany and Hungary are back-to-back races, so it's only a flying visit home this time. We fly to Budapest on Wednesday before F1 enters its summer break and those who work in it can take some much-needed r and r. Looking out of the window, it is actually summer now...wonders will never cease! Time to go and make the most of it. Sunday A hurried entry this, given that I have to leave pronto. The time I had set aside to try and give a little more Hockenheim flavour was decimated this morning owing to the story about Red Bull and their 'dodgy or is it?' torque map. There almost seemed an atmosphere of deflation when the FIA decided upon a course of no further action; we all love a bit of controversy, right? The World Champions didn't escape, though, with Sebastian Vettel handed a 20-second penalty for his overtaking manoeuvre - all four wheels off the track exiting Turn 6 - on Jenson Button two laps from the end of the race. Vettel drops from second to fifth place as a result, with the German Grand Prix remaining something of a bogey race for the local boy. He already felt hard done by, owing to the decision of Lewis Hamilton - racing in Nowheresville after an