It’s Sunday 19th October 2008. I’ve woken up, and its Saturday 2200 GMT. I flick on the TV in my hotel room; I just want to chill for a bit so I put on a music channel. My pussycat doll is on there, she’s alright. I have a quick shower; it lasted 3:35.630, I can hear Heikki in the room next door, and he’s been in the shower for ages.
I get changed; I never wear the same things twice, by the way. I go downstairs to the reception. I have a quick chat with the receptionist, she’s quite hot. Nicole would kill me, for saying that, but I’m just a regular guy.
I pick up a newspaper and just look at the pictures. I can’t read Chinese but I’m learning; I must learn.
Heikki comes down stairs half an hour later and we meet Ron and Martin for breakfast. I’m not sure what I’m eating but it’s tasty. I notice a board that say’s something about Poodle sausages. I’m not really into that but I wolfed mine down.
We get to the track and, after a few formalities, I’m in the seat of my MP-23. I qualified second. I swear Fernando blocked me on my final lap; He’s a jerk. People say he’s the complete package. He’s not, I am.
The grid empties and we complete our formation lap. I can’t see Hekki, he qualified 15th. Felipe’s in front of me and Kimi is in third. My stomach starts to ache. That ^*^* Poodle sausage. Oh my god. The lights go out. Heck my stomach kills, I’m in agony.
I go straight for Felipe; screw him. I can here Ron screaming on the radio about the Poodle. "F&^*&^* the Poodle. %^$*& the world championship." Kimi smashes into the back of me. My world is falling apart.
Now in my hotel room it’s easy to reflect. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, oh well, off to Brazil.
I’ve heard they do a mean cat soup.
This is complete fiction. Come on Lewis.
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