In fact I was often surprised at how little power drivers have in Formula One. They aren’t even allowed grandstand tickets for their families on race day. They can lunch them as guests of the team, but they must watch the race on a silent screen in the motorhome.

After the 2003 season Kimi Raikkonen told journalist Bill Borrows: “I love to drive, but hate all that other s*** that goes with it. There’s so much bullshit around Formula One.”

The PR machine

Like Roman charioteers, F1 drivers are “slaves”. They are beholden to team orders, the sponsors and media commitments, and the business has made PR as important as the racing.

For example the Jaguar driver Mark Webber’s run-up to the Australian Grand Prix began the moment he stepped off the plane from London. Launching the new Jaguar XJ at a motor show was followed by a flight to Canberra and several phone interviews with local radio stations. The next day I arrived to spend the day filming him with his family.

That evening he flew to Sydney for a question and answer session at a Jaguar cocktail party, but the late night was followed by an early morning as he appeared on a breakfast TV show at 7am. An 11am press conference, photo-call, lunch at the Chamber of Commerce, a flight to Melbourne, a charity dinner and a late-night TV show appearance completed his commitments.

The next day involved an HSBC photo-call, an autograph session and a magazine dinner. But even though first qualifying was just 24 hours away he still had a corporate lunch to endure before the tyre meetings and team briefings began. Then on the eve of qualifying Webber had to attend a Jaguar dealership drinks party and HSBC cocktail party, a visit to the Mark Webber supporters club party and a phone interview with UK radio and another with a journalist.

On Friday, after a day of paddock-club appearances, it was time to attend the grand prix ball. A flurry of cocktail parties might not sound especially exhausting, but no other sport would dream of placing such demands on its participants so close to competition.

Lack of passion

Others might consider it a sport, but for the 213 sponsors involved in Formula One it is definitely a business. As Sir Frank Williams is fond of saying: “Between the hours of two o’clock and four o’clock most Sunday afternoons at grand prix races, it is a sport . . . The rest of the time it is a business.” But when business considerations affect every detail of the sport, from the car to the driver, this sentiment rings hollow.

Most drivers despise the corporate responsibilities, but most F1 teams feel they must prioritise grabbing column inches over driver preparation, because many of them never actually expect to win a race — a curious situation for any “sport”. Often they don’t even expect to complete the race. No other sport is founded on such defeatism and for this reason the raw emotion that lies at the heart of any sport is a rarity in Formula One.

Women

At the Silverstone Ball in 2002 I was with a group of men who hold significant positions in F1. The Foster’s Girls were in attendance, a troupe of young women who appear at grands prix wearing blue micro-minis and tight Lycra tops. They are led around the circuit in line, stopping from time to time to have their picture taken. On this night, they were handing out bottles of Foster’s to men who were groping their bottoms.

“I can’t believe that a global sport still has women like this on display,” I said to my dinner companion. “I know,” he replied. “They’re pigs . . . You’d think they could find some attractive ones.”

It was a hot, dreary day at the Brazilian Grand Prix and I was chatting to friends in the makeshift paddock. Irish driver Eddie Irvine was sitting at an adjoining table and the conversation turned to a mutual friend of ours, a German television presenter whose contract had recently been cancelled.

“Oh, Eddie,” I said, “do you know that Nova won’t be at any more races this year?” “Oh, that’s a shame,” he replied. “It was good watching her ass walk down the paddock.”

“Hmm . . .” I said, assuming he was being sarcastic. “I’ll miss her conversation too.”

“No, I won’t miss that,” he said quite seriously. “She just looked good. That’s all any of you are here for, just to be looked at.”

There were eight other men sitting listening. Nobody said a word except for Niki Lauda. He looked at me from beneath his baseball cap and shrugged. “It’s a man’s world,” he said.

Extracted from The Pits: The Real World of Formula One, by Beverley Turner, published by Atlantic Books (an imprint of Grove Atlantic) on July 1 priced £14.99. Copies can be ordered from The Sunday Times Books First for £11.99 plus p&p on 0870 165 8585