Of all the dumb questions I have asked, it wasn't my worst. It was only as I came away from spending an hour in Lewis Hamilton's company yesterday that it dawned on me that the question “Did you ever feel you were making too much of a sacrifice as a kid?” was up there with the old George Best inquiry. Best was in bed with Miss World, bottles of champagne and casino winnings from the night before strewn around. Room service arrives, the waiter tuts, shakes his head and says: “Where did it all go wrong, Mr Best?”

If forgoing the opportunity to hang around Stevenage with nothing to do on a Saturday afternoon, or spending the summer touring with his kart instead of two weeks in Torremolinos was a sacrifice, I guess the rewards of being the youngest Formula One world champion are going to be worth it.

I met Hamilton for the first time a few months into his rookie season. It was a corporate event and he was the epitome of professionalism. There was nothing to dislike about him, but I didn't feel that I had met a real person. He seemed almost too perfect. How awful to make those snap judgments about somebody who is almost permanently under scrutiny. How can they be themselves with anyone but their closest family and friends? The world has learnt a lot more about Hamilton in the 18 months since and he has learnt a lot more about the world.

Yesterday I met a very different man. The weight of expectation had been lifted, the burden of “promising” extinguished, the dream had become a reality and Hamilton was living in the moment, even if that moment is a glorious bubble of glamour, praise and standing ovations. He had a glow, health and vitality pouring from him and the sweet smell of success filled the air.

The audience, made up of 100 or so Vodafone customers, breakfasting at Claridge's in London, were being treated to Hamilton's first public appearance since his victory at Interlagos - if you don't count the Quantum Of Solace viewing at a Stevenage cinema on Tuesday night. Having invited Hamilton on stage, we showed him a three-minute film of his season. His eyes looked glassy and he admitted that it made him very emotional. From then on he was a joy to interview: insightful, witty, thoughtful and generous.

It wasn't Panorama, so there were no questions about Max Mosley or Bernie Ecclestone's take on race relations, but he didn't shy away from anything.The “best” famous person he has met is Nelson Mandela, who ticked him off for mistakes in the race before they met. Hamilton took pictures of Mandela on his phone and sent them to his mates.

When we discussed hobbies, he said that he wanted to improve his golf because Tiger Woods, the world No1, had told him that he was no good. It was name-dropping par excellence, but done in an unaffected way, and his audience lapped up the insights into Hamilton's life. He said that he is not bothered about what other drivers think of him, but I suspect that he cares a bit more about what we think.

As the past few days have highlighted, some sections of the British public seem to think that his decision to leave the UK last year is national abandonment because it was to avoid paying tax. It has been used as a stick to beat him in his ultimate moment of triumph. But who criticised Nigel Mansell for living offshore, or David Coulthard? Sure, it would be great if every high earner stayed in Britain so that we could spend their income on schools and hospitals, but Hamilton is not the first to avoid giving away almost half his earnings and he won't be the last.

I realise that we live in a strange society, in which some footballers earn more in a month than the Prime Minister does in a year, and where people who debate whether Barack Obama is black or not are given airtime on BBC breakfast news. So I shouldn't be surprised that there are pockets of our society who don't consider Hamilton one of the best things since sliced bread. Not surprised, but disappointed. Why can't they be the ones who leave the country?