Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Hungary, Pre-Race Cont

PADDOCK RUMOUR: Jessica Bond is reportedly dating James Weeb - @F1RumourMill

@JamesWebb I AM NEVER LETTING YOU FORGET THIS. WEEB. - @JessicaBond57

@JessicaBond57 oh dear god - @JamesWebb

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HUNGARY
11TH RACE WEEKEND OF THE SEASON
JULY

I can't stop cackling at the typo from the Twitter account. I've already screenshotted it and thrown it into the WhatsApp driver group. The secret is out now after the lunch at my parents, and everyone's now making jokes about how I'm breaking poor Max's little heart.

I was clearly worrying back in Spain over nothing. I feel like an idiot, but I'm not going to pretend the relief isn't worth it. Nobody's going to say a thing to journalists, nobody cares now the novelty of it has quickly worn off after a few days of jokes at our expense.

GROUP: F1 - DRIVERS ONLY

Fastest British Driver (Lewis);
Someone change his name to Weeb.

Estie Bestie (Esteban);
Done :)

Weeb (James);
I hate you guys

My crazy cackling attracts attention; Mick tilts his head as he walks over to me from the other side of the canteen. He's clearly not looked at his phone. I wave him over eagerly and wait for him to sit next to me before I pass him my phone. I can't talk, this is all too stupidly funny to me.

Mick reads the group chat, and I see him go from a sigh to amusement, and then he gets why it's so funny to me. Esteban changed James' nickname, thinking he was helping. We both descend into a fit of giggles, barely getting a word out before laughing at it, at each other, and at Esteban all over again.

After what feels like a few long minutes, I'm wiping my damp eyes, trying to compose myself. Mick has his arm on the table, face buried in the elbow joint as he tries to pull himself together. It's the dumbest thing ever, and yet for some reason, we're still laughing at it.

It doesn't help when Esteban messages the group again.

Estie Bestie (Esteban);
:( Sorry James

He mutters something in German, and whatever it is, he's sent himself into another round of giggles. I have to get a grip, long enough to take my phone back from Mick and text Esteban privately to tell him what's going on, which makes Esteban more apologetic and, Christ I am about to laugh until I choke on air and this isn't even funny anymore. It's Mick's fit of laughter that's sending me into one.

After a few more minutes, we're done with our childish moment, and Mick sobers the conversation up very quickly, with a question that I unfortunately don't have a good answer for.

"Did you get bad data from FP2 as well?"

"Yep." I emphasise the p and roll my eyes. Thanks to having two fewer sets, and a mandate to use specific tyres for each part of qualifying, we're having to seriously limit our usage. "I had to run used softs for FP2, which ruined all the data. But we can't afford to run an extra pair and then save both used sets for qualifying, 'cause we have to hold onto our last set for the race just in case... Feels more wasteful."

Mick nods thoughtfully. "It does feel worse. I had to stay on used mediums. I don't like the idea of using fresh hards in qualifying. You won't get good data or times out of that."

"It's gonna be a fucking nightmare. We can't get solid data, and the wind looks like it's going to cause problems for us on the track. Which could cause some crashes or near-misses if it throws us around at the wrong time and place." And we have half our usual allowance of soft tyres, which means we're wasting the harder compounds. Rather than using a soft, we'll end up half-using two other types.

"In good news." Mick has my full attention immediately. "I've heard some more rumours out of Alpine."

"Oh boy." I can see it coming. A double DNF must've been the nail in Otmar's coffin.

"It's all apparently hinging on this weekend." He says as he leans in closely. Even though we're in the safety of our hospitality unit, we shouldn't be caught openly gossiping about other teams, or the ongoing drama that Oliver has been fighting for us for over a month now. "If they don't perform the way the big boss wants them to, he's getting the chop."

"I wonder what they consider not performing? Anything less than double points? At least one on the podium?"

Mick shrugs, clearly not having the answer to that. "I think if they have another double DNF, heads will roll by the end of the race."

It'll be very interesting to see how things go over at Alpine if they have another rough weekend. I know the double DNF went down badly with the drivers; Esteban was massively unhappy about the hydraulics issue and Pierre was livid about his clash with Lance. Perhaps they've both complained to the people above Otmar and now shit is getting real over there.

"Well, I guess we'll find out. Make or break for Otmar. I wouldn't want to be him right now."

"Mmm." Mick tilts his head briefly, along with another shrug. "That's how it goes, though: get results or get out."

"These restrictions might just set him up for total failure." Nevermind that it'll set us all up for failure as well. This weekend is shaping up to be very interesting indeed. "Worst part is: it won't even be his fault if Pierre and Esteban say, lock up and bald spot the tyres during the next two sessions. But they'll blame him for it, because he's the TP."

"Welcome to the world of Formula 1: where every weekend is an emotional rollercoaster, and the only certainty is uncertainty."

"And the tea is always piping hot!" I would laugh, but my phone is buzzing again.

Father of the Decade;
You're welcome.
Some idiot journalist kept
asking questions. I know you
want to keep it private for now.

Mick and I stare at my phone for a few seconds; he breaks out into a wide grin. "My dad would like your dad."

"My dad would annoy yours by talking his ear off about how amazing he is. He ran a fan club. I'm not joking. He still has the Facebook group."