Silverstone on Grand Prix day is like nowhere else I've ever been. And that includes Silverstone on practice and qualifying days. 'Early' is the name of the game: getting anywhere or anything takes much longer than expected, and that doesn't stop once you're in. Setting off from home, just South-West of Birmingham, at 5am, sleepy heads all through the car (although thankfully not in the driver's seat!) we droned all the way to Northamptonshire, leaving the motorway some 40 miles, 50 mins (my dad drives at 65mph) after setting off. 

Now let's be honest, roads at 5am on Easter Sunday should be the domain of geographically displaced priests and those who are struggling to be with their families for this religious festival. But even at this time on this day race-goers were plentiful. We were going to have to queue.

We did indeed have to queue, but only for an hour or so, and that definitely made us the lucky ones. Parked in the British Racing Drivers' Club car park, the tales of knee-deep mud seemed to relate to a different place. Truly this was privilege then. We were here, we had arrived.

Our beginning, though, was less than auspicious, as the photo shows

Silverstone. Sunday April 23rd 2000. 8:30am