So, this Saturday was the first day of the 2010 marshalling season for me. Getting up at 6am was a bit of a challenge, mainly thanks to the rather copious amounts of Strongbow I drank in a biker bar the night before…. What? I was merely doing some research to get me in the mood. I didn’t enjoy the Cidery bubbles. Not one bit.
Either way, I somehow managed to drag my ass out of bed and into the bright orange Racesafe overalls we marshals are so beautifully adorned with, then it was a case of kettle on, flask done and I was off to Oulton Park.
Upon arriving at the entrance gate I had no ticket, nor could I remember the name of the man I was supposed to be looking for… I guess one of the advantages of being a girl in a boiler suit with red lipstick and matching nail polish is that they can’t possibly think you’re trying to blag it. Hah! I blagged it and parked up. I was in.
Heading over to pit lane to sign on was hilarious – obviously – grown men staring at me like a had three heads and was strolling around the paddock in just pants and a bra – have you never seen a woman marshal before or something?
Now, before I go any further, I know I’m not the first woman to marshal in the world, nor will I be the last; but lets just say, I don’t roll out of bed, pull on some jeans and head out the door… No, my make up was on, as were my oversized sunnies, a flowery bow in my hair and underneath those overalls was a mean outfit that even a Topshop gold card holder would be proud of. Plus, I might look like an orange teletubby on the outside, but come that 30 minute dinner break, I was going to lap up the sun.
Anyway, I digress, I reached the end pit lane garage when signing on takes place, and found two blokes I’d marshalled with last season, they’re cool and took me under their wing rather than thinking I was some dolly bird coming to pick up the next Sebastian Vettel. Which of course, is only 1% of my reason for marshalling.
Next think I know, my two BMFFs (that’s Best Marshal Friends Forever for those of you who don’t love Paris Hilton) and I are at Hill Top ready for a day of action. Needless to say, we didn’t get much. In fact the only horrifying experience was when I thought a photographer was hot. I was about 1,000 metres away and to be fair, my contact lenses were drying out.
But he turned out to be about 18, and sadly I only discovered said news AFTER I’d text one of the other marshals saying how I was in love with the lad. I don’t know who was more embarrassed, me or him. Probably him, what with him still being a kid and all, but after we got over the fact that I confessed my love for him across a busy racetrack he seemed pretty awesome, he even let me take a picture. It was shit, those things are heavy you know – goodness knows how I’m going to cope when I’m picking up a Ducati….
So, until next weekend’s BMCRC Club Bike Championships…