My friends always tell me I should write a book about all the funny shit that has happened to me during my 14-year career working in motorsport.
After spending a frustrating 24 hours trying to get back from a Top Gear shoot in the middle of the Moroccan desert, the last thing I expected to receive as I woke up still groggy and sandy this morning was a message telling me of Maria de Villota's untimely death.
They'll be finding sand in every crevice for weeks.
If you're one of the wealthiest emirates in the Middle East, you can easily afford to have your own international motorsport event come to town.
Last week at a cold, rainy Silverstone circuit I met Lewis Hamilton in the cosy warmth of the swank BRDC Clubhouse for a chat about F1, off-track life and his recent Top Gear UK fastest lap. Even though he's one of the busiest men on the planet right now, he still had the time to rightly take the piss out of my crappy…
I've spent the past four days in the French Alps, watching a World Champion Rally Raid driver accelerate towards a metal ramp in his MINI Countryman, before sailing skyward 360 degrees and landing on what can only be described as the world's biggest whoopee cushion.
Let's not beat around the proverbial shrubbery: I'm lucky enough to have an awesome job as Motorsport Communications Manager for a leading energy drink manufacturer and it would be pretty damn rude of me to keep this fun-fuelled life all to myself.