Learning to embrace being a work in practice rather than a perfect finished being (is there even such a thing-discuss) which is why you can see the whites of my knuckles holding on for dear life and the fuzzy reflection of a man desperate to get back inside for the Grand Prix. Sunday feels like a good day to go a bit woo woo so hear me now fam: any time that you take just for you, whether crashed out with a cuppa and a crumpet and a gazillion men in fast cars or stretching and twisting and getting dirty feet in the late Sunday sun is not time wasted. It’s a ruddy magnificent gift. And now, wine. Also a gift.