CN
III IN THE PADDOCK
P134
BY MICHAEL SCOTT
T
he models flanking the new
CWM-LCR Hondas at the
team launch wore white
leathers. They were unzipped to
the waist. The exposure seemed
a little superfluous, since in fact
they weren't wearing leathers
at all. The garments were just
painted on.
All around, on the dance floor
of the fashionable London West
End club, with a smattering of
MotoGP folk, a shrieking mass
of equally fashionable big-money
types and their fashionista girl-
friends sank costly cocktails and
gourmet finger food at a frantic
rate. City of London whizz-kids at
play. It got wilder and wilder as
the night wore on and the band
began to play.
Riders Cal Crutchlow and
Jack Miller were looking ever so
slightly bemused at their fortune,
to be hooked up with a new
team sponsor so clearly rolling
in money and so happy to splash
it about; CWM FX chief Anthony
Constantinou was like a dog with
two birthdays as he enjoyed his
ability to be so profligate. The
echoes of 1980s British comedy
TV character "Loadsamoney"—
Harry Enfield's ostentatious
Cockney Rich Kid—were very
strong indeed.
I was pretty happy too, and not
just because of the champagne
and Caipirinhas. I've been around
Grand Prix racing long enough
(long before it was called Mo-
toGP) to remember the last time
the paddock was awash with
big spenders. Which is doubt-
less why I feel such distaste for
LOADSAMONEY LIVES AGAIN
