In another life I used to have to go to an annual car testing day somewhere on the European continent. This particular year it was in Italy. These test days were characterised by the large number of males, badly dressed as only German and Polish car journalists can be. Hardly surprising then that a sex-starved 20-something British writer should feel optimistic upon seeing a blonde sitting alone with their back to the crowd. “Who’s the blonde in the corner?” My lascivious colleague asked.
My friend, who was already working out how he was going to get this stunner up to his room, was even more interested when I said ‘she’ was called Nico. He was doubtless imagining I was going to be his ‘in’ to the exotically named foreign girl. Then Nico turned round, whereupon my friend suddenly lost interest.
At that time Nico Rosberg was 17 and had just won the German Formula BMW championship in his first year of car racing. I went over to talk to him about the cars we were testing and discovered that he’d only just qualified to drive and didn’t have any experience at all of testing road cars. However, like the majority of young racing drivers, he was mature way beyond his years. We had a sensible conversation about cars, racing and why he was competing under a German flag when his father was Finnish.
Just a couple of years later, he had a test with the Williams F1 team. I was discussing this with a friend who worked at Williams and wasn’t remotely surprised to find that the team had been impressed by Rosberg’s maturity and the quiet, focused way he got on with the job. It was a counterpoint to the other son of a famous father on the same test, Nelson Piquet Jr, who was considered a spoilt prima donna by the team.
Fast forward a decade and on the day Rosberg won the most famous prize of the lot – the Monaco GP – Piquet was failing in a World Rallycross round at Lydden Hill in Kent. Can’t say I was surprised. But whatever he achieves in his career, Rosberg will always be the blonde in the corner for me.