Imola Grand Prix - Blog Posts

COMING SOON: Should Bunny Keep Driving?

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There’s a lot to be said about my profession as a Formula 1 driver. Many would say I’m living the bachelor dream: driving fast cars on most weekends of the year, with money and women free-flowing my way like every drop of champagne being popped on the podium. Some - like my sweet dear mother - would prefer to call me as a reckless adrenaline junkie: being strapped on a death vehicle for a living is worth no benefit; surely an occupation only lunatics will take. All other versions of such claims I have heard, but one I haven’t is the assumption that Formula 1 drivers are inept in basic navigation.

Well thank fuck no tabloid or social media post has said anything about that, or there’s no denying I would be the laughing butt of the joke for the rest of this season. I could already picture it, in bold and underlined letters: ‘Harry Styles, McLaren F1 team’s Golden boy is found lost in the streets of Italy. Can he make it back in time for the Imola Grand Prix?’

Well looking at the way the doors of my bright orange vehicle had remained stuck towards the roof, there’s no telling that I can actually make it to free practice tomorrow. All I had wanted was to have this day off from any racing obligation, to enjoy the brightness of Emilia Romania, Italy even for just this single day. 

What had I told my teammate Nick Grimshaw when I turned down his idea of golfing to make plans for my own today? Oh, that I ‘wanted to get lost in the beauty of an Italian summer’ Now isn’t that bloody fucking ironic as I’m standing here under the heat of the blazing Italian summer sun, my too hightech for my own good sportscar failing me in God knows where when all I wanted was to go to this specific beach where I can sit on the smooth sand and peacefully watch the sunset.

“So much for spending billions on car upgrades,” I walked my way back into the interior of the car, trying my best to figure out what was wrong with the technological system that had caused the engine to stop at the side of this random Italian street. 

I’m not one to feel regret on a daily basis, choosing to believe that everyone should be kinder to themselves and giving yourself a hard time for something that occurred in the past won’t help anything. Well in this scenario, I can’t help but feel even just a smidge of regret when James Corden, McLaren’s CEO, my friend and ultimately my boss, had first offered me to use a vintage McLaren on my solo Italian trip today. Knowing how much of a grandpa I can be with today’s rapid technological development, I feel like an absolute bloody idiot for not agreeing to that and instead chose this green energy-powered vehicle that looks more like a worthless pile of steel and metal.

Realizing that my lack of knowledge with advanced cars had not been strengthened in the gap between this morning and right now, I sighed for the nth time this afternoon and stepped-out of the car once more. Standing at the side of the street, I tilted my head to look at the immaculate crimson and yellow Italian homes, noticing in dismay that it’s backdrop of the sun will start to set in about an hour from now.

With nothing left to do but actually call for help, I tried to reason with my stubborn and prideful self that calling for the towing company does not negatively affect my competency as a racing driver. Only that it does, I know deep inside that even just a tiny bit, it does say something about my lack of initiative in furthering my knowledge in my field. But I know that situation needs to be rectified after I get myself out of this current dilemma.

“Harry, you’re no good alone.” I found myself saying to no one in particular but myself, definitely learning a thing or two about acceptance of your flaws from my older sister. So with those words of conviction physically ringing in my ears, I pulled out my phone ready to make the dreaded call of defeat.

Except she arrived just in time to halt my actions.

She, being a blonde girl about my age, riding a bike while singing along to some pop song I heard my friend Niall singing in the shower that one time we flew over together for the Monaco Grand Prix. But it’s not that particular song that had ceased my movements, it’s her bright yellow bag slung to her shoulder, the color a perfect match to the colorful bikini top she was wearing under some denim dungarees. And under the rays of the Italian sun, she just looked so golden.

I don’t know how long I had stood there like a fool just staring at her glowing presence, but I was brought back to my wits when the music stopped playing. In a blink, I noticed that the girl had halted her bike just in-front of my broken down car, frowning in my direction.

“Hey, are you okay?” She called out, even her voice sounding so bright in my ears I’m starting to wonder if this woman is sunshine personified.

“I’m good.” was my reply like the aforementioned damn fool that I was that not only didn’t know how to operate the newest models of sports cars, but apparently I also can’t find my words when talking to gorgeous and kind strangers.

She didn’t seem to believe my words, head tilted in curiosity, she side-stepped from the seat of her bike and walked to stand in front of me at the side of the street. With about two feet separating us, she placed both of her hands on her waist.

“I’m pretty sure we’re both British considering your accent,” she offered me a kind smile, “and back from where I’m from in England, people standing on the side of the barest of streets with an open car a few feet away from them usually doesn’t mean the person is doing well. But that’s just me,” she shrugged, “I don’t know how things are from your part of England.”

Call me entitled or jaded, but it’s been a long time that someone had been at ease or even just possessed the confidence to tease me. So long in fact that I let out a snort from her words, followed directly after by a bubble of laughter that has got me bent in half with my hands placed on my knees for support. All the while, this funny lady continued to stand just a few feet away from me like my absolute out-of-the-blue guffawing hadn’t altered her that I was nuts.

“You’re definitely not okay then,” confirming my belief, she chuckles along in my sudden fit of insanity.

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” I straightened up remembering my manners. “It’s just been a long time since I heard something that funny at my expense and said directly to my face. And, it’s just been a long day.” My eyes travel unwillingly to my hopeless vehicle, a sigh leaving my smiling lips upon also remembering the task I was supposed to do.

I noticed her own eyes following the trail of my own, her whistle of appreciation to what she saw is not lost in my ears. “You’re definitely having a long day if you got this baby to cruise around Italy with.”

Sounds to me like she's a car enthusiast. And why that interests me, I don’t know. “Not long enough I believe since the baby stopped here and barely even crawled.”

My humor somehow landed on her, the sides of her lips curving when she looked back at me. “You’re quite funny,” the sincerity in her tone made me return her smile. “And I’m not just saying that because you just laughed like you were losing it a few seconds back. But what I find way more hilarious is how a McLaren racing driver like yourself, gets stuck in the middle of nowhere-Imola like you don’t know how to operate the newest release of your company’s top of the line sportscar line.”

So she knew who I was…of course she knew who I was if I decided to parade around Imola in the bright orange monstrosity of a car while wearing my infamous bright colored outfits complete with glitter details of an embroidered strawberry on the breast of my Gucci tee. It’s not the first nor last time people recognized me randomly on international streets, but it surely is a novel occurrence for me to feel bashful under her knowing gaze.

I shrugged my shoulders, feeling my ears pinken at realizing she knew who I was under this current unfavorable circumstance. “I wish I could say my mechanical skills in fixing cars came as natural as my humor does; but I am afraid I’m just a useless F1 racing driver who only operates on adrenaline.”

The woman curved a brow in amusement, “And you don’t have that right now because your car stopped working?”

“Exactly!” I pointed at her like I can’t believe she understood my words, “The car isn’t moving so I don’t have adrenaline to properly function like a human being. I’m basically a damsel in distress right now just waiting for my pit crew to come rescue me.”

And as if a shining personality isn’t enough to blind me, the girl surprises me when she suggests the unthinkable: “Then let’s fix it! What’s exactly broken so we know what to target?” and then she began to point-out different parts of the car that only true car enthusiasts take time to know about. Well I guess that answers my earlier question if she was into cars, but that doesn’t really help anything when she lost me at her first suggestion.

She probably noticed I remained standing there looking at her like she was speaking a different language, because she stopped in the middle of her sentence and gave me her own bashful look this time. “I’m sorry, I probably creeped you out just rambling like that without introducing myself. I’m Sophia, by the way.”

Mesmerized by her character, I met her outstretched palm and returned her fairly firm shake. “I’m Harry, nice to meet you, Sophia.” 

“You too,” she nodded, “it’s great to meet you too, I mean. I know we don’t really know each other but I was serious about helping you fix your car.”

And I don’t know what it is in my gut that told me she really meant her word, but the women in my life had always told me to trust my intuition, and my intuition is telling me to accept Sophia’s unbridled kindness. “And I was also being truthful that I don’t know my way around these high-tech cars unlike I do with vintage ones. So, I can’t really answer your list of questions earlier, but feel free to check the car out yourself.”

I watched as Sophia just stood there mimicking my static stance from earlier, my words seeming not to register in her mind like I thought it would. “Are you serious?” she asked, her blue orbs widening when I nodded my head with conviction.

“This baby is all yours.” I motioned with my hands for her to enter the car, my grin of fondness making its reappearance when Sophia let out a squeal of uncontained excitement as she entered the vehicle. I followed right after her when she called for my name. Based solely on my intuition and her earlier encyclopedia worthy car knowledge, I was fully content to give her full reins to analyze the problem. But when she turned to look at me from her position at the driver’s seat, still asking for my help, I nodded without a second thought.

In my defense, she said the word ‘please’, a pout I’ve come to alarmingly realize I couldn’t resist painted on her lips. That two on Sophia is a lethal combo; I just knew straight ahead that if she used that more frequently around me, I was done for and she can basically get anything she wants from me.

Something tells me Sophia isn’t that type of person to take advantage of others though. Not in the way she patiently asked me questions about the car, questions that were genuinely similar to those my mechanics have asked me during race debriefs. And call me a narcissist all you want but this occupation of mine with all its glitz and glamorous perks, also comes with undeniable faults that a regular person with a nine-to-five job won’t probably bear to understand.

Not once did Sophia deter our conversation with anything else than strictly being the possible ailments of my car. If it was anyone else in her position with less than good intentions that she clearly exhibits, I’d for sure be feeling extremely uncomfortable right now. It’s very rare for strangers to not have any ulterior motives when it comes to interacting with me, and my usually guarded heart feels a sense of relief that Sophia seems to be one of the very few that I can learn to trust. But hey, I am a Formula 1 driver who rides spaceship-like vehicles that operate on 300 kmph on the regular, who says I’m still right on the head with my perception of reality?

I’m learning to trust humanity more though. My mum and Gem had made it pretty clear that my happiness on the outside and guarded on the inside persona will just make me lonely in the long-run, I needed a companion in life like the both of them had found in their partners. And to be honest, I’m done feeling like a lone wolf too, that’s why at the start of this year’s season I had made a personal vow to actually commit in allowing myself to trust the dark and bleak society I have come to be wary of. It would allow me to find the genuine ones no matter how miniscule they may come nowadays.

So I’m officially calling this interaction with Sophia as me trying; trying to connect with new people while using a pair of fresh eyes that hold no judgment. There’s nothing wrong with befriending beautiful strangers in a random street somewhere in Imola, especially if they’re here acting as my knight in shining yellow handbag. 

“I suggest we don’t touch anything.” Sophia let out after her whole list-down of questions she asked me about the possible problems of my car.

“What?” I was stunned at her change of perspective, my brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean let’s not touch anything? It seems to me seconds ago that you know your way with cars much more than me, or any of the current drivers on the grid.”

My statement made her giggle, the crinkles of her eyes catching my gaze like the sound of her laugh isn’t adorable enough to attract all my attention. “I’d take that as a compliment since you seem like an honest person. But regardless of how much of a car encyclopedia I am, that still doesn’t qualify me from actually breaking apart this bloody expensive car.”

“Then why’d you ask me all those things then?”

“Maybe because I wanted to see for myself if you’re really a racer who knows no shit about cars or you were just waiting to impress me with all your overflowing knowledge about it like a stereotypical testosterone-ego filled motorsport driver.”

I snorted unattractively, enthralled by her honest words despite its teasing tone. “I hope I didn’t disappoint then that I’m not your typical racing driver, that I’m really just a big fraud of my kind who’s basically a big disgrace in our industry since I know close to nothing about the thing that makes my job work in the first place.”

I don’t know what kind of reaction I was waiting for, but it certainly wasn’t her loud laughter echoing around the quiet Italian street, nor the way her hand had comfortably, almost mindlessly pushed me lightly on my shoulders like it’s for her own good that I should stop making these jokes about myself. I liked it though, her reaction. Far too much.

“Well I’m hoping this isn’t your attempt at running away from the Imola grand prix this weekend considering I don’t think you’re that bad of a driver regardless if you don’t know how to properly fix one.” Sophia proceeded to give me a carefree smile, as if she hadn’t just complimented me for the first time.

And how I felt like preening at noting such a random thing, I have no idea. It seems to be the overall theme for my afternoon. “Sadly, no. My boss wouldn’t have lent me this car if he had heard any inklings that I was going rogue for an Italian holiday, no matter how lovely that sounds now.”

I saw the interest flash in her eyes after that, “So if you’re not on the run from your racing obligations, then what’s so pressing you had to drive a car you barely know anything about?”

I didn’t see any harm in sharing my plans, especially when my current situation makes it seem more like canceled plans now that I’ll be able to accomplish the next time I visit Emilia Romania. I tried to keep my disappointment at the minimum when I told her.

“Nothing that special, actually. You see, today’s my only free day from any race or media stuff so I just wanted to head to this specific beach and watch the sunset. Just to have some time for me, to be one with the peace and quiet of the ocean.”

I am unsure what she sees in my expression after I had said that, but one look at Sophia made me believe I did a piss poor job at concealing displeasure. A frown is etched on her forehead, corners of her lips turned downwards, her eyes wide with sympathy dancing in her irises.

That look on her face stunned me on my seat once again. I decided that I wanted to remove that saddened look on her face, her face that should always be full of life and brightness like the sunshine that she is. But more importantly, what had gotten me dazed like an utter fool being hit unknowingly by cupid’s arrow is this sudden realization that had completely turned my perspective of this entire situation in another fucking direction.

How do you tell I woman you met barely an hour ago, a woman as charming, kind, honest, and simply compeling woman like Sophia, that I don’t give a single fuck about the sunset and the beach anymore when I’m content just staring at her pools of ocean blue? That her aura is enough and more to compete with a stunning Italian sunset?

But before I could even act more like a fool in front of her by trying to articulate those gobsmacking thoughts of pure sappiness and vulnerability all in one, Sophia beats me to it by asking me her own question.

“What’s your thoughts on just calling someone to fix your car? And while there doing that task, you and I head together to that beach you were keen to go to, watch the sunset, and even eat some gelato while doing all that. You game?”

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Something is cooking...🧡🏎️