I have to admit I was put on a bit of a spot when I came into Formula 1 and certain assumptions were made about the orange and green on my crash helmet. I had started out with a plain white helmet but I was advised early in my career to make it more distinctive. I chose orange because it stood out. Okay, it was a coincidence that there was the orange connection with Northern Ireland, but there was no political statement involved whatsoever. If the Orangemen’s colour had been purple, there would not have been purple on the helmet. I wanted a bright colour. Yellow had been taken by someone else. So I chose orange.
The original markings along the side made the helmet looked similar to Ayrton Senna’s; it was assumed I was modelling myself on him. In fact, the shade of orange I used at first made the helmet look yellow in photographs. I changed it to a richer shade of orange and then added the green stripes, just to make a point about the Irish connection and the orange not being a political statement.
I have to admit I played on it a bit when asked. I would make comments about the religious divisions in Northern Ireland and journalists didn’t know how to take it. This is obviously a serious subject and they weren’t sure whether or not I was joking; they didn’t want to cause offence over a matter which, sadly, is life and death for some people on both sides of the Irish border.
The fact is that I that I haven’t been to church since I was old enough to avoid going to Sunday School. And I have no intention of going to church now because, in Ireland, religion creates so much aggravation. My parents and my grandparents were not churchgoers even though, in Northern Ireland, the majority of the community attended church. The numbers have dropped in recent years but, even so, church attendance in Northern Ireland remains much higher than in most parts of the United Kingdom.
I don’t have strong feelings either way. I think you are either good or you are bad. I don’t know which is right and which is wrong. There may be a lot of people who are right but, on the other hand, there seems to be a tremendous number who are wrong. Who’s to say which is correct? Is it right to say that anyone living in the jungle, because of their lack of knowledge of religion as we know it, will automatically go to hell? What kind of logic is that? But then, the way things have been with the situation in Northern Ireland during the past twenty-five years, it’s not for me to talk about logic!
I was actually acting a bit stupid myself during the few days I had off between the Australian Grand Prix and the next race in Brazil. I decided to have a go at sorting out the back garden of my house in Dublin. I went at it like a bull in a china shop and ended up hurting my shoulder, which was a silly thing to do. My house is in Dalkey, a very nice area just south of Dublin. The garden covers about half an acre and the guy who had the house before me cut down a number of trees in order to improve the view across Killiney Bay. I was to discover that he had trouble with the neighbours; the police had been called in to try and stop him and I only wish they had succeeded. I would prefer to look at trees rather than the water; I can walk to the bottom of the garden any time I feel like a view of the Irish Sea. Now, after this man’s over-enthusiasm with a saw, the garden had been left in a right mess. There were bits of tree everywhere. I had to chop them up and drag them out of the garden. I like doing that sort of thing; it makes you feel as if you are achieving something instead of going round in circles all your life.
I don’t want to create the impression that I like manicured lawns and neat gardens; quite the opposite, in fact. Given the choice, I would prefer a forest. I like to let it grow and forget about it. But, before I could leave the place to its own devices, I had to drag the felled trees out of the way. That’s when I hurt my shoulder; as a result, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to the overnight flight to South America.
In fact, it was great. British Airways had seats in First Class which folded into beds. I find it very difficult to sleep on my back but this meant I was able to lie on my front. It was fantastic. I didn’t have dinner on the flight; just a small snack, which I much prefer. Then, head down, off to sleep, no problem at all. I woke up with half an hour to go before landing in Brazil.
It was living in the lap of luxury; a complete contrast to what greets you on arrival in Sao Paulo. It amazes me how the Brazilians can be such happy people while living under such terrible conditions. Looking at it logically, if you weren’t an optimistic, easy-going person, you couldn’t live the way they do. I like Brazilians; they’re good fun. But I certainly don’t like Sao Paulo. The river that runs alongside the road from the airport is a rich brown colour. It’s probably not as bad as it looks because there are birds catching fish, so the water must be able to support life. But I wouldn’t like to go for a swim in it.
I don’t feel comfortable being in Brazil. When you think about the money people earn from Grand Prix racing, it is put in perspective when you see the way so many hundreds of thousands have to live Sao Paulo. It causes a conflict of emotions. I hate seeing things like that; on the other hand, maybe it’s better that we are aware of such poverty. It makes me think about the attitude of certain people in Northern Ireland who are unemployed and believe they’re hard done by. A few minutes spent in Sao Paulo would alter their outlook.
Typically, of course, the problems of the world are soon left behind when you climb into a Formula 1 car. Nothing else matters and I would have plenty to hold my attention within minutes of practice starting.
For the first time, I had one of the latest steering wheels fitted to my car. It does everything. Apart from carrying the paddles which we use for the clutch and to change gear, there are buttons for the radio, as well as for scrolling the read-out, operating the pit lane speed-limiter and selecting neutral, and there are dials for adjusting controls such as the brake balance. Across the top of the wheel is the digital read-out, which gives lap times and other information, as well as the display of sequential lights, previously mounted on the dashboard, which signal the moment to change gear. Using the wheel to actually steer the car is almost incidental.
I drove out of the pits and I couldn’t believe how hard the wheel felt. It was like holding a vibrator – not that I’ve ever handled such a thing, of course! These were vibrations from the engine. Whenever I reached 16,000 rpm, there were 16,000 vibrations per minute going through my hands. I had never experienced anything like it and I felt sure there must have been an engine problem of some sort. I went through the first two corners and then down the straight. As I went into the third corner, a left-hander, I was just about to radio the pits to tell them about the vibration when – bang! – the rear of the car hit a bump and I was off the road and into the barrier. Just like that. I couldn’t believe it.
The car had turned sharp left and spun onto the inside of the corner; normally, when travelling at speed, the car would be thrown to the outside of the corner. In this instance, I was going so slowly, the car shot straight across the grass on the inside and removed most of one side – wheels, suspension, radiator – against the barrier.
I didn’t know what to think. It was one of those things. There was no alternative but to walk away. I was given a lift back to the pits with Sid Watkins, the FIA doctor. It looked as if it had been quite a big accident and he checked me over. There was nothing wrong with me – which was more than could be said for the car. It wouldn’t be fixed until after practice had finished, so that was it for Friday. Half a lap and no progress whatsoever.
Nobody in the team said anything because they could see from the telemetry that I hadn’t been going quickly. It was an easy corner, so it shouldn’t have been a problem. There wasn’t much grip on the track at that stage and the tyres were probably not up to temperature. Even so, it came as a big shock.
I was really worried about the following day. By the time I got started on Saturday morning, everyone else would have done thirty laps, so they would have been much better prepared. However, within four laps, I had set a competitive time, so I knew it was not a major problem.
I qualified in tenth place, which wasn’t too bad considering the alterations that had been made to the car because of the problems we had experienced in Australia. The gearbox had been changed to an older specification because the new one kept cracking and the casing was in need of a redesign. This had a knock-on effect because the return to the 1995 gearbox meant we also needed to go back to the old floor.