The plane banks. The Mediterranean glistens on one side; on the other, Barcelona and its intoxicating mix of hedonism and history. Touch down, and everything is reassuringly familiar, as it should be after a quarter of a century. Point the hire car north, through town up the Ronda Da Dalt, on to the A7 towards Girona, and soon, there on the left, is the towering silver pit grandstand of the Circuit De Catalunya. The surroundings change little. Wooded hills, an industrial zone, some scrubby land, fields. Gravel road into the car park, walk over the bridge, under the tunnel. Glimpse the Pyrenees in the distance, pass the medical helicopter, turn left into the paddock. Usually, Bernie's bus...
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