1982

There's no doubt that Grand Prix racing isn't as good as it used to be. Some people suggest that each generation makes this type of observation about its most cherished cultural items; your sporting heroes, your favourite music and your favourite films, they argue, tend to come from your youth, and that which comes thereafter seems inferior in comparison. This is a type of cultural relativism. The suggestion is that sport and music doesn't get better or worse, it merely changes. In the case of Grand Prix racing, at least, I would resist this conclusion.

Grand Prix racing in the 1970s and 1980s featured a variety of beautifully sculpted and proportioned cars, racing on challenging circuits with camber and gradient, varying radius turns, and fast corners, driven by a fascinating array of talented drivers. And they actually raced in those days: they overtook each other on the track, not in the pit-stops. These days, the cars look appalling, the circuits are flat, constant-radius, emasculated autodromes designed by computer, and, whilst the contemporary sport has three or four top drivers, there is little talent-in-depth.

The most dramatic, tragic, and tumultuous season of all was 1982, and I was therefore delighted to see that Christopher Hilton has written a book devoted to this Grand Prix season.

Hilton isn't the greatest writer in the pantheon of Formula 1 journalists, but this book is a corker. Hilton draws heavily upon the recollections of key players such as Keke Rosberg and John Watson, and, in combination with the intrinsic drama of the year, this makes for a rivetting read.