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For whom does Jenson's bell toll? We thought he would survive the bronze, but the grim echo of a dismal season could push him to leave Formula Oats without warning — farewell, etc.
SIR JENSON (to the tune of Gainsbourg, Les Initiales B.B.) One night, I wandered sadly in the darkness, like a perplexed prospector in search of redemption, feeling abandoned on a transmission. B Initials B Initials B Initials B.B. B Initials B Initials B Initials B.B. The first three glasses of champagne darkened my prison and made it more real; a vague boredom set in, joy abandoned me, and I became more enslaved and less alert. B Initials B Initials B Initials B.B.
B Initials B Initials B Initials B.B. Oh, eternal torment—how I savor the dregs of the chalice like a vulture, advancing only a little, a galley slave bidding farewell. B Initials B Initials B Initials B.B.
B Initials B Initials B Initials B.B. At every turn, we were booed, insulted, even by the Japanese. On the evening of my wandering, I revealed, with an air devoid of romanticism, that I was leaving.
