A Ford Man

Pliny had enjoyed his first day at the Clipsal. He turned up at the Corporate Box the next morning without any sandwiches, and wearing his red jacket.

Several people were standing at the food table piling up plates of food. One man was standing aside, doing something on his mobile phone.

Hello, said Pliny. Are you a Ford man?

No, said the man. I'm the Premier.

I apologise for not recognising you, said Pliny. And I thought you were wearing a blue jacket. I see now that it is purple. I suppose you mustn't take sides. Do you...

Excuse me for a second, said the Premier. I'm just in the middle of a Tweet.

Goodness, said Pliny. Don't they have a separate room for that?

Ha ha, laughed the Premier. I said a Tweet. Would you like to know what it was?

Yes I suppose so, said Pliny.

I'm Tweeting that last year at the Clipsal they sold 28,800 sausages. That's 7.6 km of sausages, enough to go round the track twice. What do you think of that?

Remarkable, said Pliny. But aren't you the Premier? Don't you have better things to do than Tweet about sausages?

It only takes a few seconds, said the Premier.

Yes, but the maths, said Pliny.

I have people to do the maths, said the Premier, airily. Are you looking forward to the big race Mr, er, Secundus? Who do you think will win?

Whincup, said Pliny. But when is the race? This is the second day now and all I have seen is the inside of this box.

The big race is on Sunday, said the Premier. But the V8 Supercars Championship Practice Four is on right at this moment. Watch the big screen over there. Or look out of the window over Pit Straight.

Pliny looked out of the window. Whizzzzzzz, the Supercars raced by and slowed down. A flag was waved.

Who won? asked Pliny.

Your man, said the Premier. Whincup!

Pliny felt somewhat elated.