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They say you always remember your first time and I certainly will. .

Eddie Jordan's trademark seems to be making big, and largely accurate, calls over a race weekend but even he wasn't capable of prophesying how things would unfold at the .

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This was my home for the Valencia GP. I took this photo at 6.30am on race day after I'd packed my bags. We were lucky as, at times, the journey to the track can be long. But we were just minutes from the this weekend, which was cool. It might not look particularly glamorous, but the room becomes my home for the weekend as I squirrel myself away each evening to get my script written and research done...

It was then off to the track, past the fans gathering outside waiting for drivers to sign autographs...

...and we ended up parking near to personal parking spot. I know he's driving for a new team - but you'd think, 10 races into the season, the organisers would have got the leading teams name right!

make their way towards the broadcasters area: the long shadows show you it was pretty early. We are usually at the track around 8am on race day...and we need to be. The mornings just fly by.

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I'm not sure if this is a good idea but I've just turned down the chance of a shower in Ted Kravitz's hotel room!

Cleverly, our pit lane reporter decided not to check out and after a very sweaty day he was heading back to his room to freshen up. I was planning to go with him, but I decided that staying in the office with the TV production team and watching . Seven wickets down, and Tom Gent, one of the producers, was alongside me saying that he 'can't believe' we'd almost beaten the Aussies! And .

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There are few things I dislike more than being unorganised and badly prepared. Perhaps it stems from the spell I spent watching and learning the master of in-depth groundwork . But note-making and taking certainly provides me with something of a comfort blanket over a race weekend.

However, as Valencia and our Easyjet flight from Gatwick this evening looms large, I feel distinctly unprepared. Let me paint you the picture...

Last night, when I should have been packing my bags, doing my washing, writing this blog and preparing my stuff for the weekend, I was at Griffin Park watching my beloved Canaries lose their second game of a so far inglorious season, this time a 2-1 defeat to Brentford. Myself and the 1800 other gluttons for punishment made the best of a bad situation with remarks like "at least standing to watch a game is quite novel" and "at least we didn't concede seven".

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Morning guys,

This blog comes to you from my front room at 6am. I can't sleep so I've left Harriet upstairs in bed. I'm down here with my dressing gown, cup of tea and my new read: , a new book by the .

I am a big fan of history and loved getting the chance to float over Silverstone with Eddie Jordan in a hot air balloon a couple of months ago, seeing the runways and imagining the place as it used to be when .

I know that the history of the can't even attempt to match , but when I for the weekend I was keen to get down to the track and relive some more recent motor racing memories. For me, Hungary is one of a number of settings where , in which Senna eventually took the title from his bitter rival. It was a time when I first became aware of what a special sport this can be.

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