First up, I have not a single bad thing to say about Sir Jackie. So I trust the following anecdote will be seen in a respectful and affectionate context.
It was 1986. Fosters was sponsoring the Australian Grand Prix for the first time. In the (Australian) winter, the then South Australian Premier announced, at the GP launch, that a booze company was the name sponsor. Further... that the state government was arranging for the competing drivers to make TV advertisements to be run in the days leading up to the race. I was an Account Director of the agency that looked after the transport bit of the guvmint.
Many... no, practically all... of the people present made WTF looks towards each other. It was a hoot. Our beloved premier had somehow omitted to mention this detail to us lot.
In short order, we were tasked to arrange for such TVCs to go to air on the Friday evening. (Anyone from OZ who remembers FACTS and their rules?)
I was the only person on the team with any knowledge of how F1 works. In short, the message I conveyed to my extremely fashion conscious creative colleagues was that these people we going to be busy from the time the 747 landed until the Mondee morning. At least.
Whatever... we assembled a team with a camera, a DoP, a director, a sound person and me, 'umble anorak and carrier of the tripod. We got go anywhere passes for the weekend.
So it's Thursday, and we're patrolling the pits and paddock, looking for victims. Keep in mind, we're looking to produce 15 second TVCs to go to air by Friday evening. A quick comment on the importance of a clear head when you drive. Whack in a guvmint logo and away you go.
Assorted drivers and other notables came along and we intercepted several of them. Some were okay, some were not born performers. ( A couple, but I won't say who, were as rude as buggery). At one point we happened upon a former multiple World Champion, born in Dumbarton, on the northern shores of the Clyde. I should not indicate who it was but suffice to say he was most personable and cooperative. He very willingly opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and furnished us with with inestimable wisdom and experience, especially on the downside of driving with the merest trace of grog in your bloodstream. A true privilege to receive such sagacity.
The only, erm, complication was that our wonderful and anonymous World Champion produced an opening gambit that lasted something like 90 seconds without drawing breath. He then drew another breath. At least another 120 seconds were in prospect. The wisdom seemed to be without end.
Mavellous, but most regrettably destined for the cutting room floor.
