Great expectations.

We all have them. For example, my father, very soon after my birth, apparently announced to anyone listening that he held in his arms a future Prime Minister of Britain (me).

I suppose there's still a chance, but it's an outside chance and I wouldn't put any money on it. Mind you, I now think he has known for a while that I wasn't going to scale the heights of British politics.

At the end of each school term, I would return home (yes, from boarding school) and within a few days, one of those ghastly school reports would arrive.

Dad would take it away and, a few hours later, I'd get called into The Presence. He would have already studied it in close detail, of course, but I would have to go through the torture of having him read aloud each subject's report, as though it was the first time he had ever seen it.

In hindsight, I thought classes and lessons were facts of life, unpleasant ones, that got in the way of my personal social life, so it was rare that any of the reports were full of praise for my hard work, dedication, attention and learning. The phrase "could do better if he tried" not only took on nightmare proportions, but has been forever stamped into my brain cells.

All in all, I think I may have been a bit of a disappointment to my father ... at least, academically. I did gain a partial redemption in the 1980s when I got a Bachelor of Arts degree - I say "partial redemption" because the degree was from an Australian university rather than a British one.

Having downsized (greatly) his on-going assessment of my various, diverse performances - none of which set the schools alight, let alone the world - my father has been delighted with my involvement in F1, so much so that he managed to persuade me to appoint him my British agent.

The lesson in all this is that we shouldn't set our expectations too high. My father did, and was greatly disappointed over quite a few years. But, because of my (perceived) failures, my later (perceived) successes were then welcomed with, perhaps, more fanfare than they deserved - but I would NEVER suggest anything like that ... more fanfare, please, more fanfare!

Being the intelligent, understanding person that I am, you'd think that I would have learnt the lesson from all this. When my daughter's school reports come in, would I treat her in the same cavalier, Victorian manner, as my father did to me? Would I force her to sit and listen as I read it out aloud? Would I "look" (parents will know what I mean by that "look") at her when the marks are not what I think they should be? Of course I do all those things and, probably, more as well. Fathers don't change.

As each season draws near, so the calls come from the various proponents, "it's so-and-so's year, this year". And we also get the nay-sayers with their calls of "can't see how so-and-so is going to do anything this year".

Before 1997, let alone the 1997 season, had even started, the two groups seemed to have already told us that Jacques Villeneuve was going to be World Champion in 1997, and that Damon Hill would be lucky to scrape a couple of points. And once again, we were told that Ferrari were hoping to have some wins, and maybe even a loose challenge for the championship. They weren't expecting anything too fantastic in 1996 ... but wait for next year.

It's interesting, at the end of a season, to look back at all the predictions that were made before the season started. For most of us, this means trying to dredge up some vague memories from some dusty corner of the recesses of our brains. A brave few souls actually make their predictions public - and then frequently have then boomerang back.

But the biggest predictions must lie in the minds and hearts of the team principals and the drivers.

It's a delicate balance. Boost yourself up too much, then fail to perform and the fans and, more importantly, the sponsors lose faith in you - look at Jordan and McLaren over the last couple of years.

On the other hand, do a Michael Schumacher and state publicly that you're not expecting too much, and already the team will be wondering why they are even bothering to turn up at the races or work on the car.

Villeneuve, in particular, has a lot to live up to. In his first season of F1, he came second in the Drivers' Championship. In his second year, he should have everything going for him ... and therein lies the problem. IF the Williams is as reliable as it has been, IF his driving is as good as it was in 1996, IF Heinz-Harald Frentzen isn't too good, IF Schumacher doesn't win too often, then Villeneuve is a "dead cert" for the Championship.

But, if the whole thing starts to unravel even just a little bit, he may find himself - once again - needing to win the final race to win the Championship. And, frankly, the great expectations of Villeneuve and Williams for 1997 will not have been achieved.

Then, a lot of the pressure would come off, and he might be able to go into 1998 in a more relaxed way.

Alternatively, the 1997 season may be all over by the time they all get to the British or German races. First, though, Villeneuve and Williams have to get there.

In the meantime, Hill can jump potter around, picking up points here and there, developing the new team, the new chassis, the new engine and the new tyres. After all, with everything new, who on earth has any great expectations in 1997 from the Hill, Arrows, Yamaha and Bridgestone combination ... except perhaps Tom Walkinshaw and Hill and Arrows and Yamaha and Bridgestone - and me.

But that's just me.