The recent announcement that Damon Hill has signed to drive for Jordan in 1998 is great news for all F1 fans. The last time Jordan had an Englishman as their number one, we were treated to one of the most fascinating championship battles ever. I refer of course to the late, great Scott Stoddard.

Who will ever forget the site of Scott's broken body lying in that grubby Monte Carlo hospital. Memories of how he struggled back to fitness whilst his strumpet of a wife, canoodled with his championship rival, would stir the heart of any man. Watching Scott as he desperately tried to press the alarm bell above his hospital bed, who would believe that on his return to F1 only five races later he would lead from flag to flag. His three consecutive wins certainly put the recent return of Olivier Panis in the shade! His virtuoso performance at Watkins Glen (which we never did get to see) was worth every penny of the $17,000 he and team boss Jeff Jordan got to split 50/50.

As I watched a rather wooden Martin Brundle interview Michael Schumacher at the Nurburgring, I couldn't help but think of that other ex-Jordan driver turned television presenter, Pete Aron. Luckily Pete only had to cover a couple of races in this new and demeaning role before being approached by Yamura to drive his car. Of course, things didn't go smoothly for Aron, and Mr. Yamura was a hard taskmaster, forcing him to watch endless footage of his mistakes. Rumour has it that Eddie Jordan intends to adopt a similar policy with young Ralf.

Luckily for the race promoters, the championship went to the wire. At Monza it was a four way fight. Stoddard, Aron, Jean-Pierre Sarti in the Manetta-Ferrari and his precocious team-mate, Eddie Irv (sorry) Nino Barlini.

The championship was decided when the unfortunate Sarti flew off the banking and was left hanging mortally wounded from one of Monza's glorious oak trees. If Sarti had paid a little more attention to the marshals, he would have known that the banking had been closed to F1 cars since 1961 and therefore he shouldn't have been there in the first place.

So the championship went to the American Pete Aron in the Japanese Yamura. With the champagne still dripping from his chin, and the chilling smoky reminder of Jean-Pierre's demise hanging overhead, Pete made a dramatic gesture of friendship to his track and bedroom rival Stoddard. What sportsmen.

Nino Barlini was never heard of again, his enforced retirement from the race by Mr. Manetta was more than his ego could bear. Aron quit the Grand Prix scene and became a Private Investigator. Scott Stoddard never emulated the success of his brother Roger and mysteriously disappeared, finally re-surfacing in two episodes of The Equaliser in the late eighties.

For those readers who wonder if I am either under the influence of alcohol or using mind expanding substances, my introduction refers of course to the 1966 Motion Picture - Grand Prix. This movie directed by the highly acclaimed John Frankenheimer was the winner of three Academy Awards, none of which related to the script. The quote from team boss Yamura "I've been in Grand Prix racing for two years now... and I've yet to win a race" must make Messrs Minardi, Jordan, and Sauber wince every time they hear it.

All in all though, Grand Prix treated it's subject with dignity and respect. Thanks largely to the fact that Frankenheimer is a lifelong motor racing (and in particular F1) devotee.

Similarly, the film Le Mans was a labour of love for it's creator Steve McQueen. And boy, does it show. I adore that film, it's brimful with goodies and baddies, though as a life long Ferrari nut I always pray that the Porsche with that stupid blonde English guy will run out of gas and let Stahler through. My partner enjoys the film because she knows it gives me such pleasure. I point out Siffert, Rodriguez, Elford and so on... to be honest I actually hiss and boo at the Porsches. For the non race fan, however, Le Mans must be interminably boring. Let's face it, the plot and dialogue leave one hell of a lot to be desired.

The one irritating thing that both these movies have in common is the race commentary. I cannot tell you how many times I have attended events and been frustrated beyond belief as I struggle to hear what the commentator is saying. As he runs through the names and times following each practice session, there is always a car going past that drowns out his voice or, in Italy, an air horn. Yet, in both of these movies, the trackside commentator not only gives you all the up to date information regarding the race, he also imparts further vital information about the championship and it's rules... in English!

One last point about Grand Prix. Watch out for the performances of the Hills. Graham (Bob Turner) surely one of the most charismatic personalities in the history of motor sport history is reduced to a series of meaningless shrugs and frowns. Phil, on the other hand, gives an OTT performance worthy of Kevin Kline or Gary Oldman status. Watch out for the scene during the British GP. Hill (as Tim Randolph) goes ballistic when he sees flames shooting from the back of team mate Aron's car "He's on fire, he's on fire" screams the F1 and Sports Car legend. Wonderful stuff.

Days of Thunder is a film that I have to confess I got bored with after thirty minutes. I didn't give a damn about any of the characters -- it was stereotypical and one dimensional. Even a die-hard Al Pacino fan such as myself struggles with the plodding Bobby Deerfield. Winning had it's moments but, in the end, it came over as a sort of "high octane" soap.

Recently I bought the video of Chris Rea's "La Passione". I still can't make my mind up about this one. The basic idea for the movie is good and like Steve McQueen's film this too is a labour of love. However I for one, could have done without much of the imagery. For me, one of the most magical sequences in the entire film is the on board footage with Von Tripps. Rea's heart was in the right place though, for he like Frankenheimer and McQueen before him was in love with motor sport.

Therefore you'll understand that the appearance at Monza of Sylvester Stallone and the subsequent visit to the A-1 Ring by Michael Douglas has left me worried and confused. It would seem that once again Hollywood is turning it's eyes on Formula One. Every couple of years, someone in Hollywood gets an idea for a subject and suddenly there is a whole glut of movies. Remember a few years ago when it was baseball? We may have got the magical Field of Dreams, but there was a lot of sheer drivel floating around at the same time.

Like the music business, the movie industry is now run by accountants. These people are not interested in making faithful portraits. Their prime motivation is putting backsides on seats. Geena Davis was a guest of the McLaren team at Monaco this year where it was announced that she is looking at the idea of making a movie based on the life of Ayrton Senna. Sharon Stone (!) has made public her desire to make a movie based on the life of Enzo Ferrari. To cap it all, earlier this year it was announced that David Cronenbourg, director of Videodrome, Shivers and Crash, wished to make a movie about Ferrari's 1961 season. This would dwell on the goings on at Maranello and portray Enzo Ferrari as a man determined to win the title at any cost. Following threats of legal action from the Ferrari family and one or two drivers of that period, the project was dropped.

Formula One is tailor made for the movies. It has glamour, excitement (sometimes), money, exotic locations and intrigue. The funny thing is that usually when producers look at F1 or indeed any form of motor sport they see sex, crashes and more sex.

Let me get one thing straight right from the very start. I do not attend races to see the Marlboro Girls, Tio Pepe girls or Hawaiian Tropic Girls. Although I am not into the p.c. thing, I had to agree with my partner when we visited Monza in ‘96. Together we had paid out over £2,000 to attend the event. She is a Town Planner and has two degrees. When we came across the Marlboro Stand, she was incensed. On a massive stage stood a dozen girls in the skimpiest outfits. The girls were bored to distraction and it showed. Yet to a slow thudding beat they went through their embarrassing banal dance routine. My partner was livid at what was a shameless and totally invalid performance that degraded both the spectator and the performer.

In Britain whenever any sort of motor sport action is shown on TV, it is accompanied by screaming guitars and endless shots of "babes". Indeed the site run by one of the major British motor racing magazines features a "babes" page. It's a pity they don't spend more time updating the site's racing information. Why is it that F1 is synonymous with rock ‘n' roll and scantily clad women?

In my entire video collection (which numbers over a thousand films), I have only two starring Sylvester Stallone, First Blood and Nighthawks. He's made a couple of half decent films, then again.... Stallone's trademarks are shoot outs, explosions, incoherent dialogue (usually shouted) and corpses strewn across the landscape. Quite where F1 will fit into all this leaves me confused... perhaps not!

F1 gives writers plenty of scope yet we all know what they're going to go for. You only have to look at some of the novels that have hit the market in recent years. One of the most ludicrous plots in motor racing novels features a demented woman in a wheelchair racing head on to the circuit during a Grand Prix!

Motor racing and F1 in particular is a glorious sport. With the right handling and sensitivity, a movie could be made that would cater to enthusiasts and the general public alike.

Most of the F1 drivers today are not the stuff of Hollywood. Physically they resemble jockeys, they are on macro biotic diets and have punishing fitness schedules which are at odds with the traditional "playboy" image.

For my part, my imaginary F1 movie has two obvious candidates for it's cast - Christian Slater as Blondie Jacques and Joe Pesci as Bernie. I await your suggestions with relish!

Finally, one question. The German Grand Prix in July, like several other events, banned tobacco advertising. How is it that the Luxembourg Grand Prix held in Germany allowed it? Furthermore the German Chancellor, Helmut Kohl actually awarded one of the trophies.