Work Text:
Nick Nelson
There are days when I still find it hard to believe that I am a Formula 1 driver. Some days are better than others. I love being behind the wheel, and even spending time talking strategy with my team at the circuit, but two years into my time with the SeeSaw F1 Racing team, I still don’t think I’ll ever get used to the promo work that goes along with it.
The last week has been more insane than ever. Don’t get me wrong - I am not complaining - it feels like I’ve been walking on air since achieving my childhood dream of winning the British Grand Prix. Nope! Still can’t believe I can actually say that. Apparently that now makes me ‘hot property’ for promo events and in the driver market (or so my manager, Andy, tells me). All the top teams have been pestering him on the phone but, as I keep telling him, I don’t plan on leaving SeeSaw any time soon. It doesn’t stop every journo and chat show host from asking the question though.
After all that craziness, you’d think I’d want to take a race-free weekend to hide away and recover, but not this time. I’ve got another dream to fulfill. Hey, I can rest when the summer break hits. Today I’m headed to the Sussex countryside, for the Goodwood Festival of Speed where (and shit, I don’t believe I’m actually even saying this!) I’ll be getting behind the wheel of the MP4 8! I get to drive Senna’s iconic McLaren up the Goodwood hill! The car that I had posters of on my wall as a kid! How is this my life?
~ ~ ~
Charlie Spring
Even with the luxury first-class flights and all the comfort that comes with it, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the traveling and the come-down after a US trip. We’ve spent the last two weeks criss-crossing the States, promoting the new album and, whilst I love being with the band, this has seemed like an even busier one than normal. I guess it was to be expected, but I’d always been able to sink into the background a bit more on past promo tours. As just the drummer, I'd been able to take a bit more of a back seat (literally). I know I’ve always had a bit of a fan following in my own right (apparently curly haired twink rock drummers have quite the draw to some of our fan base) but this time it’s different. The new album is kind of my baby, on the song-writing front, and with James leaving and me taking over some of the lead vocals too, apparently I’m the one everyone wants to hear from. The extra time of keeping up the sassy rockstar persona has wiped me out and I just want to curl up in my flat for the next week to decompress.
No such luck! Apparently, I have one more marketing commitment to fulfill before I can shut the world out for a bit. I really don’t understand why Alice booked me for this one though. Seriously, I have zero interest in cars. They’re great for getting me from place to place, but I don’t really need (or want) to know what’s under the bonnet or how fast they can go (unless it’s because I’m running late, again.) But when you sell your soul to Cartier for a shit tonne of jewelry and a fancy watch, they do expect you to do your bit as their ambassador at fashion shows and random events.
So, that’s why I’m in a bougie country hotel just outside Chichester on a Sunday morning in July, being buttoned into a gorgeous black pin-striped Wooyoungmi shirt and trousers by my wonderful friend and stylist, Sahar. She always makes me look so good. I have a little chuckle at the wording embroidered across my chest. I know it actually says ‘Paris Seoul’ but at a glance, it could easily look like Paris Squad, the nickname of our Year 10 friends group from when we spent a week together in France with the school. Gods, that trip was amazing. Yeah, there were a few shitty bits, like having to put up with Ben watching my every move, and me passing out in the Louvre because the stress of dealing with that douchebag had stopped me from eating… but our little gang really bonded that week. Tao, Elle, Isaac, Tara, Darcy, Sahar and me have been close ever since. Hey, maybe that’s why she chose this shirt for me today, a little reminder of a decade ago.
Oh, the car’s here. Given the event we’re going to, I do hope they’ve chosen something cool for me to arrive in. I know I said I don’t care much about cars, but I do still want to look good and I don’t think your bog-standard Lexus is quite enough to cut it at a speed festival.
~ ~ ~
Nick Nelson
Goodwood really is like no other event on the calendar. Compared to a race weekend, the atmosphere is so much more chilled. Yes, the fans are everywhere and they get so close to you when you’re wandering around the paddock areas, but they’re a different type of fan. It’s like they have a different level of passion, for the cars and the history, and with that comes a different level of respect for the drivers. Yes, it’s crazy busy, especially around the F1 paddock, but it’s also kinda nice.
After a chance to wander around in the morning, it’s my turn to pull on my helmet and clamber into this engineering masterpiece, for my own go at the famous Hillclimb. I’m amazed I can even fit in the tub of this thing. Honestly, I’m a bit larger than Ayrton was - I’m a bit larger than a lot of the drivers really, and my seat fitters always joke about me looking more like a rugby player than a racing driver. I mean , I was a pretty good Fly-Half back in school. But I’ve slimmed down a lot since my teen years and the team always made it work so I’m comfortable and snug in the cockpit.
I’d love to really open her up, give it full beans and roar past the house, maybe entertain the crowds with a few burnouts and doughnuts, but I’m not doing that in this beauty. I promised Adrian that I’d treat her with every care she deserves, but I don’t think I even needed to make that promise, because we both know that I’d never risk doing harm to this legend. As I pull away from the start line and head off between the hay bales, I give the gas pedal a gentle touch and take off with just enough speed to make that 3.5litre Ford V8 engine sing. I won’t be setting any time trial records today, but I can feel that roar seep through every inch of my body and I feel like an absolute god.
At the top of the hill, I take a moment to enjoy the feeling before stepping out, removing my helmet and straightening the swoop of my fringe (I don’t want Imogen attacking me with her ‘professional hair stylist’ impression today). There are the obligatory interviews in the top paddock, but I have no idea what I said in them. At a guess I probably just gushed a lot, but I was so lost in the driver bliss bubble that I’d be surprised if anything I said made much sense beyond the ramblings of an excited kid at Christmas. Imogen isn't glaring at me, so I must have made some sense, or at least not made a total dick of myself on camera.
We head back down the hill in the support van. I’ve got an hour or so before I’m due to appear for a Q&A and autograph session at the Racing Pride tent, so for now I just need to find somewhere for a bit of peace and quiet; a chance to really process what just happened. So I head to the Paddock Club beside the house to escape the crowds of fans and noise of the paddocks, and take a wander out to the lawns at the back.
~ ~ ~
Charlie Spring
I’m not sure exactly what I expected from today, but it wasn’t this. I’ve been to a few events over the last few years where my job was simply to show up, look pretty and be photographed in whatever designer brand is paying my bills (gods, that makes me sound like such a slut). Not entirely sure how that fits in with racing cars, but it turns out that ‘Cartier Style et Luxe’ may have been a bit of a clue, as it seems that my main job for today it to wander around the lawns of Goodwood House, looking at luxury cars and judging them on their style and elegance. Still not sure why they thought a rock musician from Rochester would be a good choice to judge such a thing, but as I’ve been told far too many times today, I’m not the first drummer to have the honour. Apparently, Nick Mason has done the job a few times! Seriously? That guy's a total petrol head so that choice at least makes sense.
Well, at least it’s peaceful here. When we arrived this morning, all I could hear was revving engines and, along with the smell of petrol, I was worried that I’d be in complete sensory overload hell if I had to be in the middle of that all day (not to mention, I’d have felt a bit overdressed amongst all those drivers in their race suits). Don’t get me wrong, I could certainly appreciate the way those overalls hug their slim hips, and I’m not adverse to loud noises (I mean, hello, gay drummer here) but I prefer my decibels to have a lot more beat and my arses covered in something a little less fireproof.
But here on the lawns, the noise of the engines is a lot more muted and I get to enjoy some of the most beautiful cars I’ve ever seen. I may not know a Pagani Zonda from a Fiat Panda, but I do know pretty when I see it. And talking of pretty, who is that?
~ ~ ~
Nick Nelson
If it weren’t for the constant soundtrack of engines in the background, it would be easy to forget that just on the other side of this stately home, some of the most amazing racing cars of the last 50 years are zooming up the hill at a hundred miles an hour and filling the air with the smell of burning rubber. It’s amazing how well these Georgian walls can dim the noise. Wandering around the cars parked up on the lawns, it feels like a different world entirely. I don't think I’ll ever get my head around how Lord March manages to pull this event together so perfectly.
Over in the paddocks and lining the hill, the crowds of fans are mainly dressed in shorts and t-shirts, replica team shirts and caps, or casual summer outfits, but here it’s ascots, henleys, posh frocks and designer clothes and at the end of the lawn a giant flower arch is acting as the backdrop for photographs, which I’m sure will be all over the socials later today, as the fashion houses show off which famous faces are wearing their brands this summer. So far I’ve managed to avoid the invites to European fashion weeks, but I guess it’s only a matter of time before Andy signs me up for a front row appearance at a Loewe show or something. In the meantime, I’m much more comfortable in my basic jeans and hoodie, when I’m out of the race suit.
Talking of… I’d better go get changed out of the overalls and into the team gear for my scheduled fan appearance. Oops! I knew it’d be easy to lose track of time here.
As I stride across the lawn, trying not to look too much like a tardy teen who’s late for school, I realize that the fastest route back to the paddock club changing room is to cut through the flower archway, so I throw an apologetic smile to the photographer, as I shimmy past him and try not to block his shot. If only I had a little more time I’d have let myself be stopped in my tracks to admire the beautiful man who squints into the bright sunshine, his gorgeous black curls surrounded by summer blooms. No, Nelson, not now, you’ll be late.
~ ~ ~
“Good Afternoon ladies and gentleman and thank you for joining us here in the PrideHub at Goodwood Festival of Speed. Here at Racing Pride, we are proud to be championing LGBTQ+ inclusion in all categories of Motorsport. We are especially excited to now be working alongside almost all of the Formula One teams to ensure that every department in every team in the paddock provides an inclusive and welcoming work environment for our queer colleagues. The pinnacle of Motorsport should also be a shining example of inclusion, and we are working hard to make sure that that happens.
Being queer in Motorsport is nothing new, of course, but being out and proud within our industry, is sadly all too rare. We hope that this will change, and with visible representation from our LGBTQ+ siblings, we hope that more drivers, engineers, designers, mechanics, and all the wonderful people that make up our racing teams, will feel safe and comfortable to live, work and race as their authentic selves.
Our next guest on the PrideHub stage has been doing just that. Since coming out publicly as bisexual when he was racing in the Formula Renault at the age of 18, he has never shied away from talking about his sexuality and representing the queer community. He was the first racing driver to include the Bi pride flag on his helmet design and when, in his debut season in Formula One, the race officials banned it for certain races, he stood his ground and changed the flag to a glittering logo that simply read ‘I’m Bi Actually.’ Fresh from his amazing grand prix win at Silverstone last weekend, we are very proud to have with us, and welcome to the stage, SeeSaw Racing’s Nick Nelson.”
~ ~ ~
I don’t think I’ve ever received such a warm welcome as I did just now. Thinking back to that scared 15 year old, sitting on the beanbag, typing “Am I gay?” into the Google search bar, tears streaming down my cheeks. Back then I could never have dreamed that one day I’d be standing on the stage talking to hundreds of people about that day and then listening to them tell me how my story has inspired their own coming out journeys. How the fuck did that happen? All I wanted to do was just be myself. How did that kid end up being called an inspiration?
Time to find somewhere to regroup again and maybe give my head a bit of a wobble before my brain explodes completely. Back to the lawns again, I think. I wonder if that beautiful man from before is still around.
~ ~ ~
Charlie Spring
By the time I finish posing for the official photographs, he’s disappeared. Shame. That was a race suit that I’d definitely be happy to test the heat resistance of. I thought racing drivers were usually smaller, what with having to squeeze into those tiny cars, but he had some serious bulk to him. Very nice, and I’m sure very straight.
Time to start looking at these cars then. They’ve given me a clipboard with checklists on and I’m supposed to write down my thoughts on each of the cars in different categories. As I walk around them, I’m a bit surprised to see that not all of them are fancy luxury cars. There are even a couple of vintage tractors (although they are a bit too shiny and clean to have ever been used on an actual farm), and a few cars that look more like something my grandad would have driven - in fact, I think he did used to drive a BMW like that one back in the seventies - I’ve seen the photos. I guess that’s what they class as a ‘classic car’.
I’ve been sticking close to Maxim Baldry, as we walk around. I've done a few of these events with him before and we always have a bit of a laugh. Even better, he seems to know a little more about the cars than I do and actually points to one telling me he drove one similar in his last film. I feel like a teenager, cheating on a test (not that I ever did that! The other kids at Truham were more likely to want to copy my answers… if they were actually willing to be anywhere near ‘the gay nerd’. It makes me laugh how many of them are now trying to claim they knew me in school, now that I’m kind of famous and (apparently) cool. Too late boys - you missed your chance a decade ago)
We pause by a baby blue camper van and Maxim starts doing his ‘surfer dude’ impression. I could see Aled driving one of these. He’s not a surfer, but it’s got a suitable level of quirkiness to suit him. Maybe he could set up the recording equipment in the back and take his podcast on the road.
Then there’s the little sports cars. The classic Ferraris and Porsches and then there’s that weird little green car that looks like a frog. Actually it looks like something that Jonathan Anderson would design. The stand it’s on says Singer, but I thought they made sewing machines, not cars. Oh, what do I know!
Now these are more like what I was expecting. These actually look like they belong on the lawn of a country estate: wooden panels, leather seats, open topped, little silver winged lady statue on the front, those funny squeezy horn things on the side.
“Ethereal Elegance.” I freeze in confusion, and something else. That deep gravelly voice behind my ear is doing something to me, even with just two words that I really didn’t understand the context for.
“Sorry, W-what?” I say as I turn to see who just made my heart skip a beat. Scrap that, this man could make it stop completely. It’s him!
My eyes make their way slowly upwards. Tree trunk thighs, no longer wrapped in a race suit, but now in navy blue trousers that hug his legs perfectly. Tight white and blue team polo shirt that shows off an impressive torso and highlights broad shoulders and muscular arms. Chiseled jaw, with just a hint of stubble. Plump pink lips that lift at the right hand side into a gentle lopsided smile. Warm caramel eyes that sparkle with glints of gold and green. The perfect swoop of strawberry blonde hair with just a couple of strands escaping towards his right eyebrow. Oh shit! Please tell me I’m not drooling.
~ ~ ~
Nick Nelson
“Ethereal Elegance” I repeat. “It's the car category. Although…” No, reel in the cheese Nelson!
Is that a blush I see across those cheeks? Wow! Those cheekbones could cut glass! I bite my lip and huff the tiniest laughing breath. My eyes lift to meet his and everything stops. I’ve never seen anything so blue. Oh my god, I could swim in those eyes. Fuck, no, I could drown in them, and die happy!
Shit, snap out of it, Nick! Don’t fuck this up by becoming a blithering idiot.
“Hi!” (Seriously, is that the best I can do?)
“Hi!” comes the sweetest little reply, from the sweetest shy smile, as this beautiful man raises a hand in the cutest little wave.
We both take a breath and then begin to laugh.
“Let’s try that again, shall we? Hi, Nick Nelson” I reach out my hand to take his and, as our fingers touch, I swear a spark passes between us, and by the way his breath catches, maybe he felt it too.
A smile spreads across his angelic face to reveal the cutest dimples (that’s it! I’m dead!) “Hello, Nick Nelson. I’m Charlie Spring” (yep, Spring has sprung and the flowers are in bloom.) “Hang on! Nelson? Why do I know that name? Didn’t you just win some big race or something? I think I read about it on the plane last week”
“Yeah” I laugh “It was the British Grand Prix. I’m guessing you’re not an F1 fan? And if that’s the case, how come you’ve found yourself here on a summer Sunday?”
We walk and talk for what seems like forever. He tells me about his band (he’s a drummer! That’s so cool!) and I tell him a bit about formula one, but mainly we just talk about everything and nothing. I don’t think I’ve ever found it so easy to chat with anyone in my life. It’s like we’re in our own little bubble. Time and place become meaningless and before we know it, we’ve moved inside the house for champagne and cake, as Lord March presents the day’s prizes and, even surrounded by all this amazing art, furniture and cars, I swear that Charlie is still the most precious thing I've ever seen.
The event is winding down, but I just don’t want this day to end. I may make my living (and a whole lot more) from driving, but the last thing I want to do right now is get into a car, because doing so would mean leaving this wonderful man behind. Is that crazy? Maybe it is. I don’t care. Just as my mind is spiraling about how I can freeze us in this moment, a woman who I’m guessing is his manager, walks over and taps Charlie on the shoulder. “Would you like me to call the car to take you back to the hotel, Mr Spring?” I hate this woman already!
Charlie looks unsure and glances between me and her with a hint of panic that mirrors my own thoughts, and in a moment of bravery rivaled only by driving at 200kph towards a brick wall affectionately nicknamed ‘The Wall of Champions’, I speak up: “ Maybe I could drive Charlie back? ”
His face splits into the widest grin yet, dimples on full display, as he nods like a little kid who’s just been offered ice cream. He looks hopeful at the woman beside him, who rolls her eyes with a sly smirk and walks away. “ I’ll see you in the office on Wednesday then.” she calls over her shoulder. “Have fun. ”
I reach for his hand and he takes it without question. “ Your chariot awaits, sir.” I laugh, with a raise of my eyebrows. We head out to the drivers’ car park, via the changing rooms so I can grab my kit bag. I open the passenger door to my trusty Merc gesturing for him to climb in and make himself comfortable in the leather seat before lowering the wing door and running around the other side and jumping behind the wheel. As the engine jumps to life I consider showing off my driving skills, but quickly change my mind. Today I am carrying a precious cargo and suddenly this car seems even more magnificent than the one I drove up the hill this morning.
I pop Baby Queen on the sound system and pull away. As we pause at the gate to exit, I glance over at the man beside me. The sun has just started to set and the golden glow hits his raven curls creating the most stunning halo around him. Yep! Ethereal Elegance!
He smiles back at me and moves his hand to my thigh as we drive away from Goodwood and into the Sussex countryside.
~The End~
(or is it just the beginning?)