The amazing disappearing Mosley

"So," said The Colonel. "Mosley's gone then?"

"Mmmh..." said The Mole, staring into the depths of his Gin & Tonic. The bar was very quiet. Thursday nights are always a little on the quiet side and the only other people in the pub were a pair of middle-aged ladies who were giggling and sipping port, no doubt believing themselves to be the wickedest women in the whole of Surrey. He wondered if Penelope (Riedean) was in Surrey that evening.

"What do you make of it all?" said The Colonel, sniffing at a peanut.

"Well," said The Mole, shaking himself from his reverie. "I'm really not sure. A few days ago he was as right as rain and beating up the Formula 1 team bosses in their meeting in London and then two days later all the toys are coming out of the pram and he's announcing that he's had enough and that he is going to go off to live happily ever after in the country, hunting, shooting and fishing and all the other activities that the landed gentry enjoy in their dotage. I expect he thinks he'll end up in the House of Lords."

"D'you think they'll let him in?" asked The Colonel.

The Mole shrugged.

"I really don't see why not. I mean they let in all sorts these days, don't they? Whatever else you say about Max, you have to admit that he has done a hell of a good job at the FIA and they do sometimes stick the bosses of international sporting federations into the Lords, just to keep them out of trouble. I just don't know."

"Well they might at least sling him a K," said The Colonel.

"A knighthood?" said The Mole. "Yes, I suppose they could. They hand them out to all manner of generals, admirals and even those Johnny-come-latelies at the Air Ministry."

"I hear they even give them to civil serpents," said The Colonel, with a twinkle in his eye.

The Mole raised a wizzened eyebrow.

"So what are the drums in the F1 jungle saying?" insisted The Colonel. "They must be saying something."

"To be honest," said The Mole. "They have gone a bit quiet and all that can be heard in the undergrowth is the sharp intake of breath and the gentle sound of cogs, whirring around inside the brains of the team bosses, who are just beginning to realise that Max may be a pain in the neck but at least he's good at what he does. They all terrified that some old bloke in a blazer will turn up and tell them that they have to race in Facel-Vegas. The last thing they need right now is someone who got to the top of the sport by way of the Wine Committee at one of the national automobile clubs."

"Nothing wrong with the Wine Committee," said The Colonel. "Been on several myself, actually."

The Mole snorted, half in amusement and half in disgust.

"I suppose that he wants everyone to come running to him and beg him to stay," he sighed.

"Come to think of it," said The Colonel, who had not really been listening, "there is nothing wrong with blazers either."

They slipped in a pleasant silence for a few moments, each man savouring his drink and the ambience of a good old fashioned English public house.

"I wonder if they will ask him to stay?" said The Colonel.

The Mole shrugged.

"Probably not. They say that his plans to change the structure of the FIA were voted down on Wednesday morning by the FIA General Assembly and that was what made him decide that enough was enough. He will stay on until October, just in time to in charge when they celebrate the 100th anniversary of the FIA and they will complete the merger between the FIA and the International Touring Association."

"Are those the wallahs with the caravans?" said The Colonel.

"Something like that," said The Mole. "All it really means is that Mosley has got all the automobile clubs in the world under one umbrella and in theory therefore he has a lot of more power. It will be a good moment to go. He could go out with the trumpets sounding."

There was another pause. The ladies in the corner tittered some more.

"Did you hear what that French bloke said the other day," said The Colonel.

"You mean Jacques Regis?" said The Mole.

"The bloke in charge of the French federation," said The Colonel.

The Mole nodded.

"...all that stuff about Mosley needing to change his policies or 'We will change the president'."

"Yes," said The Mole. "I saw it. Strong stuff."

"I don't suppose that made Mosley very happy, did it?"

"No, maybe not," said The Mole, "but I don't think Regis is going to be the man for the job."

"Well, who is Mole? There must be someone."

The Mole shrugged.

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