This year I was going to try to get through this column without using the two most overused adjectives attached to the Monaco Grand Prix - glitz and glamour. There I've said it. From now on I will endeavour to use less lazy language to describe this unique sporting event. The only problem is that, like many cliches, there is more than an element of truth to the 'g' words. Monaco is all about front. From how big your yacht is, to the size of your diamond-encrusted designer shades. The whole weekend is all about the social buzz, getting to the right parties and having the right pass. Which is a shame really, because it should be about motor racing. It would seem the cars are just a sideshow, a supporting act. The drivers are only as important as the parties they go to (or the hotels they own in the principality). Let's be honest about this, the race is a bore. Anywhere else in the world it would have been thrown off the calendar years ago. Overtaking is nigh on impossible, so what you get on a May afternoon is a mad rush to the first corner and a procession thereafter. It's a bit like watching traffic file through a contraflow in roadworks on the motorway. The only chance of excitement left is the much higher possibility of accidents given the closeness to the barriers of the cars. Of course it's not good manners to wish for accidents, partly because a driver might get hurt. But the real problem with accidents here is the danger that the safety car will be deployed, something that will make the racing actually look exciting. The paddock is cramped, the pits are admittedly much improved, but there's not even a podium for the celebrations. The support races are banished out of sight. If this was Silverstone, it would already have been dumped for some far-flung oil-rich country. Luckily though it's not some windswept former aerodrome, it's Monte Carlo. This is one place where the hundreds of millions of television fans have to take second place to the lucky thousands actually attending. Up close and personal, there is no better place to watch a race. Not only are you so close to the action you can feel it, after all the action is over you are not stuck in some glorified car park. You can stroll around one of the most glamorous places in the world at your leisure, spotting celebs at will. It's almost like you are wading through an oversized Hello! magazine. Most importantly, Monaco is home to many drivers and FIA top brass. Why would you decide to bin the one race where you can walk to work from home? The rest of us watching on TV will just have to lump it, and perhaps save up for a trip. Monaco may seem like the natural setting for these superannuated drivers, but their large pay packets come at some personal expense. Take Robert Kubica for example. A recent magazine article revealed he's on a diet. It's not that he's fat, but BMW wanted to shift the centre of gravity further away from the cockpit to the front of the car. The best way of achieving this was to lose weight from the driver's seat. Poor bloke has had to cut out such delights as chocolate, biscuits and even pasta, which I thought (along with bananas) was the food of choice for athletes. There's another reason why most of us will never be a Formula One driver. Apart from being too old, too slow and not talented enough, I for one could never forsake a choccie biscuit with my cup of tea.