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.