IT goes without saying that this column is a difficult one to write. I don't think it is appropriate at the moment to spend time on my memories of Ayrton or Roland Ratzenberger since I never had the chance to become close friends to either. They were though, in some way, 'soul brothers', if not friends. Why do we risk everything for an apparently futile exercise like chasing each other around in cars? The motives are not simple to understand nor the same in every case. I had breakfast with Ayrton. In the afternoon he was dead. If he knew what was coming, it is inconceivable that he would have stepped into his car. And yet every driver on Sunday knew that they could be killed by doing what they were doing. Roland had shown us all that death was ready and waiting for the unfortunate. So why do it? I do not pretend to know why. There is no logic or plan to life. There are no rules to say if you play safe, you will go on to be 100 and be happy. One misconception about racing drivers is that they are daredevils and gamblers, that they get a kick out of cheating death. This is not a healthy state of mind for being a racing driver. A truly professional driver will have taken great, great care over every aspect of safety. My father, Stewart, Lauda, Prost and Senna were not only thinkers about their cars and races but also fastidious about safety. Reduce the risk. That was their policy. Often they made themselves targets for criticism. Safety is boring and expensive. But now we live in a world that is less tolerant of the waste of life, thank God. Legislation is needed to save us from ourselves. Hundreds if not thousands of lives have been saved through seat belt legislation. But how would you feel about a blanket 30 mph speed limit? Road death would fall like a stone, but wouldn't you miss that feeling of speeding along as free as a bird? The question is not the cost of life but the cost of not living. Where do we draw the line? Today, the structural integrity of the cars is such that the driver can not withstand the shock of a crash that may well leave the car in tact. The San Marino Grand Prix saw the violent eruption of a problem that had been brewing for some time. In early January, JJ Lehto injured his neck in a testing accident, though fortunately he escaped paralysis. The same thing happened to Jean Alesi just before the race at Imola. Then the horrible reality came home to us all when Roland died on Saturday. Ayrton knew that the time to act was overdue. If there was one person who seemed relentless in his pursuit of safety, it was Ayrton. To Ayrton, the point was simply this: he was the fastest, the most committed. He accepted the risks as they stood at the time and never flinched from going to that limit. So he expected to be taken seriously. To try to get across points of safety to men in blazers, many of whom have never sat in a racing car, must have been to him a bit like explaining the idea of democracy to Stalin. But it didn't stop him trying. Had he not crashed, he would probably now be instigating action to increase drivers' contributions to rule changes that could effect safety as a direct consequence of the death of Ratzenberger. I personally believe that the ultimate responsibility for all aspects of safety in the sport rests with the organising bodies. Drivers will drive in the most perilous conditions because competition is stupendously fierce and there are any number of hopefuls ready to jump into the void. So if regulations are introduced to make the cars more unstable or difficult to drive in an attempt to spice up the television show, you can bet drivers will be ready to drive them. Ayrton was no angel on the track and any views he had about safety were as much for his own self-preservation as for that of others. But he felt deeply shocked, as we all did, by Roland's crash and felt duty-bound to do something.