Mesothelioma | Mesothelioma

There was even a ferris wheel and the ubiquitous Sling Shot, a sideshow device that by late afternoon was propelling pairs of inebriated males to a height of 70 metres in one second at which point our thrillseekers would be "thrown 60 metres towards the ground" an objective they would reach just an instant before their lunch.

A red lycra trio of Vodafone girls — all gooseflesh and legs — prowled the golf course fairways, posing with anyone who wanted to be posed with.

Across the lake in the exclusive area quarantined for corporate guests, better-heeled grandstand spectators and the formula one family of gladhanders, corporate freeloaders and overdressed Eurotrash, a six-pack of Foster's grid girls offered skiving finance sector workers their annual opportunity to be photographed in the thick of an improbable forrest of cleavage and teeth.

Business was brisk.

Somewhere in the middle distance came a roar, that reached a whine, then turned into a howl.

The cars were on the track.

It would only be a desultory showing, with test drivers setting the better times in the day's two sessions while the better fancied jockeys noodled their way around the 5.3-kilometre course.

No matter.

Everyone flocked trackside, craning for any sort of view of this first set of banshee laps for 2006.

The course commentary ramped up a notch, moments of enthusiastic banter given long semi-colons by the passage of each screaming car.

"… and some of the mai...

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