Inside the McLaren Technology Centre...

Overheard in McLaren paddock during Montreal GP rain delay:

Ron Dennis : Martin, I find myself sub-optimal mood-wise...
Martin W: Er...Oh dear, is it because Lewis & Jenson had a coming-together?
RD: That is a sub-component of my displeasure certainly - a concomitant result of which means that the biomaton for car 3 is spending an inordinate amount of time dawdling about in the garage accompanied by monosyllabic entities whose grasp of the intricacies of the functioning of a Formula 1 Racing Concern are, at best, decidedly lacking.
MW: ...well, er... Rhianna's hair nearly matches the vodafone orange, surely?
RD: It most certainly does not Martin - have your eye checked, would you? Furthermore, I would prefer that Jordan creature to be denied admittance in future - the levels of the Absolut vats have descended below the unsatisfactory threshold since he inveigled his way in...
MW: er...well, he's only after an interview for the BBC, Ron - I'll go and spout some guff about what great mates Jenson & Lewis are, shall I?
RD: Make it so. Furthermore - tell John Button that if I catch him widdling in the decorative plant pots again, then he is to be beaten.
MW: er, oh...how badly beaten Ron?
RD: Hmmm...quite badly, I think. Try and make his nose look like Emerson Fittipaldi's, would you?

:goodday:
 
Click to expand
The movie "Senna" has just been privately screened at the McLaren Technology Centre. Ron Dennis emerges from the "Visual Stimulus Presentation Theatre" and surreptitiously wipes his nose with a McLaren-monogrammed hankie. Martin Whitmarsh rounds the corner to catch Ron in the act of wiping...

MW: er...hi Ron - did you enjoy the film then?
RD (discreet sniff): Martin, I find myself approaching a state of melancholic lacrimosity, the effects of which are curiously uplifting, while concurrently inducing a sense of wistful regret.
MW: er...well, it's a powerful and moving documentary, for sure...
RD: Indeed - one is forced to ponder the inevitable question however; had we, at the Marlboro McLaren F1 Racing Concern worked more diligently to craft a superior vehicle through the period 1991-1993, would Ayrton have been forced to evacuate the Archimedean vessel and decamp to Grove? Would he not now be basking in post-multiple-championships-for-McLaren retirement splendour?
MW: er...I guess we'll never know Ron. Does make you think though...
RD: That it does, Martin. That it does...
MW: er...I thought you came across pretty well in the film though Ron...
RD (brightens slightly): Indeed? That is a most heartening and personally satisfying compliment to have been paid to my august person Martin - did you really think so?
MW: er...oh yes Ron - that bit after Suzuka 89, where you showed up the FIA, made you look splendid - you were very dignified at that time.
RD: Well, having secured both championships anyway, it was appropriate to affect an air of wounded dignity as I pointed out the wildy inconsistent and infuriatingly vindictive manner in which the rules had been applied to Ayrton during that regrettable period. Were there any subsequent sequences in which I had a fleeting appearance that caught your eye at all?
MW (seeing where this is going, and not stupid enough to miss the signs): er...oh yes Ron - that bit where you surprised Ayrton on the podium with a bucket of iced-water almost made me wee myself laughing...
RD (smiles thinly): you see Martin? I am portrayed as a somewhat dour and humourless figure, perhaps overly-fond of the complex sentence structure and astringent use of technical terms - but surely they can see that I have all the necessary attributes for comedic efficacy?
MW: er...and what attributes would those be then, Ron?
RD: Why - a keen sense of the absurd, a recognition of the appropriate location for a comedic intervention and a sense of the most opportune - nay, even the most apposite location within the space-time framework for such interspersement of an humourous device, the most precise judgement of which has been the preserve of the greatest comedic performers since such performances first occurred.
MW (dawning comprehension): er...do you mean "timing" Ron?
RD: Timing! Of course...try and keep up would you, Martin?
As they proceed round the corner towards the "Employee Lounge and Recreation Services" area, Ron suddenly spots a furtive figure widdling in one of the decorative plant pots...
RD (roars furiously): JOHN BUTTON!! I CAN SEE YOU, YOU GHASTLY LITTLE MAN...
JohnB: Ooops! better make myself scarce... (zips up and scoots out of sight...)
RD (sighs): what a frightful man - do you suppose he does it on purpose Martin, or is he like some disagreeable male feline, scent-marking everywhere?
MW: perhaps he's got a prostate problem Ron?
RD (wicked grin). Indeed? Perhaps we should have him checked by the McLaren Employee Health Scrutising machine, hmm?
MW (winces): er...ooh - that'll not be pleasant Ron...
RD: Yes - set the probe to "Vigorous" and forgo the lubricant, would you?

:blink:
 
Inside the McLaren Technology Centre: Principle Tactical Hub, Ron Dennis is browsing "Clip the Apex", when he encounters FB's piece about Newey & HRT. He reaches for the "Summon Minion" switch on his desk console...

RD: Martin? Your presence is required in the Mandatorium. I will be there directly...another button on the console is pressed, and a section of the office wall clicks open discreetly to reveal a severe-looking conference room. A projector beams various slogans onto the far wall: "Excellence is our Minimum Standard", "To Finish First, First you Must Finish" (and so on...) Ron makes his way within.

Within a few minutes, a slightly breathless Martin Whitmarsh arrives...

MW: er, what seems to be the problem Ron?
RD: I've been reading "Clip the Apex" again, Martin...(MW groans inwardly, but remains outwardly impassive)...it seems that a troublesome ex-employee is going to work for that lamentable and sub-optimal Iberian Racing Concern.
MW: er, I think that's a little unlikely Ron...
RD (blinks in surprise): Really? Do you mean to say that the article in question lacked the necessary veracity confirmation protocols?
MW: er, yes Ron - it was in the "Off the Pit Wall" section, after all.
RD: Astonishing. I thought the verisimilitude of the piece was quite startling - so you are informing me that the piece in question is, in fact, completely mendacious in content?
MW: er...Oh, I should think so Ron. It made me chuckle, at least.
RD: Indeed. So what am I to do with the container-full of Smugness that, even now, is being prepared for me by Amazon.com?
MW (wipes forehead in consternation): er...Smugness, Ron? I don't think they sell that. Let's check your "recent transactions", shall we?

They break out a laptop and after a few judicious keystrokes, Ron's Purchase History is displayed via the projector onto the Mandatorium wall...

RD: Oh dear. It would appear that due to a momentary lapse in cognitive faculties brought about by the prospect of finally seeing off those confounded Fizzy Pop cars, I appear to have ordered a container-full of "Huggies" instead...
MW: er, yes - I'm afraid it looks that way Ron. What are you going to do with 5,000 nappies?
RD: I think it is scarcely appropriate for me to begin squiring another domestic unit of genetically-compatible biomatons...
MW: er, definitely no, Ron...
RD (brightens suddenly): I have the solution Martin - a way to utilise the excess supply of disposable human waste collection devices and restore my smugness quotient!
MW: er, yes Ron?
RD: Indeed - we'll force John Button to wear them! The plants have been looking somewhat dismal lately, and I'm certain it's due to his disagreeable micturition habits. See to it, would you Martin?
MW: er, righto Ron...

:shocked:
 
...meanwhile, deep within the bowels of the McLaren Technology Centre, a small red light is blinking on the "McLaren F1 Remote Monitoring" workstation. A grey-suited minion quickly presses the "Transmit Sub-optimal Information (RD)" button...

Ron Dennis finds his "early evening biotic recharge period" rudely interrupted by an insistent bleeping from his command console. Lifting his McLaren-embroidered blindfold he scans the incoming message blearily, before activating the "Summon Martin" switch...

MW: er...is something wong, Ron? You don't normally need me during your nap time...
RD: Martin - there has been an emergent crisis incident with one of our F1 RoadCars, codenamed "RA-EB1". It would seem that in his ebullience at heading the Top Gear "Star in a reasonably-priced car" leaderboard, Mr Atkinson has taken it upon himself to pilot our car in an over-exuberent manner, with a concomitant failure in talent. This has unfortunately resulted in significant damage to RA-EB1, and telemetry indicates a possible conflagration has occurred.
MW: er...Crikey Ron - was Rowan hurt?
RD: That is of no consequence Martin - the priority is to retreive RA-EB1 and deliver it to the "Incident Recovery Room (RoadCar Division)". I did hear that the biomaton in question received some damage, but I believe it is being repaired at a local facility.
MW: er...he's at the hospital then? We'd better send him some flowers, or grapes then - perhaps even an "Achieve a Satisfactory Recovery" card from the gift-shop?
RD: hmm...well, quite. See to it Martin, there's a good minion. During the meanwhilst, I require that RA-EB1 be returned to fully operational status at the earliest possible opprtunity - it does not do to have damaged McLaren vehicles visible to the general public, do you understand me?
MW: er...of course Ron - it looks very bad indeed.
RD: You may proceed with your duties then...

Several days later, Martin presses the "Request Admittance" button on the polished granite doors of Ron's Inner Sanctum...

RD: Admittance granted. What is it Martin?
MW: er...Rowan Atkinson has sent you a parcel Ron, and a message...
RD: How very thoughtful of him - please precis the contents of the message, would you?
MW ( pauses hesitantly) er...he appreciates the alacrity with which we fixed RA-EB1, but he has a couple of "minor Quibbles"...
RD: (blinks in surprise) Indeed? What manner of "quibble" does the fellow have?
MW: it seems he was somewhat surprised to receive an invoice for £1 million - he believes that the "McLaren F1 Lifetime Warranty" should have covered the repair costs...
RD: and so it does - the invoice was for additional security precautions to obviate the necessity for possible recovery and repair work in future, was it not?
MW: er, yes - I think that's the other quibble that Mr Atkinson has...it seems that he can no longer drive his McLaren F1, as the driving seat has been, and I'm quoting directly here, "taken up with a bloody dreary Robot who won't drive above 30mph"...
RD: of course it has - the "Security Robotamaton" is there for the car's protection, and they don't come cheap, you know! Mr Atkinson has to realise that if he is unable to pilot one of our cars in a satisfactorily responsible manner, then we will do it for him. It's all part of the "McLaren Support Infrastructure" package that he signed for all those years ago - did he not read the small print at the time?
MW: er...he may have found it difficult, since it was hidden within the full-stop at the end of the fourth page. I don't think he can be that upset though - we haven't opened the parcel yet...
RD: Ah yes - hand it over would you Martin?
sounds of a box being opened and tissue paper rustling...
RD: Oh! It seems he has sent me a bottle of "Fine Wine"...yes, it smells very familiar...(pours some into a McLaren glass)
MW (suddenly realising): er, don't dri....oh dear...
RD (grimacing) Gods, that is awful - perhaps it's corked?
MW: er, I don't think so Ron...I heard that John Button went to visit him in hospital - I don't think that's real wine, you see...
RD (face red with fury, he roars mightily)...JOHHHHNNNN BUUTTTTONNNN!

MW exits hurriedly, bumping into Jenson in the corridor outside...
MW: er...well done for Hungary Jense, but I'd give it a bit of time before you go see Ron, OK?
JB: Oh - not a good time then? How long should I give it?
MW: about a million years, I suspect...

:whistle:
 
Inside the McLaren Technology Centre, Ron Dennis is prowling about his office, struggling to find something to do during the Summer Shutdown. He rearranges his collection of McLaren models on his gleaming shelves so they are all facing left, steps back and decides to re-align them alphabetically...he gives up and slumps desultorily into his Norman Foster chair. Suddenly he grabs the phone...

RD: Put me through to Luca di Montezemolo please...(pause as the phones rings distantly)...Hello? Is that you Luca? Oh...from the reediness of your vocalisation, and your primitive vocabulary, I can only assume that you are one of Luca's minions - possibly serving a term of work experience? Hmm? What? Oh - kindly convey a message to Luca on my behalf, would you? Who? It is Ron Dennis...no, no, R-O-N, space, D-E-N-N-I-S, yes, that's right - 2 N's. Kindly convey to Luca my gratifications to him for Fernando's apparently kind sentiments towards our Racing Concern, but further inform him that I am not in the least bit fooled that Sr Alonso has actually mended his ways vis-a-vis our previous relationship. I accept that in order to see off those confounded Newey Cars we do need to exert a degree of co-operation between Woking and Maranello, but he was laying it on a bit thick, yes? Have you got all that? What? What do you mean "how do you spell "gratifications"?"...call yourself a minion? Oh - never mind, just tell Luca I called would you? Yes, yes...goodbye.

Ron replaces the phone irritably, and swivels his magnificent (and ergonomic) chair back and forth for a few seconds. He reaches for the "Whitmarsh" switch on his console...

RD: Martin? Kindly join me in the Racing Vehicle Workbays, would you? I feel a spanner audit is required...

In the "Employee Relaxation Lounge (Workbay Subsection)" Martin Whitmarsh groans inwardly and turns to his companion, John Button...

MW: sorry John, looks like Ron wants to file all the tools away again. He gets like this when he's bored. Look, we'll catch up again in Belgium, ok? Try and stay out of Ron's sight in the meantime though - he's still smarting from that trick you & Rowan played on him...

JB senior chuckles and swigs down his glass of Chablis, before winking at Martin and exiting (somewhat unsteadily) through the "Employee Roof Garden & Pot-plant Edification Suite" door...

RD: Aah - there you are Martin...have you got your Latex inspection gloves and shoe-covers?
MW: er...of course Ron, I never leave my office without them...
RD: Capital! Let the Spanner audit commence...(sniffs suddenly at Martin's shoulder)...is that..Cigar Smoke?...and chilled Chablis I can smell on you Martin?
MW: er...
RD: You've been playing with that horrid John Button again, haven't you? (sighs) How many times must you be informed as to that ghastly man's unsuitability for your attentions, Martin? Haven't I tried to perform paternally for you? Are you not gifted with the finest resources and employment prospects that a surrogate paternal-substitute can provide? Do I not provide you with ample opportunities for social and career-enhancing liaisons with eminently more suitable and appropriate friendship biomatons?
MW: er...we just get along Ron, he makes me laugh - you should see him doing the "white-eared elephant"...
RD: Enough! I forbid you to see him anymore - do you hear me? He's not a patch on Anthony Hamilton - that man has decorum, even if I did find him a little, well, creepy...
MW: er...you can't stop me from being friends with John Button, Ron - I am 54 years old, after all! But you're right - there is something a bit creepy about Anthony isn't there? It's how he looks at you like he can see into your head...
RD: (shudders) Yes - it's like his eyes follow you round the room...you know, I always felt slightly dirty when he looked at me, as if I didn't quite measure up. Do you know, I think he was plotting against me?
MW: er...perhaps he was Ron - good job John Button's not like that, eh? You never feel like he's plotting against you...
RD: Hmm...yes, I suppose so. He makes me feel dirty in a different way though...
MW: really?
RD: Yes - I always want to disinfect myself after being in the same room as him...

:dunno:
 
Inside the McLaren Technology Centre, work has resumed after the Summer Shutdown. Anthracite-suited mechanics have returned to find reproachful little "post-it" notes on their toolboxes, with "Tool Storage Non-Compliance" written on them in beautiful (if slightly cramped) Copperplate handwriting. Martin Whitmarsh moves through the work bays, welcoming the mechanics back with hushed tones, and plucks the post-its from their indignant fingers...

Behind the imposing Granite Doors of the Inner Sanctum, Ron Dennis sits at his console cheerfully updating his Spanner Audit spreadsheet. He pauses occasionally to sip delicately at a cup of Darjeeling, and contemplates the hive of activity in the Racing Vehicle WorkBays on his wall-mounted plasma screen, as the diligent mechanics prepare the McLarens for the upcoming Belgian Grand Prix. The "Request Admittance" light shines on part of the console, accompanied by a discreetly-muted "bing-bong"...Martin has arrived.

RD: Ah - welcome Martin! (gestures towards the screen) Is it not a fine sight to behold, the regimented dance of industry? How splendidly efficient and focussed these men are! It is a source of no little pride and self-satisfaction for one to appreciate how much better things are done according to the principles to which I have adhered since the nascence of "Project Four" those many decades since. (he nods towards his desk-plaque, an exquisitely-carved piece of Mahogany bearing the legend "In order to achieve Cleanliness and Order, One must first be Ordered and Clean")
MW: er...of course, it's a fine sight, however...
RD: (sighs) don't dither Martin - what is it?
MW: er...it's the post-it notes Ron. Frankly the mechanics are sick of them. It's bad enough that you continually rearrange their spanners, and grade their nuts and bolts by colour - they just don't like to be greeted by them after their holidays! I have to say, I agree with them too...
RD: (slightly taken aback) Good heavens! That's quite an outburst, coming from you Martin...
MW: (emboldened now, and winding himself up a bit more...) well, yes! And another thing - we're fed up with the food in the canteen...
RD: (eyes widen in surprise) and what's the matter with it? The McLaren Biomaton Nutrition and Energy Consumption Maintenance Division have spent months researching and collating the most superior and efficient diet for the workforce...
MW: But they're utterly sick of pomegranate smoothies and granola patties Ron - they'd sell their souls for some chips! Ever wondered why Pat Fry left? It's because he can get Pizza Ron! They serve Pizza at Maranello - I heard there was a chicken Arrabiatta involved in the Coughlan/Stepney incident too...
RD: (eyes narrowed) We said that that particular subject is never to be referred-to within these walls again Martin...
MW: (somewhat wildly now) ...and what about a bacon sandwich, with brown sauce, for breakfast? We're supposed to be English Ron - why can't we have some proper English food once in a while, eh? We all hate that macrobiotic crap that you force us to eat...
RD: (speaking in a deadly monontone now) I see. It seems your association with the disreputable parent of one of our headline biomatons has brought out an unacceptably rebellious streak in you Martin...
MW: (suddenly catches the mood change) er...oh...um...
RD: Yeees, matters seem to be coalescing into focus now. Very well. I will aquiesce to certain of your demands, Martin, as they are not entirely without merit - far be it from me to play the Ecclestone, after all! You may have your "Chips" and "Bacon Sandwiches", in the interest of staff morale - but there must be quid pro quo on your side of the equation...
MW: (slightly nervously) er...ok Ron, what do I have to do?
RD: (beams triumphantly) You must forsake the salacious company of John Button! Honestly - I just don't know what you see in him...
MW: (sighs) er...as you wish Ron. I'll tell him I can't see him anymore... (surreptitiously wipes away a small tear)

Ron, now mollified, gazes at the Plasma Screen and suddenly notices a gaggle of mechanics clustered round a laptop in the Racing Vehicle Workbay - they appear to be laughing uproariously at something on the screen...

RD: What the deuce?? Why are those men laughing?
MW: (sniffs) what? oh...there's a new section about us on "Clip the Apex" Ron - apparently it's quite amusing...
RD: Indeed? And how did the mechanics find out about it?
MW: er...
RD: (reddening) Oh, you can't be serious...
MW: (nods despairingly) er...yes Ron - it was J..
RD: (flatly) John Button. By all that's pristine and holy - is there no way that man cannot piss on my life?

:thankyou:
 
Inside the McLaren Technology Centre, Ron Dennis stretches his arms within his huge swivelling chair and allows a flicker of a smile to play about his lips. He depresses the "Whitmarsh" switch on the centre console of the command desk...

RD: Ah - Martin! Today I find myself in a positive situation mood-wise...
MW (warily): er...yes, Ron?
RD: Indeed. I am moderately satisfied with general proceedings, one might even suggest "sufficiently bouyant". The McLarenisation of the F1 grid is accelerating satisfactorily, don't you think?
MW: er...well, the Virgin deal certainly looks promising Ron, and Force India seem to be making progress. I'm a bit surprised that you're pleased though...
RD: Hmm? And why would you be expressing such a thing?
MW: er...well, I thought you'd be a little miffed at the sudden appearance of surly Yorkshiremen around the MTC...
RD: Surely you don't think me some sort of bigot, Martin? Our Northern cousins display admirable character traits - they keep themselves to themselves, work quietly and diligently, and appear not to balk at the stipend we charge them for the use of our facility...
MW: er, stipend?...oh - you mean the "And pay t'mill owner to lerrus work theer" Clause in the McLaren (Sub-team) Technical Assistance Contract?
RD: Absolutely Martin - a clause of exquisite genius, I fancy. Oh, certainly there are a few too many Reliant Robins and oxidised Ford Cortinas despoiling the "Employee Vehicle Storage Zone", but on the whole I find the Dinnington contingent's brand of resentfully surly submission really quite profoundly satisfying. I am considering a line in McLaren Flat Caps, you know...
(MW blinks in surprise)
RD: Anyway - to other matters Martin. I feel I have reached a plateau of sanguinimity regarding this year's quest for the championship, post-Spa.
MW: er...well that's unusual for you Ron...
RD: There is little to be gained from becoming lachrimose regarding the ullage of bovine lactic secretions Martin. The realisation that Mateschitz's Fizzy drink concern has sufficiently outpaced us this year has brought about a sense of calm.
MW: er...well, it's not quite over yet Ron...
RD: Strictly (and mathematically) speaking - it is not. However, I fear that the points delta they have managed to generate between themselves and McLaren is by now insurmountable - all that the insufferably gifted Teutonic Digit has to do is to continue finishing races, irrespective of the results that our Racing Concern is able to achieve, don't you think?
MW: er...I take it you'd rather I didn't admit to that in public though?
RD: Certainly not! Play the usual line of "continual focus on upgrades", "it's not over 'til it's over" etc. Oh, and a reminder to biomaton no.1 - send him one of our rubber TFF,FYMF balls, would you? I dislike seeing him prang our cars against midfielders and/or barriers...
MW: er...ok Ron - one "To Finish First..." ball for Lewis it is...
RD: Furthermore, in recognition of biomaton no.2's entertaining recovery drive at Spa, I will allow you one afternoon with John Button every non-Grand Prix weekend. Let it not be said that I am unreasonable...
MW: er...oh, thanks very much Ron! Has this got something to do with the new "Pot Plant Protocol" then?
RD: It does indeed Martin. Following the "Huggies" fiasco (who would've thought that the waistbands were so small?), I decided that the best way to limit his unsanitary habit was to encapsulate all the pot plants in Perspex boxes. Admittedly, the concession of an aperture to permit the ingress of hydration vexed me somewhat, but by placing it 0.75metres above the level of his waistline, it should limit his opportunity for mischief, would it not? Odd that the plants still seem to be faring poorly though...Let us walk down to the windtunnel, shall we? I fancy observing how our Northern friends are faring with their Monza Aerodynamic package.

As the two make their way down the pristine corridor and turn the corner towards the Windtunnel Annex, John Button can be seen laughing and joking with a man in a red & black uniform and a flat cap. Ron Dennis lifts his head haughtily as the Virgin man removes his cap and holds it in front of his chest in two hands, wringing it slightly. John Button remains silent, but smirks and winks at Martin...

Once out of view around the next corner, Ron turns to Martin...

RD: I do like they way they do that thing with their caps! However - did you notice something odd about John Button Martin?
MW: er...not really Ron...
RD: Strange...I could have sworn I saw a length of hosepipe dangling from his back pocket...
MW: er...I'm sure I couldn't possibly comment on that Ron...

:s
 
Overhead on McLaren Intercom during Monza GP...

RD: Martin? I find myself extremely disenchanted by the overly-robust rebuffing of biomaton no.1 by the Silver-that-was-once-Red Baron during the current phase of the Motor-Race. I therefore require that you contact the Race Director forthwith and protest strenuously against such tactics...
MW: pffft...crackle...ssss...at did you say..tfff...Ron?
RD: Martin? Martin?? There appears to be unwarranted interference with our radio telecommunications - can you hear me?
MW: tsssst...crackle...orry? Ron?
RD: (exasperated) Martin?? By all that's clean and orderly - what in Ayrton's name is going on? I demand a fault diagnostic immediately!

A minion scurries off and returns on lap 17 looking nervous...

RD: Well? Have you traced the fault in the intercom yet?
Minion: er...yessir! Fault traced and undergoing repair sir!
RD: Excellent. And the reason for the fault...?
Minion: er...waste bodily fluid shorting out the batteries in the main intercom server sir!
RD: (reddens) JJJOOHHHN BBUUTTTTONNNNN!!!

:whistle:
 
Outside the imposing gates of the McLaren Technology Centre, a serious-looking man studies the row of doorbell buttons on the Request Admittance Panel. He finds the one marked "New Arrivals" and pushes it. Within a few moments, a small waist-high door opens soundlessly in front of him. The man shrugs, bends double and shuffles through. At his eye level, he can see a pair of immaculate black & grey trainers...

MW: Aah! Welcome to the MTC Sam! (extends a hand)
Sam Michael: (looks at it carefully, before placing his bag on the crushed marble pathway and shaking it firmly, once) Hello Martin. Thankyou for taking the time to meet me personally.
MW: My pleasure Sam - Ron likes me to greet all the new boys when they first arrive, show them where to hang their kit and generally point out what's what around the scho..sorry Technology Centre...
SM: That sounds eminently sensible. At Williams, they gave me a canteen voucher and a factory layout scribbled on the back of a Rothmans Packet, and then Patrick shouted at me for not finding my office quickly enough.
MW: er...crikey! Sounds like you had it tough over in Grove then?
SM: Oh, it wasn't so bad, once you got used to the cold showers and 5-mile runs every morning. Having to warm Patrick's toilet seat for his morning constitutional was quite nice - you got to sit down in the quiet for 3.75 minutes, at least. So - where do I start?
MW: Oh, you don't start just yet Sam - I'm taking you to the "Employee Orientation (New Starter) Induction Briefing" first, that'll take us up 'til Wednesday, then you're booked what we call the "C and O" course for a week or so...
SM: "C and O"?
MW: "Cleanliness and Order" - Ron's version of Health and Safety. He reasons that if you're Clean, you're Healthy, and if you're Ordered, you're Safe. Basically it's where you get your McLaren kit and personal organiser, and lists all the do's & don'ts when on Company Service - which is quite a lot, frankly. I hope you brought a notepad...
SM: (taps his breast pocket efficiently) Always have it with me Martin.
MW: Splendid! Let's get going then...(an insistent bleep sounds from a small grey box on Martin's hip) Oh...bugger! Ron requires my presence. I'll have to cut this short I'm afraid Sam. Look - follow the Grey dotted line on the ground to the Induction lounge, would you? Mandy the receptionist will sort you out...
SM: (looking quizzically down at the pathway) Grey dotted line? I can see a red one, and a yellow one, but not grey...
MW: (slaps forehead) Sorry Sam! Forgot I was colour-blind there - I meant that grey one there (points at the red dotted line, before turning quickly away) I'll get in touch in a week or so, ok? Have fun!

SM watches him go, shrugs, picks up his bag, and walks carefully along the red dotted line. Rounding a corner, he is surprised to bump into pink-shirted man lurking furtively in an ornamental bush. Squinting fiercely at John Button (for it is he), Sam booms in his best Patrick Head voice "Zip it up you horrible man! And stop bloody loitering! Haven't you got something useful you should be doing?? Snap to it, hup two three, hup two three!!"
John Button, caught massively off-guard and overwhelmed by the tone of command straightens immediately, about faces and makes a swift exit...

...meanwhile, Ron Dennis watches this play out on a discreet screen set into his Command Console. Smiling broadly he turns to Martin...

RD: You see?? I knew I was right to hire that man...

:tea:
 
Deep inside the McLaren Technology Centre, down a pristine sub-corridor, lurks a hermetically-sealed and triple-monitored airlock door. The plaque reads "McLaren Project Five - Admittance Authorisation Omega". Beyond the swipe-card & palm-print reader, behind the HD camera & anaesthetic-gas nozzles, we emerge into a larger-than-expected chamber. Discreetly-lit and unsurprisingly spotless, we can see Ron Dennis standing in front of a large desk, on which is an exquistely-detailed scale model of the MTC and Woking. On the walls are projected graphs, artistic renderings, floor plans and bullet-point lists. The ever-present "Whitmarsh" button is depressed...

RD: Martin? Kindly meet me in the MP5 suite, would you? And don't forget your "Omega" card this time...

He turns and selects some new projections, scrolling through various screens until he finds the Presentation marked "Establishing a Presence", there is a series of beeps and a hissing noise as the airlock cycles to admit a slightly flustered Martin Whitmarsh...

MW: er...morning Ron, sorry it took me a while, I'd left the card in my jacket in my office...
RD: (sighs) Martin - must I impress upon you yet again that you are not to allow the "Omega" pass to leave your person? Project Five is approaching a critical phase, and undue exposure to external sources might, very possibly, prejudice the eventual outcome of our Master-Plan!
MW: (shuffles uncomfortably) er...sorry Ron. It won't happen again...
RD: Indeed not Martin - do you wish me to temporarily suspend your leisure-stipend once more? I don't mind doing so, if you feel you need re-emphasis as to your misdemeanours...I will not be financially inconvenienced, after all!
MW: er...no - no need to stop my pocket-money again Ron, I'll remember next time...
RD: Very well. To business then! The McLaren Applied Technology Centre has achieved planning permission, and Terence O'Speer has updated the Model with the latest designs for the building...
MW: er...very impressive Ron - the way the light catches the glass of the new complex is quite beautiful...
RD: (smiles) Do you think so Martin? Excellent analysis there - I am minded to retract the temporary suspension of your leisure-stipend. I am quite sufficiently bouyant with the external appearance of the MATC, yet it is but the next interim phase of the whole "Project 5" undertaking...kindly observe the display...

They turn to the wall, where a computer animation pulls out from the MTC to show the new MATC springing up next door, before panning out across the greenbelt to nearby Woking...a glass & steel spire of breathtaking simplicity and elegant beauty starts to emerge from the town centre, before the neighbouring buildings within the small town start to transform into similar-looking designs...the voiceover increases in volume, "...once a foothold has been established in the local population centre, then McLarenisation can begin. The business district is subsumed first, before the process is extended to encompass the outlying residential suburbs. A clean city, a bright city, a city of opportunity and technology, whose residents embody all the winning principles inherent in "Project 5"...a place where people understand the basic tenet - TO WIN IS TO BE..."

MW: er...that voice sounds familiar Ron...
RD: (smiles) ...yes - Morgan Freeman, there is simply no more trustworthy and reassuring sound than his chocolatey tones. I considered James Earl Jones, but our surveys indicated that he was too readily identified with the character of Darth Vader, which is certainly not the image we wish to present for Project 5, don't you agree?
MW: er...definitely not Ron.
RD: So - a press-release has been prepared, announcing the establishment of the MATC, and I thought to mention that a McLaren presence will be located within Woking Town Centre.
MW: er...a "presence" Ron? What - like a McLaren gift shop on the high-street?
RD: (snaps irritably) Certainly not! What a tawdry and ignoble suggestion Martin - do you think us mere shopkeepers? We are the Architects of the Future, Martin, and this first presence must reflect our benevolent ambition for the people of Woking (and points beyond)...
MW: er..."points beyond"??
RD: Indeed Martin...(draws himself up importantly)...the Project 5 vision is too monumental and visionary to be restricted merely to this leafy corner of England. The ultimate plan is to expand globally - not for us the cheap thrill of a roller-coaster in the desert, or an exhibit in the Science Museum, no - for we must show the whole world that the McLaren way is the only way...
MW: er...Ron, you're scaring me...
RD: What? Oh - sorry Martin, I get a little carried-away by the magnificent scope of the Project sometimes...
MW: So what were you planning to install in Woking then Ron?
RD: Observe Martin...(indicates the wall behind them)

Another computer animation - this time of a monochrome of the face of Ron Dennis, as the camera pulls round and back, the picture shows the figure of Ron, rendered in Carbon-Fibre, standing next to an MP4-4, also rendered monchromatically in Carbon Fibre. A titanium plaque in front of the statue reads "Our Benefactor" with a sub-line in Roman Script "VICTORE SUM EST"...

RD: Behold! I have secured the Plinth at the town centre for the location of this masterpiece - a mere 12 metres tall, rendered exquisitely in Carbon Fibre and Titanium alloy. It replaces the dreary and outdated War Memorial, and commands spectacular views of WH Smiths and Boots. Is it not magnificent?
MW: (head in hands)...oh dear God no...
RD: (lost in admiration of the "masterpiece") Hmm? Of course, this is merely the start. Mind you - I have taken precautions to prevent the despoiling of my triumph...
MW: er...precautions Ron?
RD: Of course! You surely didn't think I'd allow a certain party to befoul this monument with his unsavoury discharges, did you? No indeed - can you observe the aperture just behind the bargeboard? (zooms in on the image - a familiar door with a figure on it can just be seen...)
MW: oh - that's rather clever Ron! A public toilet built into the statue?
RD: Ha! Indeed, and not just any public toilet either! The MAT division have devised the most efficient and ergonomic public convenience ever designed. The supplicant enters, and the waste fluids and/or solids are extracted osmotically using superconducting magnets, before the subject is ultrasonically cleansed, perfumed (using "Winning" by McLaren/Givenchy), and returned to the town centre more hygenic than ever before...
MW: er...I can't help feeling something's not quite, well, right about this Ron...
RD: Whatever can you mean Martin?
MW: Don't you think you're just taking the Piss?

:rolleyes:

(with thanks to Grizzly for the inspiration...)
 
Inside the McLaren Technology Centre, Martin Whitmarsh emerges swiftly from his office, frantically blowing the ink dry on a freshy-signed driver contract. He starts to hurry down the corridor towards the "McLaren Ancillary Functions (Legal)" department, when he collides with a familiar figure...

Dusting himself down, Ron Dennis appraises his clearly-excited adjutant:

RD: Steady on now Martin, one must observe one's path diligently - "to finish first..." etc. Is there a reason for this excessive haste and precipitous inattention to your route?
MW: er...sorry Ron - I was rushing to get this contract delivered to Legal so that it can be ratified. Then I've got to prepare the press-release for our latest momentous announcement...
RD: Contract? Momentous Announcement? Legal? Is there something you have been keeping from me, Martin? (raises a quizzical eyebrow)
MW: er...I thought you knew Ron - we've taken up Jenson's option and renegotiated him onto a multi-year contract. It's brilliant news, don't you think?
RD: (looks slightly glum) While biomaton no.2 has displayed exemplary powers of "...first you must finish", and has secured the better share of the McLaren Constructor's Points this season, he does have concomitant baggage that causes me no little distress, frustration and antipathy, in approximately equal measure. Would that John Button were less reprehensible!
MW: er...Sam Michael did tell me something interesting about John Button's patriotic party-piece though Ron...
RD: (rolls eyes despairingly) Not his rendering of Her Majesty's anthem through the medium of flatulence?
MW: er...yes Ron. Apparently, Sam was at a party for frustrated Technical Directors held by Honda in 2008 - Ross Brawn invited most of the technical staff from up & down the pitlane, in the hope of picking up some tips to improve their awful car that year - and by about 8:37pm, John was regaling everyone with a selection of his favourite Mother-in-Law jokes. Sam said that Adrian was weeing himself laughing at this point..
RD: ...a common affliction relating to John Button, it would seem...
MW: er...yes, but then Sam said that when John Button started on his homage to Her Majesty, Adrian stopped laughing immediately and reached for his Oxford Notepad. Sam said he caught a brief glimpse of a drawing of an exhaust system and a crude diffuser...
RD: (eyes narrowed)...you're telling me that our nemesis, currently held in thrall by the treacherous Horner, came up with the idea for the EBD as a result of John Button farting the National Anthem? My ghast is utterly flabbered...
MW: er...not only that Ron - Sam also said he heard Adrian muttering something about "the rake of the buttocks also seems significant"...Ron? Ron?

A muffled thud, as Ron falls to the floor in a dead faint. Quickly, Martin unscrews the top off a little bottle, lifts Ron's head and waves the open bottle beneath Ron's nostrils...

RD: (splutters) By all that's Clean and Orderly! What a fearsome stench! My olfactory system feels positively assaulted...
MW: er...yes, it's pretty potent stuff Ron. Works a treat though, wouldn't you say?
RD: (coughing) It's efficacy cannot be denied, certainly. What in Ayrton's name is it? Some form of ammoniac distillation perchance?
MW: er...not exactly Ron, not distilled anyway...more, er, collected you might say...
RD: Oh dear Lord no...
MW: (trying to make himself smaller, he nods quickly in embarassment)
RD: (sighs tiredly) I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, really - not only does that man turn out to have provided the inspiration for our current racetrack humiliation at the hands of Horner's Fizzy Pop Cars, his son is making biomaton no.1 look underdeveloped, the plants have to be constantly nursed back to health, our Shiraz stocks are depleted, and now I must suffer the indignity of having his raw wee thrust up my nose...
MW: er...perhaps I should get Sam to keep an eye on John Button? Perhaps he'll come up with another grid-humbling idea?
RD: Hmm - I am not holding my breath over that prospect, Martin. Still - it's not a bad idea. The New Boy will at least be able to curtail his incontinent habits, wouldn't you say?
MW: er...I'll see to it immediately Ron...
RD: Very well - continue with your duties. Oh - and I'll be requiring an update on "Project 6" later...
MW: er...you mean the Clip the Apex problem?
RD: Indeed - it seems that my private notepad doodlings have leaked their way onto that infernal site. I suspect we have a leak...
MW: er...yes Ron?
RD: (looks thoughtful) ...in fact, rather a lot of leaks - and there's one man I can think of who "leaks" more than anyone else...Martin? Martin? Dammit - where's he gone now?

:thinking:(thanks to FB for the flatulent inspiration!)
 
Inside the McLaren Technology Centre it is silent - our viewpoint passes soundlessly along pristine corridors and empty offices: we see a desktop novelty bobbing it's head in the breeze from the eternal air-conditioning, and the corners of notepads flapping gently in the same breeze. The team is on it's way back from the inaugural Indian Grand Prix...

...entering an immaculate, but darkened office, the back of an imposing and ergonomic armchair fills our picture. Suddenly a screen on the desk in front of the chair springs into noise and light and projects a series of readouts towards the armchair. The ambient light smoothly increases, and a deeply tuneful "bong" heralds the awakening of the chair's occupant.

Ron Dennis quickly scans the information being presented to him by the screen, before smiling contentedly to himself. We catch a brief glimpse of a readout stating "Induction Complete" before our viewpoint focusses on the noble digit pressing the "Minion" switch on the familiar command console...

RD: Report! *garbled transmission* - Ron nods sagely..
RD: Very well - resuscitate the subject and direct him to the Mandatorium for a personal briefing with all possible despatch.

A short while later, a smart figure turns sharply and efficiently from the corridor into the awaiting Mandatorium. The motivational slogans are being projected smoothly onto the walls around the conference table: "To Win is to Be", "Cleanliness and Order are Necessities, not Luxuries", "Engage Cognitive Faculties before operating Default Communication Apparatus", "You are Faster than Fernando - Confirmation Unnecessary". The figure comes to a crisp halt before the desk, and waits attentively for his audience with his Ronship...

RD: Ah, splendid! Welcome to McLaren, Sam Michael - please avail yourself of the semi-vertical posterior support device.

Sam takes a seat.

RD: Your Induction is now complete. The revolutionary "McLarenisation Induction" process has subliminally inserted all necessary operational protocols while you were in the suspended animation suite. In addition, I have had our Behavioural Modification Technicians insert a number of additional subroutines of my own devising, in order for you to perform your McLaren duties to our most rigorous standards. How do you feel?
SM: I am available for immediate deployment, Mr Dennis.
RD: (smiles thinly, evidently delighted by the response) Most excellent. Kindly recite for me "Subroutine 66", would you?
SM: "Subroutine 66 - I must not, directly or through omission of action, allow John Button to besmirch the good name of McLaren. This is to include the egregious emission of waste bodily fluids, noxious gases, inappropriate utterances and excessive garnering of camera-time."
RD: Hmm - I think that covers everything. Very well Sam. I have here your release forms from Patrick Head - well, if you can call "He's your problem now" scribbled on the back of Rothmans Packet a release form...
SM: (slight smirk) Ah - obviously in a good mood that day then...
RD: (looks up sharply) Indeed? A most inefficient way to conduct affairs - no wonder they are so far off the pace. Very well then - you are to proceed with your duties. You will join the Racing Personnel at Abu Dhabi and begin a thorough reassessment of race-weekend operations, paying particular attention to the No.3 garage.
SM: You mean Hamilton?
RD: Indeed - biomaton no.3 has been unacceptably inadequate recently, and I wish there to be an upswing in performance. See to it, would you?
SM: As you wish Mr Dennis...(turns smartly and exits the Mandatorium)

Out in the corridor, Sam bumps in to a jolly avuncular figure in a pink shirt...he looks blank for a moment, before reciting "Sub-subroutine 67 - Ignore Subroutine 66 when not in presence of Ron Dennis". John Button pats Sam on the shoulder and winks conspiratorily, before sauntering off in the opposite direction...

To be continued...8-)
 
Inside the McLaren Technology Centre, there is a calm satisfied air emanating from the office of Ron Dennis, that percolates down throughout the building. As we drift unnoticed into his gleaming office, we can see Sam Michael in private session with his Ronship...

RD: A commendably satisfactory result in Abu Dhabi - I trust you see how things should be done?
SM: Indeed Mr Dennis - I've watched McLaren from the prat-perch for years, but never appreciated just how efficiently things are done here. Some of the gadgets you have we could only have dreamed of at Williams! Those "laptop" computers, for example - they make the data analysis so easy! Patrick had us making our own graphs and working with slide rules, and he would only allow us 2 coloured pencils...
RD (permitting himself a slight chuckle): Cleanliness and Order, Sam - coloured pencils are inefficient and untidy. I am also minded to allow you some small congratulation on the, er, other matter...
SM: Oh? Ah - you mean "subroutine 66"?
RD: Yes indeed - I was delighted to see no trace of that ghastly figure on the TV coverage, sullying biomaton no.3's victory celebration. How did you manage to keep him from disgracing ourselves?
SM: Oh it was quite easy Ron - I lined up a hookah pipe filled with chilled Chablis and premium hashish, and laid on a couple of belly dancers in the hospitality suite. He was far too occupied to notice that there was a party going on outside.
RD: Hmm...I'm not quite sure I approve of your methods, but if the results remain as satisfactory as last weekend, I am minded to feign imparement of vision in one of my ocular faculties - see that no-one finds out, would you?
SM: Oh - no worries Ron. Talking of blind eyes, I did notice something on Sunday...
RD: (trying to look nonchalant, and failing miserably): Hmmm?
SM: Yeah - we may have been a little underendowed with technology at Williams, but I did see a YouTube feature where Lewis and Jenson were racing unmanned McLarens using mobile phones as remote controls. Funny thing is, during my orientation in the garage, a couple of the chaps let me in on the fact that they actually work, and showed me the box the mobiles were kept in. Sometime around lap 10, when Jenson started having trouble with his KERs, I noticed that the box was slightly out of position, and before I replaced it, I thought I'd check nothing had gone missing...
RD: Er...
SM: ...after all - it wouldn't be Clean or Orderly to allow precious McLaren technology to go wandering off, would it?
RD: Er...no, no it wouldn't.
SM: So I looked in the box and noticed that only the mobile marked "LH" was still there...
RD: I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea what you're getting at here Sam...
SM: Really? I'm sure Martin and Jenson would be fascinated to know how much "texting" you were doing during the race...
RD: (sulkily): I paid for the damned thing - I should be able to play with it once in a while...
SM: I don't think it would look too good on the internet forums if this got out though, would it Ron? Or if a certain driver's father got hold of the other mobile perhaps...?
RD: (sighs heavily, reaches into his pocket and pushes the offending mobile across the desk) - Ok, ok - mea culpa - I switched Biomaton no.4's KERs on & off through the race. I have to admit, grudgingly, that he performed fairly admirably under the circumstances. At least his objectionable father didn't despoil the proceedings afterwards. Go on then - take it away...Anything else?
SM: No, I don't think so Mr Dennis. Permission to carry on?
RD: Make it so.

Sam exits Ron's office, bouncing the offending mobile up & down in his hand. A couple of corridors later he meets up with Martin Whitmarsh and John Button in the "Plotting Room"...

MW: Did you get it Sam?
SM: Here it is Martin - he caved in pretty easily really. (hands over the device)
MW: Excellent - these have been worrying me for ages, think if they'd fallen into the wrong hands! I still wonder if one of these was involved at Brazil in '07. Did Ron buy the explanation you gave him for John's apparent absence?
SM: Oh yeah - he had no idea that John was watching him playing with that bloody phone.

John Button chuckles and takes the phone from Martin's hand. He opens the window, and chucks it out - a faint "splash" is heard as the device sinks to the bottom of the McLaren Lake. Martin hands him the matching phone labelled "LH" - John studies it, makes as if to put it in his pocket, before shrugging and throwing that one out of the window too.

MW: Good riddance. What do you say we celebrate with a slap-up breakfast?
Omnes: Huzzah!

:ok:
 
Outside the McLaren Technology Centre, a fleet of bullet-proofed limousines draws up at the main gate. A besuited Secret Service Agent gets out of the lead car and approaches the entry panel. Raising his sunglasses, he scrutinises the various buttons, before selecting the one that says "VIP" and depressing it. The tiny TV screen above the panel comes alive with the visage of Martin Whitmarsh...

MD (on screen, slightly distracted): Hmm? Oh crikey! Is it today? You'd better come in...

There is a low, mellifluous chime, and the imposing gates to the MTC swing ponderously, yet silently open. The line of cars cruises across the threshold and along the immaculate driveway to the gleaming entrance to the main building. There is no-one to be seen, as The Prime Minister and his entourage step from their cavalcade and stand blinking in the reflected sunlight from the McLaren Lake.

Presently, a slightly out-of-breath Martin appears behind the massive glass doors. Hastily brushing down his suit and hair with the palms of his hands, he composes himself briefly before opening the glass portal...

MD: Welcome to the McLaren Technology Centre, Prime Minister! Allow me to escort you to His Ronness...
PM: Oh! You mean he isn't here to meet me personally?
MD: Oh no - Ron prefers that you absorb the ambience of the MTC before an audience is granted. He feels that to experience the environment induces more of a sense of awe among supplicants prior to entering his presence...
PM: I'm sorry? Did you just say "supplicants"?
MD: Term of reference, nothing more. Will you step this way? Your guards can wait here - you're perfectly safe within McLaren Prime Minister...
PM (looks dubious, but nods slightly - the Secret Service men take up flanking positions either side of the door): Very well - lead on.

The tour proceeds, through the pristine corridors and workspaces, past the trophy cabinets and gleaming racing cars, the slightly wilted pot-plants, while Martin expounds at length on the philosophy of McLaren and their myriad achievements. The PM gazes about in frank wonderment, transfixed by the shiny cars and quiet efficiency of the Anthracite-clothed minions, as they carry about their business in near-silent diligence. "Good God, this is how to run a factory - if only the House of Commons was this orderly!" thinks the PM to himself. He is, unsurprisingly, impressed. Eventually the tour brings them to a massive pair of granite doors – as they approach, they gently part to reveal the familiar sight of Ron Dennis ensconced in his massive ergonomic chair behind the mighty Command Console.

RD (stands up as the PM and MW enter): Good day Prime Minister – I am proud to bid you welcome to our humble vision of the future…
PM (fighting the urge to bow): The honour is mine, Mr. Dennis. I find what you’ve done here simply incredible, and a credit to our proud, historic nation. You combine all the best attributes of technology, enterprise and the good old British work ethic into a beacon of hope for the future of our proud, historic country…
RD (holds up a hand): You flatter me Prime Minister – all endeavour here at the McLaren Technology Centre is, in the most simplistic sense, primarily focused on the pursuit of excellence as a minimum standard. Second, after all, is merely the first of the losers. I find it mildly infuriating that more institutions throughout Britain do not accept the fundamental ethos that we at McLaren take as a given: “To Win is to Be”.
PM (clearly spellbound by now): I agree completely with everything you are saying – we should build our Economic Regeneration Model around the template established here at McLaren: for it is in these values, expressed in utmost clarity of vision, that we can go forward to place Great Britain at the centre of the European, even the World, Stage…
RD (his inner Ron turning cartwheels and shouting “Yes!!”, but outwardly calm): I am supremely satisfied to accept your accolades, Prime Minister. Ours is a magnificently delicate goal, to whit: to encourage, through a process of discreet expansion, subsumption, and ultimately conversion, what I humbly like to label “McLarenisation” of the spirit of British endeavour.
PM: “McLarenisation” – I like the sound of that…just think – no more arguing in the Commons, Cabinet meetings where everyone just does what they’re told for the greater good…(omnes: “The Greater Good”)…no more Opposition parties…the whole of Britain working to McLaren standards of perfection…
RD (beaming benevolently): Indeed, Prime Minister – I do believe you have grasped fully the implications and benefits of accepting the McLaren Way. I have a little side project upon which I have been expending some of my faculties, that I suspect you may find of interest…Martin, would you accompany us to the “Omega” suite?

The 3 men make their way to the glass elevator in the corner of Ron’s Office, which whisks them silently and smoothly down 5 floors to the familiar high-security corridor leading to the “Project 5” presentation office…

Upon entering, Ron’s nose wrinkles in displeasure at the foreign odours that assail them – he notes with alarm the used ashtray and empty wine-bottles that festoon the once-pristine model of the MTC and Woking. The half-eaten pizza that rests, congealing nonchalantly atop the MATC’s model roof is somehow particularly offensive…

RD (composure gone): Wh…wh…what is the meaning of this outrage!!??? Martin! Do you have any knowledge of this hideous despoiling of the grand vision?
MW (who certainly does, but isn’t foolish enough to admit it): Er…no idea Ron…
RD (not convinced, but mindful of the present company): Well…I have my suspicions…
PM (innocently): Is there something wrong, Mr. Dennis? This doesn’t seem to be quite in keeping with the McLaren Way…
RD: I think we’d better leave, Prime Minister – this way please…(looks back at MW)…Martin – get this cleaned up immediately: I will expect a full report in the Mandatorium in 1 hour, do you understand?
MW (nods glumly): Yes Ron…(waits ‘til they’ve gone)…Ok, you can come out now John…

John Button appears from behind a large pot plant, smirking contentedly…

MW: Look, I know he’s a bit self-important, but did you have to muck up his toys today of all days? (John Button raises a significant eyebrow) Oh – well, I take your point. It probably isn’t a good idea to let him have full control of the PM just yet…(JB winks)…OK – make yourself scarce for the time being. I’ll sort things out here and find a way to soothe his ruffled feathers…

To be continued…8-)
 
From the notepad of Ron Dennis, Inside the McLaren Technology Centre, Woking, Surrey, England:

"Review of McLaren Operations, year ending 31/12/2011"
"Annual Performance Appraisal: McLaren Racing Concern (2011)"
"Why we didn't win this year (again)"

Vodafone McLaren Mercedes F1 Racing Team Performance Review (2011)
(address to MTC employess, Yuletide festive period - presentation notes v2.71)
  • 6 good wins (proper "overtake-all-the-others" wins, not just "disappear-up-the-road" wins)
  • 12 other podia ("...first you must finish" satisfactory, but not enough "to finish first...")
  • Biomaton 4>Biomaton 3 (highly surprising!)
  • Roundly thrashed by Horner & Newey though!!! Note - look into Anthracite Operation mk IV: Operation "Handicap AN" (think of a better title for this)
  • Slightly perturbing demotivation of Biomaton 3 due to alternate-gender companion incompatibility/infidelity?
  • Biomaton no.4 proving to be valuable asset, despite certain misgivings re: parent
  • Whitmarsh performance "adequate" - MUST IMPROVE
  • Ergonomic presentation of Racing Cars "most satisfactory"
  • Performance deficit to Red Bull initally sub-optimal, subsequent performance enhancement iterations positive and profoundly adequate. A case of "insufficient items delivered in an untimely fashion" however?
  • Objectives for 2012 - WIN. EVERYTHING. motto for next season: "Excellence as a minium standard to achieve humiliating dominance in F1"
McLaren Technology Centre - Operations Appraisal 2011
  1. Cleanliness and Order - 13.5 Tool Storage non-Compliance incidents registered (15 in 2010); 2 employees detained & disciplined for unacceptable besmirchment of Anthracite workwear; distressing odours detected in bays 3, 7 and 12 (check displacement of John Button).
  2. Pot Plant Status: sub-optimal, even after taking countermeasures to prevent despoilment. Consider artificial replacements (note to self: electrified?)
  3. Unavoidable colour-match non-compliance of lobby floor tiles following defects inherent in manufacturing thereof
  4. BBC documentary eminently satisfactory vis-a-vis presentation of the "McLaren Way"
  5. Visit of PM disrupted by possible interference of John Button (unproved, but strongly suspected) - mildy infuriating, but not insurmountable. (look into private screening of "Project 5" at No. 10)
Ancillary Operations
  • McLarenisation - progress still behind projected performance targets. Terence O'Speer to provide latest models asap
  • Virgin/Marussia - improvements must be achieved, for the good of the grid and the image of McLaren as a technical partner (note to Martin - get the New Boy to look into this, and co-ordinate efforts. Also - where are the McLaren flat caps?)
  • Force India - satisfactory progress, even had them beating Haug's lot by end of season :)
  • McLaren Applied Technology Centre - operations review in 6 months, department heads to report on latest project progress, esp. "Woking Town Centre Presence"
AOB
  • Dissemination of private McLaren correspondence via "Clip the Apex" - how are they getting this stuff? Who is this "Road of Bones"? Can I legitimately have him carpet-bombed? (ask McLaren Legal Dept)
  • Have the Mandatorium and Command Console de-bugged?
Shopping items (Yule):
Biomaton 3 - teddy bear (extra-large & cuddly)
Biomaton 4 - Racing Bicycle (do not forget helmet and spring-loaded pannier)
Martin - New Pitlane Headphones, with built in Summoning Alarm
John Button - Catheter attached to trolley-mounted septic tank
New Boy (Sam?) - book: "First Principles of the McLaren Way and Purpose" by R.Dennis MBE

:moustache:
 
Inside the McLaren Technology Centre, the hubbub of the launch of MP4/27 has subsided, and we find Ron Dennis ensconced within his ergonomic throne enjoying a discreet tumbler of Johnny Walker Black Label. Turing the crystal glass to and fro, he enjoys the play of light within the amber fluid - it is clear to us that he is, for now, "sufficiently bouyant"...the familiar switch on the Command Console is depressed and we await the arrival of Martin Whitmarsh...

...several moments pass uninterrupted by the arrival of his adjutant - Ron frowns in displeasure before stabbing irritably at the "Martin" button, but to no avail. Suddenly there is a scuffling noise outside the granite doors; they part slightly to admit the slightly worried-looking head of Martin...

MW: er...you rang Ron?
RD: Indeed I did Martin - what is the meaning of this reluctance to be summoned? My wrath-gauge was considerably beyond "mildly infuriated" and approaching "incandescence"! I was previously nestled in the realms of "mellifluous" before your rank disobedience and sluggish indolence vis-a-vis being summoned reared its unwelcome head. Let us not revisit the leisure-stipend question again...
MD: I'm sorry Ron - I was chatting to some journalists after the unveiling. You know how keen they are to find out what's new about the car - I even had to get Sam to evict a couple who were trying to get around the back and take pictures of the rear diffuser...

They both chuckle mischievously...

RD: Ha! Are they so gullible to believe that we would play our hand so precipitously? For Ayrton's sake! Anyone would think that my parturition occurred mere hours ago...
MW: er...do you mean "born yesterday", Ron?
RD: Indeed Martin - you have read the "McLaren English Dictionary" that I gave you for Christmas, haven't you?
MW: er...more sort of er, skimmed it Ron...(looks sheepish)
RD (sighs): Do try and keep up with things, would you Martin? Anyway - although it was a satisfactory media event, there were a couple of things about the unveiling that caused me a certain amount of internal disquiet.
MW: er...oh dear Ron - what was amiss?
RD: I could not help but notice a non-compliance with the symmetrical alignment of the front wheels - specifically the nearside front wheel was approximately 7.3° off horizontal using the "Pirelli" logo as a baseline...
MW: er...
RD: ...and it was frankly somewhat less than, shall we say, "thrilling". Last year's unveiling was more the ticket to be honest.
MW: er...at least we got to unveil our car Ron - have you seen what happened at Maranello today?
RD: (snorts into his tumbler mischievously): Indeed - one of the reasons I was so mellifluous earlier was that I had the exquisite pleasure of telephoning Luca to commiserate him on the thwarting of his grand unveiling by the Italian climate. I am also deliciously contemplating the leaked images of the new Ferrari, in all its hideousness - that little chat I had with Pat Fry before he left for Maranello seems to have paid off handsomely. We all know that ugly cars do not a championship win, hmm?
MW: (wisely refrains to point out that beautiful cars also regularly fail to win championships too): Still - Adrian hasn't shown his hand yet, has he Ron?
RD: (a frown crosses his noble visage): Hrrrumph! Well - we will see when battle is joined at Jerez, won't we? Anyway - I feel we are more than adequately prepared for the forthcoming campaign. I have taken steps to improve matters around the MTC too - kindly accompany me, Martin...

The two men leave the Command Suite and walk down a corridor. At a strategic turning, Ron stops by a gleaming pot-plant, surprisingly free of the usual perspex case...

RD: Tell me Martin - what do you see here?
MW: er...it looks like a perfectly normal Yukka plant Ron - a trifle shinier, perhaps?
RD: That's where you are mistaken, Martin! It is far from a normal Yukka plant - feel the leaves, would you?
MW: er...oh! They're made of plastic! And what's this white gravel stuff in the pot?
RD: (beaming triumphantly): why, it is Cat Litter! I can't believe that this failed to occur to me last year - instead of vainly fighting an unsuccessful battle against John Button's vile proclivities, and engendering a budget overspend in the "pot plant" division, I simply had them all replaced with wipe-clean and odourless plastic trees, and planted them in absorbent and odour-retaining feline defecation-retention media! I am a genius!
MW: (hand over his eyes, shaking his head) Oh, very well done Ron...
RD: Let's see him despoil these...

The two men part company in the corridor, and for now, sadly, we must leave them to their duties...
 
Inside the McLaren Technology Centre, the hive of calm efficiency is humming as the Anthracite legions prepare the inital round of updates for MP4/27 ahead of the first test-session...

...we pass Martin Whitmarsh in his office, as he paws fretfully through a mighty Ronglish Dictionary, hastily scribbling notes...

...we see Sam Michael prodding experimentally at a laptop in the Race Vehicle Preparation Bays - surreptitiously he pulls out a slightly crumpled piece of graph paper and a logarithmic table and does a bit of hasty plotting...

...behind the Command Console Ron Dennis gleefully contemplates the hideous shapes of his adversaries' new cars as they are gradually unveiled. Deciding upon another wee dram of Johnny Walker to celebrate having produced the most beautiful Racing Machine thus far, he notes with irritation that his current bottle is nearly empty. Reaching for the console, he depresses the "Replenish Recreational/Celebratory Fluids" button...

...deep within the bowels of the MTC, in the Recreational Imbibery Cellar, a pink-shirted figure is startled from his furtive micturition by the bell and warning light that Ron's console has triggered...the conveyor-belt mechanism that transports fresh bottles to the throne room suddenly jerks into life. Hastily rescrewing the lid onto the bottle of whiskey this figure has been "topping up" to mask his clandestine swigging, he replaces the foremost bottle on the conveyor belt with the one in his hand...with a last look at the complicated mechanism as it whisks the adulterated bottle from view, the pink-shirted one chuckles to himself and silently exits the cellar...

...a short while later, a furious shout echoes down the corridor outside the throne room:

JOHHHHNNNN BUTTTTTONNNN!!!!

:snigger:(happy now gethinceri?)
 
Inside the McLaren Technology Centre, Ron Dennis pounds his Norman Foster-designed command console furiously. Mashing the "Whitmarsh" button so hard it almost becomes unseated from it's mounting, it is clear that the big man is someway past "mildy infuriated"...

MW: er...what's the matter Ron?
RD: (red-faced and clearly incensed) Martin - this is utterly beyond the bounds of acceptability! How does that person obtain these details?
MW: (somewhat nervous) er...who, exactly?
RD: It's that confounded "Clip the Apex" site again Martin...(MW visibly relaxes, relieved that it's not him in the frame)...somehow that thrice-accursed Road of Bones character has gleaned knowledge of my little tete-a-tete with Pat Fry just before we packed him off to Maranello...
MW: well, to be fair Ron, it was a bit obvious that something had gone off - the new Ferrari is not only ugly, but slow, unpredictable and suffering a severe case of Flow-vis poisoning. It doesn't take a genius to work out that their new technical direction has been, er, tampered-with, does it?
RD: Hmmm...is it really so transparent? Blast it to Hades in a Lidl carrier-bag!
MW: (taken-aback by Ron's foul language) er...to be fair though Ron, Luca was a bit short-sighted not to factor in the possibility of a bit of creative industrial counter-espionage by taking on one of our more high-profile figures. One might say that we're extracting a modicum of payback for the injustices of 2007...
RD: (impressed) Martin - you've obviously been brushing up on your McLaren English Dictionary, haven't you? Very well then - no sense in lactic ullage lachrimosity - for who will seriously believe in a conspiracy conjured-up by a mere forum-wastrel? (his mood visibly lightening now)
MW: (relaxes further, now the crisis seems to have been defused) er...testing's gone well Ron...
RD: Indeed - I derived no small quantity of satisfaction from perusing the timesheets these last few days. It would appear that we have a handle on "to finish first...", yes? I take it we were running in "sac du sable" mode at all times?
MW: er...yes Ron - a very big Sac of Sable indeed. Jenson put in some very fast times using the Hard Rubber too...
RD: Ah yes - biomaton no.3 is proving to be a most capable asset. Has biomaton no.4 resolved his ego-displacement quandaries yet? I hear he's taken on dear Mika's former manager...
MW: er...he certainly seems happier, so far.
RD: Capital! I was most amused to find Horner's ghastly cars were scarcely apparent on the final day - any idea what happened?
MW: er...well, Sam & I had an idea to sort of derail Red Bull's chassis upgrade...
RD: (eyebrow raised suspiciously) Derail? How in Ayrton's name was it pursued?
MW: well, you know a certain pink-shirted gentleman...?
RD: (sighs) Let me guess - you have unleashed his micturatory powers on Red Bull now?
MW: er...not exactly Ron - we got him to accidentally "bump into" Sebastian at the Barcelona hotel Red Bull were using the night before the final test. Doing his best Eric Idle impersonation, John Button managed to lure Seb out for a night of wine & floozies, such that the poor lad was quite unable to pilot his car for final testing, and crashed it on his first stint. Fortunately Webber was already on his way to Australia, and was unable to deputise. You should have heard us laughing as Red Bull made up the gearbox excuse for not running all day...
RD: Martin! That is quite the most underhanded, foul and despicable thing I have ever heard...and utter genius! I congratulate you all on a splendid piece of skull-duggery! I will upwardly-amend your leisure-stipends forthwith!
MW: (beaming proudly) Thankyou Ron! Permission to carry on?
RD: Make it so...
 
inside the McLaren Technology Centre, through the familiar pristine corridors and past the suspiciously immaculate pot-plants, we approach the massive granite portal to his Ronship's inner sanctum. Slipping unnoticed within, we see the Great Man framed in the grand picture window, his back to us as he contemplates the wintry vista without...

...he notes with satisfaction how a couple of minions in Anthracite Parkas are carefully removing snow from the driveway and footpaths, ensuring an exquisite and unsullied edge to the snow, and conveying the unwanted snow away in a wheelbarrow, to be melted in a spare autoclave. The remaining snow is utterly smooth and untouched...

There is a musical note from the speaker by the Granite Portal, his Ron-ness turns from his snowy contemplation and makes his way to the command console. Depressing the "Admit" button, he permits the ingress of his Chief Minion...


Martin Whitmarsh: Er, good morning Ron...
RD: Indeed it is Martin- there is little as visually pleasing as the purity of significant snowfall masking the imperfections of nature, do you not agree?
MW: Er, of course Ron- does make it difficult to get to work though?
RD: Hmmph! Why would anyone ever need to return to their domicile? Far more efficient in these conditions simply to remain at the MTC- this is our period of maximum labour intensity after all, surely the MP4-27 assembly platoon are much too preoccupied to consider relaxing?
MW: Er, they are certainly working extremely hard Ron...
RD: Splendid! I presume the "Not-so-new-boy" is co-ordinating matters in the Vehicle Preparation Bays?
MW: Er, yes-Sam has everything in hand, though I caught him with another piece of graph paper again last week...
RD: (sighs) will we never break those dismal habits he picked up at Williams? Tell you what, confiscate his pencils and issue him one of our new MPiPads would you? He can draw graphs as much as he likes on one of those, and he might even learn how to use a calculator while fiddling with it.
MW: Er, as you wish sire, sorry, Ron...
RD: Good. Now- regarding our biomaton situation: following the rescinding of the John Button exclusion protocol after Silverstone last year, the upswing in the performance of Biomaton no. 3 did not go unnoticed. I am thus minded to relax my previous opposition to the presence of the "Master of Micturition" at the MTC and at race weekends. The pot-plant budget stabilised satisfactorily following the replacement of the real things with artificial ones, and the odour has certainly improved around the place. See to it would you?
MW: (delighted) Of course Sire! Is this because of what happened with Lewis?
RD: Hmm...the treachery of Biomaton no.4 was, to no small extent, both galling and utterly unsurprising. He simply refused to grasp the concept that no mere Biomaton should forget that he is merely the last component in the racing vehicle- nobody is greater than McLaren! Let us see how he fares in Haug's Silver cars for a while, shall we? Perhaps a couple of seasons in the midfield will engender a sense of humility more befitting for a return to our hallowed halls at a subsequent juncture...
MW: Er, Norbert resigned, Ron- Toto Wolff is running things there now...
RD: Indeed? I knew things would proceed rearwards once Norbert removed his moustache- some men, much though it pains me to admit, do present a more satisfactory appearance with a modicum of facial hair. I suppose a concomitant benefit of Lewis' departure is that I no longer have to endure the penetrating scrutiny of Anthony Hamilton either- I still suffer flashbacks of his resentful gaze from Singapore last year...
MW: Er, yes Ron. How do you think Sergio will fit in then? We're quite hopeful for his prospects...
RD: Martin- never forget that we merely signed him to keep his massive sponsorship potential away from Luca at Maranello. I considered employing the "Kovalainen Protocol" to his side of the garage, you know...
MW: (faintly horrified) Er, surely not Ron? It seems counter-productive, surely? He does show some aptitude, after all!
RD: We shall see. He will have to qualify much more impressively this season, however, and failing to finish may see the KP being deployed at a later juncture. Talking of which, I have noticed a furtive figure lurking by the main gate these last few weeks...
MW: Er, yes Ron- since he lost his Caterham seat, Heikki has taken to waiting by the main entrance and shouting "go on- give us a job!" at every car that passes through...
RD: Hmm...given that Pedro has defected to Maranello, perhaps we need a new Simulator Mule?
MW: Er, shall I get Sam to have a word with him then?
RD: Make it so. Now- get back down to the vehicle assembly bays would you? I find the persistent sound of hammering both disagreeable and disconcerting- McLaren cars are not "bashed" together these days, hmmm?
MW: of course Ron- I'll see to it immediately...

Martin exits, bowing and scraping a bit...outside, he straightens up and turns to see a familiar pink-shirted figure zipping himself up by one of the ersatz pot plants...

John Button (sighs): Somehow it just ain't the same...oh- hi Marty, how did it go with his Ronship?
MW: capital John- you're back in the frame again! Privileges are restored- just don't bugger it up this time, eh?
JB: (grinning broadly) I make no promises Marty- but we'll see how it goes eh? Now- how's about a nice Merlot before breakfast?
MW: Sorry John- Ron's got me running about like a blue-arsed fly again. Maybe later?
JB: (winks) Righto Marty- I'll have a wander then, catch you later...

Martin shakes his head somewhat ruefully, and scurries off towards the sounds of diligent hammering...

...to be continued, hopefully... :goodday:
 
Inside the McLaren Technology Centre, the Anthracite Legion are working diligently in the "Competition Vehicle Creation Bays" affixing updates for the forthcoming testing. We can see they are all wearing padded overshoes, and the hammers have also been shrouded in noise-reducing material. Work continues virtually silently...

...in the background, Sam Michael can be seen clutching an anthracite MPiPad, his fingers flying delightedly across the touchscreen as he creates fiendishly complicated and coruscating graphs thereupon. It is clearly the tool of his dreams...

...while outside the Granite Portal, Martin Whitmarsh pauses to smooth down his hair and check his appearance. Once satisfied, he takes a deep breath and reaches for the "Request Audience" button...

RD: Ingress Granted...ah, Martin! One presumes you have news to impart?
MW: er...yes Ron...the initial tests at Jerez were reasonably encouraging...
RD: So I gathered. Biomaton no. 5 performed adequately, I hear. To have one of Luca's pilots describing his lap as "amazing" was cause for a smattering of satisfaction, certainly.
MW: er...Indeed Ron- pity it wasn't the good pilot though...
RD: Hmmm...well, we can't expect "he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned" to put in many good words for us, I suppose. How did Biomaton no.6 fare?
MW: er...well, he didn't break anything Ron...
RD: Good. One assumes he was exercising part 2 of the McLaren Mantra then?
MW: er..."...first you must finish?"
RD: Quite. We can work on part 1 at the next test. I allowed myself a modicum of amused satisfaction at seeing so few laps completed by Haug's lot- although I was slightly concerned at the accident experienced by former Biomaton no.1. I would prefer him to return to us physically undamaged.
MW: er...you think he will come back Ron?
RD: Of course, Martin! He does embody the tenet "To Win is To Be" after all, and where else can he satisfy such a core value?
MW: avoids mentioning the (Red) Bull in the room er...yes, Ron. I do have some other news to tell, however...
RD: sighs Martin...it has not escaped my notice that you are perspiring and fidgeting to an unacceptable degree. Very well, if there is sub-optimal information to impart, kindly desist with the procrastination and lay it upon the desk, would you?
MW: er...you remember the problems we had a couple of years ago with leaked information finding its way onto "Clip the Apex"?
RD: his face darkens ominously Yes...that disagreeable "Road of Bones" character- I thought that the "Tooned" project had taken the wind from his sails last year. What of it?
MW: er...it appears to be slightly more complicated than that Ron...it transpires that he was medically incapacitated last year...
RD: Indeed? An entire year? What ailed the fellow?
MW: er...our sources indicate some form of error within his lymph system, necessitating extensive treatment. It appears that he has made an effective recovery though.
RD: sighs Oh well, one cannot account for the vagaries of health. Perhaps if he had spent less time indulging in salacious gossip-mongering and insidious eaves-dropping, he might have paid more attention the the benefits of pursuing the "McLaren Cleanliness and Order" guidelines to which he was so quick to scoff, hmmm?
MW: er...indeed Ron. Sadly, it appears he has returned to his old ways, following his recovery.
RD: Drat! Very well then, we must enhance the forthcoming "Tooned" campaign- by producing our own amusing version of events within the MTC, we obfuscate his efforts to disseminate the "truth". You had better keep an eye on the activities of Biomaton no. 5's reprehensible parent in the meantime, however- it seems that most of our difficulties centre around his pastimes. See to it, would you?
MW: er...immediately, Ron!

Martin exits hurriedly, and scurries off down the pristine corridor...

...meanwhile, in a distant lounge suite on the far side of the MTC, a familiar pink-shirted figure swigs from a bottle of Shiraz and toots on a suspicious cigarette, as he writes in a McLaren "Achieve a Satisfactory Recovery" card, which appears to include a memory card taped to the inside cover, and is addressed to "Bones"...
 
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