The Chronicles of Fernando Alonso, the Unbeliever


In the Ferrari garage, Fernando stood alone and frightened, unable, or unwilling to move. The realisation that his condition, suffering with the disease LeproFerrarisy, left him susceptible to losing badly.

And Fernando was already a bad loser. Being a Ferrari Leper just made things worse.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly rotated on the spot so he was facing the door to the Ferrari garage and slowly moved his left foot forward. As he tried to move his right foot, he lost his balance and fell head-first to the floor, bashing his head on ...

Bright light… Blinding bright light. Painful bright light.

Eyelids flicker.

“Are you hurt? Are you awake?”

Fernando attempted to open his eyes, slowly. The light was seemingly a little less bright, less painful.

Raising his head, Fernando scanned the garage for the owner of the voice…

But Fernando was no longer in the Ferrari garage. He took a few moments to try to work out where he was.

A large glass panelled room. A vehicle parked a few feet away. A red and white car.

Slowly standing, Fernando could see it was a red and white race car.

“Where am I?”; he asked out loud.

“You are in the MTC. How did you come to be here?”; came a reply.

The reply had come from the person that had been the owner of the voice that Fernando had heard a few moments ago. The person stepped from behind a console next to the red/white car.

Fernando eyed the person suspiciously.

“Who are you? And where or what is MTC?”; he asked.

“My name is Jense Unbuttoning. And it’s the McLaren MTC that yo..”

“But how can I be at McLaren MTC, where-ever that is? I have LeproFerrarisy. I fell and hit my head. I should be suffering the effects of ..”

“There are no Lepers here at the MTC”; interrupted Jense Unbuttoning. “It sounds like his Ron-ness has summoned you.”

“I don’t believe you. How can my LeproFerrarisy have been cured?”

“There are no Ferrari ills here. Only those of our own making. And as the White Gold Welder, you will be the one that will cure them!”; said Jense Unbuttoning.

Fernando was stunned. He stood looking wondrously at him, and said “but Jense Unbuttoning, how can I be the cure, when I don’t know what ills you?”

“It is not I that ills, Unbeliever, it is McLaren itself. You will find the fault. Oh, and call me Jense.”

Jense was consumed with finding the problem.
A problem with the flexible co-ordinator shouldn't have the affects that were evident, but one shouldn't pre-judge things..
Perhaps the issue was with the drive shaft
Jense scratched his head, He had already checked his shaftings. Extensively...
"Must be something else"; he thought.

In his prone position, led under the McLaren, Jense was finding it difficult to pin-point the issue.

--- --- ---​

"Once "The Unbeliever" is re-established, all will be well."

"So you say, but how can we rely on this premise?"

"The Unbeliever is the white gold welder."

"But, why do we need welding..?"

--- --- ---​

Jan Magnusson awoke with a start. His room was dark, so he couldn't see what had caused him to awake.

His eyes adjusting to the dark, Jan scanned his room as best he could. Nothing seemed amiss, although one couldn't be sure...
... and then an apparition appeared at the foot of his bed.!

"I am Magnus Magnusson. Your time as an F1 driver is temporarily over!"

Jan shat himself....

--- --- ---​

Jense realised what the error was. Realigning the knuckle with table, was...

...The door burst in and Fernando Alonso ran in, shouting "Do not turn right! Do not turn right!"
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Click… brrrr…



Click… brrrr…



Click… b…

We interrupt this telephone call, to announce the collapse of the World’s Happy Bean Harvest.

Happy beans, you ask. The little known, yet much used bean has suffered a catastrophic collapse in the recent past, and yet is still bafflingly underwhelmed….

… the much, probably, over used supposition, is that the answer must be in the sky.

But hey, the sky doesn’t hold all the answers! Not even this question which it paid handsomely for.

Well, I may know the answer!

But, shhhh, the sky has ears and may be listening………

As the clouds wafted gently on the breeze, slowly engulfing the mountain peak, the climber stopped to check his compass. Whilst the needle would normally be as steady as... well, as a compass needle totally confident of the way north, today the needle was as shaky as Bernie’s hand when trying to sign his name on a cheque made payable to McLaren for their race earnings.

The climber stared at the needle for a second or two, and then it settled down. Lifting his eyes from the compass face, he watched the clouds continue rolling down the mountain peak, revealing the pathway on which the climber was travelling on. Onwards and upwards it led, flanked on both sides by a wire fence, protecting any traveller from falling into the ravine which lay on either side. Now that the cloud cover had dispersed, the path seemed clear so that the compass was unnecessary. "Just as well"; thought the climber, as the needle resumed its jerky, shaky attempt at pointing in the direction one would normally expect north to be…

The climber tucked his compass away in his pocket, hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and continued on his journey. As the clouds dispersed, they revealed the sky.

An angry looking sky, redolent in purple, red and a sickly yellow.

Although the cloud was dispersing, there was still a lot of mist and fog. It was through the mist and fog that the climber noticed a figure descending from the peak, down the pathway toward him. “Heavens”; thought the climber. “I could have almost walked by him without seeing him, in all this mist and fog. If it weren’t for this fiery back-glow…”

As the figure came closer, the climber noticed the approaching figure was dressed in a robe. A brown robe, tied at the waist by a rope.

“Be careful, unbeliever”; the figure said. “The journey ahead contains many a peril. Most of which you may not survive!”
Your white gold will protect you though. So don’t allow the wizened dwarf to take it from you!”

The climber stood aghast. “But my name is Fernando, not unbeliever. Why does everyone call me that? Ok, I don’t believe in anything, but that doesn’t define me! I am Fernando Alonso! That is my name! Why can’t people…” But the robed figure had started to move on.

As he moved away, the robed figure said over his shoulder; “If the white gold is something you should protect like it’s your life, the compass should be disposed of, before it leads you to your doom.”

Fernando dug his compass out from his pocket. Looking at its face, the needle was dancing about like it was possessed. Fernando looked up, about say something, but the robed figure had disappeared.

“Crazy loon”; thought Fernando, before taking a start. The compass needle was still again, steady in its indication of north. As if nothing had happened.

Shaking his head, as if in disbelief, or to rid himself of crazy thoughts, Fernando tucked his compass away, back in his pocket. Hoisting his backpack over his shoulder, he continued on his journey.

“I won’t let anyone take my white gold away from me, but I’m sure that the direction that I (and my team) are taking is the correct one… Dodgy compass indeed..!”

Fernando continued on his journey, albeit slightly more wary than a few moments before.....
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