Warning! Long entry alert!

Saturday morning dawned cool and cloudy, with a hint of rain in the air. In fact, it had rained for ten minutes at 5am. I went to the shower block for the second time in the weekend (having had a shower on Thursday evening), but decided against it when the queue appeared to be 40 minutes long. I suppose when a campsite has eight shower cubicles to go between 350 or so pitches (and an estimated 700-800 people), this was bound to happen.

Dad decided that his fisherman's stool was unbearable to sit on, so he took a camping chair with him to the track. After all, there would be much more sitting down on Saturday than Friday. I was still OK with my seating arrangements, so my circuit bag was the same as the previous day.

Today, we were allowed to use the Copse gate. On the way, we saw compressed-air-powered klaxons on sale for £5. While some people had brought one from home, I did notice a fair few additional honks cutting through the cheers and applause after seeing the klaxon-seller.

In view of this, large black bucket of earplugs behind Copse's ticket inspection area was a particularly welcome sight. You had to be on the look out for it, but Dad and I got four earplugs (to add to the six we got when reporting my purse to the circuit police the previous day - the main entrance nearby also had an earplug bucket).

While I didn't use the earplugs until yesterday* because of the ear defender/earphone combination, Dad was pleased to have his earplug supply augmented by the bright green bits of foam. Unfortunately there were holes in the earplugs because they'd been designed to have a cable connecting them, so they could have been more effective. Still, it was better than nothing - and it was surprising how many spectators thought "nothing" was a good idea in the terrace.

I reckon about 20% of the terrace had ear defenders (including everyone with a klaxon - how else could they bear being near those things?). Perhaps another 35% had ear plugs, and it's possible that some of the 20% with just earphones had some sort of noise-cancelling technology in them. That still left 25% of the terrace with naked eardrums exposed to the racket generated by 20 F1 cars, 26 GP2 cars, 30 FBMW cars and who knows how many Porsches and historic cars?

However, this is jumping ahead of the story a little. Before Dad and I reached the terrace, we saw what appeared to be an informal marshal's meeting at the café by the paddock bridge. Dad got a coffee in the F1 Village and I had a hot chocolate. The coffee was £1.60 and quite good, apparently. My drink was £2 and was pretty average (blame the University of Sheffield's Interval bar for giving me high standards...)

By 8:15am, we were in the terrace. Little happened until we saw what appeared to be a lost bus. Stagecoach appeared to have the on-track transportation contract, as demonstrated when it later took the marshalls round on a tour, dropping them off at their posts en route. What didn't make sense was why it went round empty at 8:50am.

Watching the marshals was interesting. There were six of them at the position by my terrace, plus a doctor who seemed to spend most of the time bouncing around the place. He may well have had more energy than some of the marshals!

I had the chance to talk to some of my fellow spectators. Apart from people sympathising with me for the Force India intra-team collision yesterday (Sutil's 3rd was quickly forgotten), the main topics of conversation were the FIA statement of the previous night (the comments can be summarised by the words "silly Max") and betting. Apparently Jenson Button had odds of 5/6 on, hence why some people were betting on Vettel and Hamilton on "either-way" bets instead.

Webber's fuel pump problem, which stopped him in second practise, wasn't really discussed. Presumably people take Webber being unlucky as much for granted as Button winning or Piquet Jr. spinning.

The wind was gusting along the straight towards Becketts as Timo Glock opened practise proceedings. As this was the final session before qualifying, a very serious tone fell upon the session. Apart from Glock and Hamilton doing some minor exploration of run-off, nobody strayed from the track. Williams looked very strong, but Trulli, Vettel and Massa were never far away, so they could hardly be dismissed. This was even more true given Williams' record of doing worse in qualifying and the race than in practise.

The Force Indias were 15th and 16th, with Sutil the right side of the qualifying cut-off. It was looking good for one FIF1 to make it into Q2, but during practise, an interesting revelation was made. The reason for the massive gap between Adrian and Giancarlo in second Friday practise was because Adrian had received some upgrades halfway through Friday morning. Giancarlo only got the upgrades on Saturday morning. Perhaps this was just as well given that the upgrades included new front wings and both drivers lost their front wings at the end of Friday...

As the V8s faded, the TV announced that Bernie was trying to get a deal between Donington and Silverstone that guaranteed the latter would have the race if the former was unable to fulfil its obligations. I took it with a pinch of salt, which made the ensuing "Aren't we great? Bernie wants us back" talk a bit frustrating. I took the opportunity to look around me at the banners. There were lots of Brawn ones, along with one for Robert Kubica, a huge one for Ferrari... ...and one for Nottingham Forest. No, they haven't decided to put a team in Superleague Formula; someone simply decided that the recently-relegated football team needed a presence at Silverstone. Dad noticed at the end of the weekend that the banner was simply left where it had been hung, so I guess whoever had it was an embarrassed Nottingham FC fan.

The Porsche race ended such talk, at least temporarily. The fastest driver seemed to be a Dutch man with a helmet vaguely resembling Rubens Barrichello's usual helmet with a name I couldn't spell (I ended up noting him down as B'garter, but he's really called Jeroen Bleekemolen). He was leading for most of the race, but then Rast overtook him two laps from the end. A couple of cars went off the road, but it wasn't the thrills-and-spills series I'd remembered from my last visit to Silverstone in 2002.

I'd just finished munching on sandwiches and a yoghurt when the five-minute call came for qualifying. Q1 was a session of emotions going all over the place.

The delight at seeing Fisi come out of the pits first. It shouldn't have meant anything what point he came out of the pits, but feeling the positive energy of a crowd greet the first car out of the pits made me feel really happy

The worry at seeing Fisi finish his first run in 19th, deep into the drop-out zone.

The pleasure of seeing his team-mate, Sutil, in 10th (note I support Force India first and foremost, it just happens I support Fisichella independently of that team support as well).

Feeling my eyes raise when Hamilton wobbled half-way into the session. He didn't come off the track, but it felt like a near thing.

The little grin I afforded myself when the Force Indias began their final run in the top 15.

The rising intensity of the crowd as Q1 inched towards the climax point where the counter hit zero and the red lights came on, stopping all new attempts to escape the dreaded drop-out zone. Cheers increased in volume, klaxons honked at more frequent intervals and I whispered under my breath:

"Forza Fisico, Forza Force India, Come on Jenson and Lewis, Forza Fisico, Forza Force India... ...and it'll need it if Adrian keeps hitting traffic... ...Come on Jenson and... ...No, Lewis, you can do better than that... ...Forza Fisico, Forza Force India... ...yellow thing, get out of Fisi's way..., Come on Jenson and Lewis, Forza OOF!"

The "OOF" reverberated around the terrace, the grandstands and the whole circuit as Adrian's car, minus the rear wing and seemingly half the back end, appeared on the giant TV screens. Adrian was clearly struggling to catch his breath - it had been a big impact. Yellow flags soon turned to red.

After about 20 seconds that felt like that many minutes, Adrian got out of the car and went back to the pits via the medical centre. A replay was not reassuring - apparent total brake failure preceded a half-spin in the gravel and a side/rear impact so bad that the rear wing deposited itself into the prohibited zone separating track from spectator. Yes, we all went to Silverstone to get close to the action, but that was perhaps a little closer than anyone intended...

It was at this point that I looked to the left of the screen. The news was bad. Adrian obviously couldn't do any more qualifying anyway, but he was only 18th. Worse still, Giancarlo, who'd been on a better lap prior to the red flag, was stuck in 16th. The 24 remaining seconds were barely enough to do an out-sector, never mind an out-lap. He took the news calmly enough by the look of the camera, but the look on his face when a post-qualifying interviewer told him that his team-mate had caused the red flag was priceless.

The one good thing for Force India was that they did out-qualify two cars on merit. Unfortuantely for me and the rest of the crowd, one of them was Hamilton. Of all the races his girlfriend Nicole Scherzinger could have chosen to watch Lewis race, this was not the best one!

Sebastien Buemi surprised everyone by bothering to go out in the 24 seconds remaining. Either he was milking the crowd (in which case it worked) or he wanted a tiny bit more data (success in that case being harder to determine).

Q2 was fairly uneventful, though Nakajima was kept off the top slot (which he'd held in Q1) due to a dominating display from the Red Bulls, along with good runs from Trulli, Barrichello and Raikkonen. Kimi's team-mate Massa got knocked out of Q2 and it seemed particularly baffling. He was joined by the BMWs, Piquet Jr. and Kovalainen, all of whom had inferior machinery to that required to be in Q3 (OK, Piquet Jr's team-mate Fernando got into Q3, but only by the skin of his teeth).

Q3 quietly established that the Red Bulls were still powerful, but Barrichello placed himself between Vettel and Webber. Button was 6th, 0.78 seconds behind the pole-sitter, which muted the crowd a little, but Vettel got justified applause for his success.

There were a few spots of rain at the start of the GP2 feature race, but they cleared away without the drivers needing to remove their slick tyres. That said, my support of the FMSI team did not go particularly well at the beginning - one of their drivers, Razia, spun in the pitlane exit while attempting to reach the grid! He started from the pit lane.

There was a crash on the first lap as one of the "Russia"-branded cars went off, colliding into Petrov (Valerio's team-mate) in the process. There were a couple of other crashes as drivers struggled a bit with the damp conditions. However, Valerio kept everything pointing the right way to win for Nelson Piquet Jr.'s team. I was pleased to see that FMSI's race had gone better than the pre-race omens indicated. Razia had gone from the pit lane to 10th while his team-mate, Andreas Zuber, went from 16th to 8th. This was important because it gave him pole for the sprint.

In Formula BMW, it was a tense battle between Dutchman Frijes and Malaysian-sounding but British-passport-holding Mansoor. The latter led for most of the race but was passed on the last lap, much to the crowd's disappointment. FMSI had a middling race, with Piñero starting and finishing 11th and his team-mate going from 24th to 17th. Oh well, there was always tomorrow...

The historics race was difficult to keep track of. A Lister E-type won the race, but most of what I saw was various cars heading out of the pits for repairs and the occasional crasher (a Lola T79 being the best crash, if such a moniker can be given to crashes that are likely to cost private collectors a lot of money).

With the day's racing over, we made our way back to the campsite. There was a hog roast, which interested us until we noticed they were charging £5 for a bit of pig in a cob. So instead Dad and I joined the 45-minute queue for the showers and I talked to a fellow camper about hire cars, Stonehenge and the wisdom (or lack of same) of following herds.

Later that night, I tried to sleep to a backdrop of "Wonderwall" being sung in about sixty different keys. The alarm was set for 5:30am, ready for what promised to be a magical day...

* - I had to block out my parents chopping wood outside and the ear defenders seemed overkill for the job.