I can’t even remember the year. I think it was 1996, it might be 1997. It doesn’t help that the winner was the same in both those years. The event: British Grand Prix at Silverstone; The winner: Jacques Villeneuve. But the year and the winner are both academic, they have absolutely nothing to do with why one of them was is my favorite sporting event.

As a little kid I fell in love with Formula One, thanks to the heroics of the legendary Nigel Mansell. I was a massive Williams fan, but until this point, all I’d done was see the races on TV and read about the drivers in magazines and books. Then my Dad’s new company decided they were giving the staff free tickets to the Grand Prix.

As soon as I found out I was mega excited. Everyone at school was told, I talked about it every day -- who would win, who would crash, what had happened so far in the world championship and so on and so forth. Then came July and the Silverstone weekend. Our tickets only covered race day so qualifying was followed on the TV the day before.

We set off around midnight, and I slept most of the way there. I was only about 10 years old, so staying up ‘til midnight was pushing it. On the way there, I was to do something which would turn out very, very bad later.

As a kid, I never travelled well. These days I’m fine (unless hungover), but back then I was bad. My dad had crashed his car a couple of days before, thanks to “some lousy woman driver” as he put it at the time. So we had a crappy little one-litre Peugeot replacement until my dad’s car was fixed. I threw up in it, badly, all over the dash, glovebox and seats.

The next service station was reached, it was cleaned up as best as possible, and my favorite dinosaur socks were tossed into the car park bin, much to my distress. But it didn’t matter, we were close to Silverstone, by now I was fully awake and excited. There’d be no more sleep now.

We hit the traffic jams as we arrived at the circuit, but it didn’t matter. We were there. The weather was a bit overcast and slightly miserable, but that didn’t matter either, and besides, we had a massive umbrella.

When you walk into the circuit, it hits you: the sights, the sounds, the smells, the atmosphere. This was motor racing, and I loved it.

In the morning, we’d set up camp on one of the many stony embankments surrounding the track. However, we went for dinner and a toilet break and found our seats had been taken upon our return. The decidedly terrible burgers (part of the experience) were eaten at pace and so we went in search of alternate seating for the race. We found it.

On top of some maintenance hut -- with a bunch of rowdy, entertaining, drunken Aussies. It was difficult to climb as a 10-year-old, but help was given and once up, it was great. We were sat at the first corner, high up, with a great view. I remember all the things that made it so great -- the car spinning off at high speed into the gravel in-front of us; the wail of the engine ripping through the air (ear plugs? Never!); the sight of my beloved Williams winning. I loved it all.

Sadly, as the race ended, the weather turned for the worse. Our plan was to stay and watch the BTCC race, but the torrential rain put a stop to that. On the trek to the car, we picked up a couple of t-shirts. I still have mine in the loft somewhere. There’s no way it would fit these days but I don’t think I could ever get rid of it.

Then we got back to the car, and that lovely vomit smell hit us. Thank God it was only a couple of days until my Dad’s car was fixed.

Jon Bellwood is a regular contributor to Atomic Sports Media, focussing on International motor sports. He can be reached at jon.bellwood@atomicsportsmedia.com.