I've been around historic motorsport since the year dot, covering a wide ranging, multitude of disciplines, sometimes happening just next door, I'm thinking Silverstone, Brooklands and Brecon, and sometimes further afield, China for example, where the people could not have been enthusiastic about seeing old cars. They loved my 1960 Jaguar MK2. 

Anyway what I'm trying to say is: At this moment in time, I rank my weekend at Monaco in the top three, best ever, perhaps, having had my eardrums beaten about no end by proper Formula One engines (think Ferrari V12, BRM and Cosworths) for the last three days, I'd give it a ten out of ten. 

My decision to go, not taken until the preceding Wednesday, was a late one. I checked out easyJet, and availability fitted exactly, depart Thursday afternoon and back, late Sunday night. Ignoring all the add-ons, such as, did I want to sit with the pilot or, stand in the shortest queue, I thought £202 return a fair price. Okay so the plane broke down at the last minute, but we were only four hours late into Nice Airport. From there it was only a short train ride downtown where again my three and a half star hotel, very comfortable and in the old part of town, surrounded by small family run restaurants was great value, about the same as my flight. So, so far so good. Some Chinese food, and an early night.

Next day and I was back on the train. Destination, Monte Carlo. Time. 20 minutes. Cost. Six euro. Regularity. Every ten minutes. Just time for a coffee and croissant. Train pulls into station. Along the passageway, down the stairs and out into the daylight. I've arrived, and it's still only 08.15. The town is fast asleep. 

Last time yours truly was in Monaco was for Rallye Monte Carlo Historique, back in January, first week of February. Then it was oh so different. And not because of the cold wind and drizzle. Only the official harbour side ramp plonked down opposite the ACM headquarters gave the game away, telling locals a rally was in town, whereas now, the residents have been told to clear off while the organisers build a race track.  And that includes miles of FIA approved fencing and more than a dozen sky reaching temporary grandstands. All I had to do was reach Port Hercule. Ha. After getting lost, more than once, I had to ask a policeman.

Port Hercule, jutting out into the yacht filled harbour served as the paddock and what a paddock! Smothered as it was with delectable, all time, favourite race car confectionary, think Bugatti and ERA, BRM and Lotus, Ferrari and more Ferrari. Maserati, McLaren, and March, and Hesketh, everyone fit for purpose and as with their drivers, raring to go. 

Friday passed under blue skies, twenty-one degrees and a gentle breeze. Saturday less blue sky, and after lunch on Sunday, it rained, but not enough to spoil the party. Everybody, to a person left for home that evening happy, the shrill sound of yesterday's Formula 1 cars still ringing in their ears. Epic, yes, Expensive, yes. Worth the endless wait at Nice Airport Passport Control, most definitely. Truly three days to savour, and write about with relish.