There were a couple of crummy garages down at far the end of the Le Mans pits, just where the grandee-team cars would open up the throttles as they rejoined the 24-hour race; the noise was deafening.
Easily overlooked, their peeling, leaking concrete structures were as far as possible from the gadabouting opulence of the sponsors’ hospitality stacked over the main pits. No silky frocks and stilettoes graced the bare concrete floors, no shiny and happy folk paid admiring visits.