LIFE AND SOUL OF THE PARTY

Time to toast one of the sport's finest exponents

- Bob McKenzie

IT WAS another one of those nights in Formula One in the halycon days of the mid-90s, an evening in The Roannay restaurant in the village of Francorchamps just beside the Spa circuit for the Belgian Grand Prix.

The great and the good of F1 were there ahead of the upcoming race.

Suddenly the buzz of the dining room was shattered as Eddie Jordan jumped to his feet and said: "Look at this you lot. You're paying for your dinners. I've got the British press paying for mine ha ha."

Bernie Ecclestone was on another table, Ken Tyrell nearby, Tom Walkinshaw, who owned Arrows, close by and so many others. But EJ was never a man to be fazed in any company and his outrageous sense of mischief overcame any normal restrictions of behaviour most of us had. F1 had so many stories then, so many characters among the team owners and team principals but Jordan, this upstart Irishman as he referred to himself, at times was the best.