Formula 1 racing drivers in the 1980s: Mr Piquet’s ladies

It was in the winter of 1982 when Dieter Stappert, then BMW’s racing director, rang me and said: ‘It makes sense for Nelson (Piquet, U.M.) to get to know you better and for you two to hit it off. In short, we’re going out for dinner together next weekend.” A table was booked at one of Munich’s finest restaurants.

Nelson and his partner Sylvia, Stappert, my wife and I. Everything was top-class. We enjoyed a lovely aperitif, and whilst choosing our dishes, a pleasantly relaxed conversation developed – it was really cosy. The starter, a salad, was served and we looked forward to a delicious meal. We picked up our cutlery and tucked into the greens.

Then, in the midst of the cosy atmosphere, a blood-curdling scream: a cute little caterpillar was crawling on Sylvia’s lettuce leaf. A caterpillar. Sylvia dropped her fork and napkin, grabbed her handbag and coat, and fled the restaurant in a panic. Nelson followed – God only knows where. So much for our first get-together. It wasn’t to be the only dicey situation involving ‘the Piquets’.

That same winter, ‘the Piquets’ were staying at one of the finest hotels right at the top of the Ötztal valley. We travelled there with our little daughter, who was just over six months old at the time, to spend a lovely day with them in the sun and snow. What we hadn’t quite thought through was that a baby of that age needs special care throughout the day.

Being as fond of children as they were – and still are – they offered us their truly princely suite so that they could feed, change and entertain our little one to her and our satisfaction. My daughter was later able to boast proudly that she’d been pampered in a world champion’s palace. You really have to experience this kind of warmth first-hand, because, as I’ve hinted, there were also some difficult situations.

Qualifying for the 1984 Monaco Grand Prix: Nelson had appeared in public for the first time with a new girlfriend, Emanuela, just a few weeks earlier. For him, the relationship with his long-term partner Sylvia was clearly over, as he allowed Emanuela, with great self-assurance, to remain constantly in his immediate vicinity as a matter of course.

For Sylvia, however, the matter was by no means over. (She was to be proved right; later, she and Nelson became parents to two children, Nelson Jr. and Kelly.)

For whilst Nelson struggled in vain to secure a good starting position, his ‘ex’ appeared, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, in the Brabham pit, where Emanuela had made herself comfortable on the pit wall. Suddenly, the atmosphere became electric. And not just because Piquet simply couldn’t manage to set any good lap times.

The gentlemen busy at the back of the pit did their utmost to keep the two ladies happy, each on their own, and in doing so managed to prevent a major scene. Which, given the temperament of both women, was by no means a foregone conclusion.

I’ll never forget how the two of them spontaneously and willingly came to my aid when I’d nearly ruined an important photo shoot with the champion by the skin of my teeth: the arrangement was that I was to meet him at 11 o’clock on the Thursday morning before the 1985 Austrian Grand Prix in Zeltweg. Half an hour – after that, Nelson had other commitments.

I set off late from Munich in his brand-new M Coupé, rushed towards Spielberg and, at a bottleneck, was only able to avoid a write-off by clenching my buttocks together with all my might and weaving my way between two slow-moving motorists. There was a clatter on the left, a clatter on the right. Both wing mirrors were – or so I feared – wrecked.

Nelson greeted me with a smug: “Uwe, you’re late – no photos.” I told him about my adventure and we inspected the mirrors. “No problem,” said Sylvia, “I’ve got the paint.” She came over with her nail varnish, and in no time at all she’d painted the right-hand wing mirror, whilst he did the left.

A quarter of an hour later, the photos were in the bag.