Mercedes are happy but punters may fancy a stroll.On Sunday afternoon, clutching one betting slip with Sebastian Vettel etched on it and another with the phrase ‘each-way’ above the name Lewis Hamilton, I was as smug as a slug sat on a lettuce leaf on a rainy summer’s day.By Sunday evening, following the calamitous British Grand Prix, thick clouds had gathered and I was left scratching my head until a bald patch had appeared.I’m a great believer in the ethos that every cloud, no matter how dark, has a 40-watt bayonet-fitting incandescent candle-shaped bulb glowing in it somewhere. And it’s true.This morning, after someone twisted my dimmer-switch, I took the...
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