Rarely have I seen anything quite as funny, in the slapstick sense, as Eddie Jordan and David Coulthard taking brief, unwilling, freefall trajectories into Red Bull's swimming pool after the Monaco Grand Prix.
DC's attempts at resistance were particularly fine, the lactescently-trousered driver-turned-commentator clinging to the railing like a limpet superglued to the hull of the Lusitania, clasping his BBC microphone like a magic amulet which would protect him from the ritualistic dowsing that surely awaited.
We may currently be in a transient window for Formula One, during which time the racing is brilliant, the cast of drivers superb, and the television coverage in the UK is, well, BAFTA-winning. No adverts, none of the crass studio conversations beloved of Sky Sports, just four hours of continuous coverage and analysis, saturating your cerebral cortex every other Sunday. Enjoy it while it's here.