Fridays used to be the end of the week, but for many of us, work rarely takes a weekend off. Take the example of Nascar driver Dick Trickle, who had to be rarin' to go every Sunday for more than three decades. Trickle racked up more than one million miles with his hands on the wheel of a race car, and did so as a heavy smoker in the era before nicotine patches. What's an old hand to do but take a brief break when competition and the flag man grant it?

Understanding what goes through the head of others in stressful situations is what makes stöke, metäl ümläüt's comment on Sir Brian May's state of mind during the Lotus-gasm so apt:

Somebody get me out of here. Please, someone, anyone, I have a Ph.D in astrophysics and I'm a Commander of the Order of the British Empire. Seriously, I don't know what I'm doing in Paris sandwiched between an anorexic and a pudgy douche. Please, I'm worth 70 million quid and I've authored some of the greatest rock songs of all time. Rourke won't stop muttering about how they took away his electric whips and that Baldwin chap reminds me of one of the 1920's robots in the 'Radio Ga Ga' video. If you can hear me, send help.