Deep breath on the way out of the Rascasse; you won't have another for the next 70 seconds.
The spectacle of qualifying at Monaco is underrated. Pure, primal, tooth-clenching commitment meets surgical precision for a flurry of kerb-hopping, wall-scraping daredevilry that juxtaposes against the serenity of the yachts, tousled by the faintest waves in the harbour. Add a legitimate battle for pole to that, and it's an utterly absorbing spectacle.
