‘Georgia Pack, you’ve been off the radar since you finished runner-up in the European under-eighteens a few years back, but you’ll be the youngest pilot in tomorrow’s final, finishing second today. What does that feel like?’

‘Third,’ Georgia corrected, pushing her dad away, so she could look at the timing screens over the stage.

2nd Place Georgia Pack (UK, Junior)

Time 4:51.72

Penalties 0:00.00

Total 4:51.72

‘I don’t get it …’ Georgia said, scanning the screens.

‘Van Hooten copped a penalty,’ John explained. ‘He missed gate three after he spun exiting the laser tunnel. Why did you think we’re all jumping up and down and Van Hooten’s raging at the stewards?’

Now Georgia’s head was in a tangle. Sticking it to Van Hooten felt great and she hadn’t seen her dad this happy since before her mum walked out. But it also meant another night of her dad’s snoring at the Premier Inn, and having to work on her history project over the weekend.

‘Hey, Van Hooten,’ John carped across the stage. ‘Do you still want to take my underage daughter for a drink at your hotel? Or will you be skulking home to your windmill in your little clogs and sticking a tulip up your arse?’

Van Hooten’s face snapped around, radish red, as folks by the stage laughed.

‘What’s it like getting beat by a fourteen-year-old girl?’ Uncle Phil added, making a dickhead gesture.

‘This is absolute crap!’ Van Hooten fumed, booting one of the stewards’ plastic chairs. ‘This isn’t a proper course. It’s a television stage, designed by idiots.’

The Dutchman seemed keen to thump someone but got shepherded away by a couple of guys from his team.

Georgia did another short interview, with a bloke from Drone Racer magazine, then the event photographer made her feel awkward, telling her to put on a Rage Cola baseball cap, then lining her up with the pilot of deep-blue and taking pictures as each held one end of a sign with FINALIST written on it.

‘Eyes down my lens. Nice big smile! Come on, Georgia, a smile never killed anyone …’

Back at their table in the team concourse, John took a selfie with Georgia holding her drone and posted it to his Facebook and the @DronePack Twitter account: Tearful dad with my No1 Pilot. Qualified for final of Rage Cola Classic!!!

‘Don’t you dare tag me,’ Georgia warned. ‘I get enough stick for being a geek without everyone at school knowing I spent half-term wearing this atrocious bowling shirt.’

‘Gotta love teenagers,’ John laughed, looking at his brother and shaking his head. ‘When Georgia won her first league race, she took her trophy into primary school and was made up when the headmistress asked her to fly in morning assembly.’

‘Dad!’ Georgia moaned, covering her face. ‘Embarrassing me isn’t compulsory.’

‘Does that mean you don’t want me to forward the nice pic with Daddykins for your Instagram?’