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I will never forget those magic words from the man of few words back in the BBC Studios in London. Book your flight to Brazil was the simple message via my headphones from producer Derek Mitchell after Wayne Gardner finished fourth in the 37-lap race behind Eddie Lawson, Randy Mamola and Kevin Magee. Gardner had built up a fantastic rapport with the BBC radio listeners on a Sunday afternoon with stories of his Grand Prix adventures in the season. Damaging his wrist whilst arm wrestling on the ferry to Holland and being given a suppository instead of a pain killer by a circuit doctor with disastrous results during a race to name but a few. His fourth place in Jarama gave him a massive chance to clinch the World 500cc Championship at the penultimate round in Brazil and the BBC wanted to be there. It turned into the perfect decision with Gardner winning the title two weeks later – but that is another story.

The next season Portugal continued on the Grand Prix calendar but at a new venue and again not in Portugal. Jerez staged the race won again by Eddie Lawson. We then had a 12 year wait before the next Portuguese Grand Prix but, at last, it was in Portugal at the fantastic Estoril circuit just outside Lisbon.

I knew the track, the route from the airport and the flight times like the back of my hand because I had spent so much time there in the previous six years. It was the Rothmans Williams Renault Formula One test track. We launched the team there in 1994 with Ayrton Senna and talented motorcycle racer Damon Hill and I had watched David Coulthard win his first Grand Prix. I used to tell the F1 boys they need a motorcycle Grand Prix in Estoril to show the circuit’s true potential. In 2000 at last, Estoril was ready to stage a motorcycle Grand Prix and Garry McCoy did not let us down. The Australian typically just lit up the surface to set two wheels in motion with a memorable victory in that first race on Portuguese soil

His two Bimoto Yamaha mechanics had been refused entry and he only managed to get a precious visa because he had inherited a Norwegian passport from his father. Ekerold looked so much the likely World Champion as he trailed leader Mang through the villages, corn fields and forest. Suddenly the Champion elect started to slow, which we discovered later was with a broken piston ring. He limped home in tenth place, with Mang’s victory ensuring the pair would go into the final round in Germany on equal points.

I was first there with pen and notebook in hands as Ekerold limped into the pits and took off his helmet. Others with a bit more experience and nouse than the novice waited for the dust to settle. I had dived in as Jon was still removing his helmet with a breathless enquiry about why he had slowed and how he felt about not winning the World title. His reply was unprintable, and he made it very clear what he thought about me.

A week later I drove to an iconic venue for the final round of the 350 cc World Championship. The Nürburgring road circuit nestling in the Eifel mountains was on its last legs. As I drove into the paddock Jon Ekerold was waiting for me at the gate. I was ready for another ear bashing but instead he apologised for his outburst, said he was out of order and I was only doing my job and shook my hand. He then went out to produce a ride of pure genius and guts that you had to be there to appreciate.

His victory over Mang brought him that World title and left me with memories I will never forget. His last lap between the trees and barriers that lined the 22.835 kms deteriorating surface was one of the greatest single laps I have ever witnessed. His last lap would have qualified him in second place on the 500cc grid and his race time would have placed him fourth in the 500cc race.

Onto Austria on Sunday and I loved both the old Salzburgring and in recent years to the similar picturesque location of the Red Bull Ring. The Salzburgring was special especially watching those 500cc grand prix motorcycles at such a high speed. It was the ultimate amphitheatre for riders to show not only skill but so much nerve and courage. A little Alpine stream used to trickle between the trees past the media centre and a family ran the communication service, charging extortionate prices. Upset Mother, Father and especially Daughter and there was no chance of copy being filed

Thirteen years later in 1992 his great protégé Wayne Rainey had written off his chances of retaining his 500cc crown as the riders arrived in Assen for the eighth round of the Championship. Rainey could not even be there. The America Yamaha rider had crashed in practice at the previous round in Germany and his injuries forced him to retire from the race at Hockenheim. Mick Doohan won his fifth race of the season to open up what seemed an impregnable 65-point advantage over Rainey with just six rounds remaining.

That Friday afternoon of qualifying at Assen I will never forget. It was total carnage. Doohan crashed and broke his right leg. I was Media Manager for the Rothmans Honda team and listened as Mick and the team decided an operation at the local hospital rather than flying to London or the States would be the quickest solution. Mick even suggested he might be back for the next round in Hungary in just 15 days’ time. He was joined in the hospital by Kevin Schwantz who had broken his forearm and dislocated his hip after a collision with the Cagiva of Eddie Lawson. Schwantz, riding the Suzuki was second in the Championship, 53 points behind Doohan.

Then it all went so terribly wrong. Mick did not return to the track for seven long painful weeks. Gangrene had set in and to save having his leg amputated both legs had to be sewn together to try and restore the blood supply. All Mick could do was lie there praying he would not lose his leg and watch Rainey drip feed that precious 65-point Championship lead at the next three Grands Prix.

Mick finally returned for the penultimate round at Interlagos in Brazil. He was a shadow of the rider who had so dominated proceedings before Assen. Gaunt and grey after seven weeks of hell. His legs were spindly remnants of what they used to be, and his right calf was still encased in a light cast, but nothing was going to stop him defending that precious 22-point lead he still held over Rainey. I have never seen anybody give so much with absolutely no reward. After 28 laps, 121.044 kms of excruciating pain the Australian finished with no points in 12th place in the race won by Rainey, but he was back and ready for the final showdown at Kyalami in South Africa just two weeks later. He was hanging onto the Championship lead by two precious points

Fabio Quartararo had just turned 15 years old at Le Mans, and I was suitably mighty impressed. He won the FIM Junior World Championship race on route to his second successive World title. Not so impressive was my attempts to speak French to him in the resulting press conference. Typically, his English had improved a great deal more than my feeble French by the time he arrived in Qatar ten months later for his much-heralded Moto3™ World Championship debut. He was still 15 years old and the World was at his feet.

What a race under the floodlights to start your Grand Prix career. The teenager finished seventh but under eight tenths of a second behind race winner fellow Frenchman Alexis Masbou. Two weeks later he finished second behind World Champion elect Danny Kent in Austin. When he grabbed pole in the opening two European races at Jerez at Le Mans all the hype surrounding the next Rossi or Marquez seemed justified. The only question was when that first Grand Prix victory would come. It just never did in the Moto3™ class

In 1966, the TT races were postponed because of a Seamans strike that prevented anybody from getting to the Isle of Man. The re-scheduled TT was held two weeks after the Ulster Grand Prix and Mike Hailwood won them both for Honda with Giacomo Agostini second on both occasions.

The only other time I have encountered back-to-back Grands Prix in the same country just a week apart was back on my Formula One adventures. In 1995, it was the Pacific Grand Prix at the isolated Aida Mimasaka circuit followed by the Japanese Grand Prix at Suzuka seven days later. I spent the gap between races making an emotional trip to Hiroshima and watching Sumo wrestling with Eddie Irvine and his team.

I don’t think Fabio Quartararo will have time for any such journeys as he strives to continue to re-write the history books at Jerez. On Sunday he was just the fourth French rider to win a premier class race, the first French premier class winner since 1999, the first satellite Yamaha rider to win a MotoGP™ race and the eighth youngest premier class winner. Next Sunday he returns to the scene of that first triumph with the prospect of becoming the first rider to win back-to-back Grands Prix at the same circuit and just the second youngest rider to win back-to-back premier class races.

For the second week in succession, it promises to be another breathless encounter with those history books ready and waiting.

Football seemed flat at first without genuine crowd noise or even with the ‘canned’ crowd reaction, which reminded me of that added laugher we got in eighties television comedy shows. After a couple weeks we got used to it and MotoGP™ has still got the most important audio attachment of them all. Nobody back in the studio pushing the recorded audio button at the appropriate or in some cases wrong moment, just open the microphone and let that glorious-sounding symphony of sound and passion fill the room. Those high revving four-stroke engines, the gear changes up and down, the scrapping knees and elbows on the tarmac and even the grinding of a footrest and fairing when a mistake is not forgiven will return at Jerez.

Of course, it will be surreal as the sun rises early on Sunday morning over the usually jam-packed party-loving hillside overlooking Angel Nieto and Peluqui corners and to discover an empty desert of sand, grass and total silence. The air horns, the flags and sheer explosion of passion and excitement when the gladiators arrive in the arena to do battle will be sorely missed but when those lights change at the start it will be like we’ve never been away for six lonely months.