Bound to an impregnable contract in a preeminent car alongside a subservient team-mate there seems little doubt Lewis Hamilton has already cemented his status as the Colossus of his generation - and biggest tool of any. Swinging into 2019 action on a Puma-logo'd vine, draped head to foot in Tommy Hilfiger, Brand Hamilton looks to secure a L'Oreal drenched 6th title against seemingly insurmountable odds - until you hear the main opposition is F1's most brittle man in the red corner and a potato aping a lapdog in the silver. Fresh from his humiliation of Vettel , the never-too-far-from-Stevenage-if-some-humble-brag-is-required champion now stands on the brink of the brink of equaling Michael Schumacher's seemingly unassailable driver's championship haul. In spite of the Englishman's own client-foot-shooting media team trying to convince you his latest pastime, rapper mate or hat is The Thing, the F1 legacy his considerable driving achievements evoke can't be gainsaid. *God* he's annoying.