When Max Mosley was a young boy, his parents, Oswald and Diana Mosley, believed that a cultured education should include the study of German. To this end, Britain's most infamous fascist couple sent their son to school for two years in Bavaria, where apparently he proved to be a gifted linguist. Little could the Mosleys have imagined that his facility with the German tongue would bring him an international renown almost as tawdry - though incomparably more harmless - as their own.
Last week, the News of the World ran an exposé of what it termed Mosley's 'sick Nazi orgy with 5 hookers', complete with photos and, for the more staunchly inquisitive, a hidden-camera video-link of footage of the proceedings. Mosley was shown entering a Chelsea basement, where divested of clothing he was whipped and in turn whipped a prostitute. The session is said to have lasted five hours which, if nothing else, is undeniable testament to the 67-year-old's stamina.
The newspaper alleged that the sadomasochism was part of some kind of Nazi prisoner scenario, and based this assertion partly on the fact that Mosley was heard to give instructions in German. As far as invasions of privacy go, it was an absolute blitzkrieg, a summary annexation of the personal, a total war on dignity.
Mosley is the president of world motor sport's governing body, the FIA, and last week was told by the Crown Prince of Bahrain that he would be unwelcome at today's grand prix in the kingdom. It's like the Pope being told to stay away from a major Catholic cathedral. But strange times provoke strange measures, and these are strange times indeed for Mosley and, by association, motor racing.
German manufacturing giants BMW and Mercedes felt moved to issue this joint statement: 'The content of the publications is disgraceful. As a company, we strongly distance ourselves from it.' Adding that the consequences 'extend far beyond the motor sport industry'.
Mosley responded with a piece of stiletto sarcasm. 'Given the history of BMW and Mercedes-Benz, particularly before and during the Second World War, I fully understand why they should wish to strongly distance themselves from what they rightly describe as the disgraceful content of these publications.' Ouch.
Rarely in recent years, has Formula One racing produced this kind of competition or, it must be acknowledged, entertainment. Of course, it's unlikely to be quite so amusing to those involved, particularly Mosley, but he does not seem willing to ease the humiliation by quietly retiring from his position.
There are many things that could be said of Mosley, but a readiness to accept defeat is not chief among them. 'He's extraordinarily stubborn,' says one F1 paddock insider. 'He always thinks he can face a challenge down.'
Mosley was born in turmoil and spent much of his youth pursuing trouble. In May 1940, six weeks after his son's birth, Sir Oswald Mosley, leader of the British Union of Fascists, was interned as a threat to state security. Five weeks later Mosley's mother, Lady Diana Mosley, one of the Mitford sisters, was also imprisoned.
The Mosleys' wedding - a second marriage for them both - took place in October 1936 at the Berlin home of the Nazi propaganda chief Joseph Goebbels. One of the guests was Hitler.
Mosley didn't see his parents for the first three years of his life, aside from prison visits. And when eventually he did meet his mother, she was a distant presence. In her memoirs, Diana Mosley describes her son as precocious, amusing and a brave horse rider. But as he told one interviewer: 'No, you wouldn't cuddle her [his mother]. I'm closer to my children than I was to my parents. It was all those nannies, you know.'
Perhaps a psychiatrist could look at the Nazi sympathies of Mosley's parents, the coldness of his mother, and make something of it all that might explain the theatrical sexual punishment in that Chelsea basement. Or perhaps not.
Either way, Mosley does not seem to be a man given to weighty introspection. Rather, he prefers to smooth over the awkwardness of his earlier years with a worldly charm that does not always conceal his unconventional opinions.
When asked what his father would have done had he been British dictator during the war, he said: 'He would have made a deal with Hitler to protect the empire and he might have been right. When the dust settles and the awful things are forgotten, we'll see.'
He also said that his parents believed that had there not been a war, then the Holocaust would not have happened.
His childhood was spent between homes in Ireland and Paris, and there was much travelling around the high end of Europe. Though ostensibly shunned by the British establishment, many aristocratic families and friends remained on good terms with the Mosleys. There were also visits to authoritarian politicians such as General Franco in Spain.
Mosley studied physics at Oxford. While still a student, he married Jean. They've been together for 48 years, and have two sons, Alexander and Patrick. 'At Oxford,' he recalled, 'one was press-ganged into politics; people attack my father, so one had to defend him. But I can't pretend I didn't enjoy it.'
Indeed he joined his father's Union Movement, the successor to the BUF, and took part in street battles in the East End. In 1962 he was arrested after attacking anti-fascist demonstrators who had knocked over his father. He told the court he could 'not be expected to stand idly by' and was acquitted. The year before, he canvassed in Moss Side for the Union Movement, which was campaigning to 'send blacks home'.
Mosley does not seem to have renounced this past. Instead he cites his later attempt to stand as a Conservative candidate in the 1980s, and his support, including financial donations, for Tony Blair's Labour government.
After Oxford he went on to specialise in trademark law. But his heart was in motor racing. He bought a car from the young Frank Williams, later leader of one of F1's most successful teams, and set about establishing himself in F2. One of the things that he liked about the sport was its indifference to his background. He recalled thinking: 'I've found a world where they don't know about Oswald Mosley.'
The highlight of his career was once overtaking Graham Hill in a dangerous manoeuvre (this was at a time when driver fatalities were commonplace). 'I could see him looking at me and thinking, "That bloke's a complete lunatic."'
As things stand, Hill's judgment is no longer a minority opinion. In fact, there were signs that Mosley, who became FIA president in a 1993 coup, had been losing the support of the paddock before the S&M story broke. For most of his reign, the word on Mosley has been best summarised by Frank Williams, who said he was 'very, very intelligent and competent, with a streak of ruthlessness'.
With Bernie Ecclestone, the F1 kingpin, he has inspired fear and respect in equal measure, mostly notably, perhaps, in the 2005 F1 civil war, when he successfully thwarted a bid by the teams to take over the running of the sport. But some recent statements have offended sports insiders to a degree that may count against him. Of three-time F1 world champion, Sir Jackie Stewart, he said in December: 'He knows nothing about sports governance. Because he never stops talking, he doesn't know much about anything, actually. He just talks.'
What Stewart had been talking about on this occasion was the need to remove 'any concern over the genuine independence and impartiality' of the FIA, a suggestion that, though unstated, may have entailed the departure of Mosley.
His contract for the unpaid job of president (the expenses, including the use of a private jet, are not bad) is due to end in 2009. He's spoken of going before, but each time stayed on usually, he admits, to spite those who say he should go.
This time, it's different. Being turned away from Bahrain was a huge insult even to a man who has received more than a reasonable share of them. And the disapproval of the manufacturers is not easily dismissed with a sardonic comment. In the paddock over the weekend the talk has not been of Lewis Hamilton or Kimi Räikkönen. Instead it's been devoted to the unusual sexual proclivities of a 67-year-old son of a fascist.
That's not ideal for a sport that takes pride in its glamorous image and exclusive brand sponsors. But the opinion that matters more than any other is that of Ecclestone, who is the effective owner of F1. Mosley used to be Ecclestone's lawyer. Now he's waiting on his judgment.
So far Ecclestone's been noncommittal. 'He must do what he believes, in his heart of hearts, is the right thing,' before adding, on a more philosophical note: 'If Max was in bed with two hookers, they'd say, "good for you" or something like that. But this, as it is, people find it repulsive. I think that's the problem.'
And for the man who once overtook Graham Hill, it may prove impossible to put behind him.
The Mosley Lowdown
Born 13 April 1940
Best of times In 1993, he was appointed president of the FIA. The FIA Senate called for him to stay on when he announced his retirement in 2004.
Worst of times If not now, maybe in 1961 when he was fined for obstructing a policeman while demonstrating against an anti-apartheid protest
What he says 'I don't mind flak: I come from a family where we have had flak all our lives.'
Explaining his robust attitude to professional criticism in February.
What others say
'I don't honestly believe this affects the sport in any way. Knowing Max it might be all a bit of a joke. You know, it's one of those things where he's sort of taking the piss, rather than anything against Jewish people.'
Bernie Ecclestone on the 'Nazi orgy' allegations.
'He makes decisions by himself. They ignore all those on the ground. A federation is an association of clubs and this federation must defend the interests of those clubs.'
Jacques Regis, head of Fédération Française du Sport Automobile, in 2004.