JANA HOCKING AT THE F1: A Hollywood star’s girlfriend overshares about their sex life, a fashion A-lister’s confession makes ME blush… and who was caught snorting in the bathrooms?

Pray for my liver, dear readers, because it has been a week! I travelled south to Melbourne for the F1 and found myself in the most extraordinary situations.

Dancing to Sporty Spice’s DJ set, dodging espresso martini spills at Glamour on the Grid, and discussing tantric sex with a famous fashionista… it was a glorious week.

It all began on Wednesday when I madly binged episodes of Netflix’s Drive to Survive on the plane, thinking it would bring me up to speed on a sport I knew nothing about. Safe to say, the first few episodes unpacking Christian Horner’s scandal did the trick. I was instantly hooked! (Side note: Ginger Spice’s husband is really hot, which just proves once more that I must remain single until I sort out my bad taste in men. Sigh.)

Anyway, it was straight off the plane, a quick hair and makeup touch-up, an outfit change, and then off to the F1 track for Glamour on the Grid, an exclusive party for celebs, WAGs and influencers that is exactly what it sounds like.

Now, no one had given me the memo that this was the event of the year for Melbourne’s social set. I’ve been to the Logies (Australia’s version of the Emmys) and the ARIA Awards (our Grammys) and never in my days have I seen so much couture in one place. A well-known makeup artist told me he had been booked out months in advance… so what happened next was a bona fide disaster.

Right as the red carpet was about to start on the racetrack, Mother Nature decided to play a cruel joke. It didn’t just rain – it stormed! Everything was put on hold as photographers ran for cover, celebrities stayed in their Ubers, and I… well, I decided to make the most of it and took some fabulously dramatic photos holding an umbrella.

I paid the price later when my curls went flat. As my mother would say, ‘That’s what you get for showing off.’

Eventually, the storm passed, and the night resumed – though not before a fellow attendee made a passive-aggressive comment about me ‘trying to be Jane Bunn’ in my dress. (FYI, my American and British readers, she is a delightfully curvy weather presenter everyone in Melbourne is obsessed with.) Look, it was booby, but also fabulous (as is Jane!) Can we stop with the body-shaming? It’s 2025, for God’s sake.

And okay, I’m not going to lie – I wanted to hate this party. It was hellfire to get into. But it was good. Really good.

Despite the night starting with thunderstorms and delays, I watched as the most beautiful people in outrageously expensive outfits stormed the photo wall. That was entertaining for a while – especially watching the women in dresses with long trains trying to wring out the rainwater – but I eventually got bored.

The celebs were celeb-ing, and the crowd was ridiculously good-looking… I just didn’t know who most of them were. Well, aside from Lindy Klim and her gorgeous daughter, Erin Holland, Rebecca Harding, Bec Judd and Nadia Bartel. The rest? Models or influencers, maybe? One thing that brought me immense joy, however, was not seeing a single MAFS contestant! A publicist friend told me that Melbourne frowns upon reality stars at social events, and honestly, Sydney should take note.

A woman in a stunning gold sparkly dress joined our group for a drink, and we all assumed she was a WAG – until an extremely old man approached her, and we realised he was her husband.

As the TikTokers say, ‘We listen, we don’t judge.’

The big hype of the night was that Channing Tatum‘s new Australian girlfriend, 25-year-old model Inka Williams, was attending. When I was at Sydney Airport en route to Melbourne, I ran into my favourite paparazzo and, obviously, quizzed him on who he was waiting for.

‘Channing Tatum’s sheila,’ he said. I’ll have to keep an eye out for her, I thought…

Hours later, at the red carpet, all I could hear was, ‘Is Inka here yet?’ ‘Has anyone seen Inka?’ Now, to be fair, I couldn’t have picked her out of a line-up.

So imagine my surprise when I was sitting down for drinks with Bec Harding and Montana Cox, and the most stunning woman I’d ever seen in my life sat next to me and leaned in for a chat. I introduced myself, and she replied, ‘Hi, I’m Inka.’

We chatted about where we both lived, and she said LA. I told her I’d never really taken to LA – it’s a tad too fake for my liking. And she replied, and I quote…

‘No, I’m not a fan either. But I don’t really go out much. I love to go camping, hiking and have lots of sex with my boyfriend. That’s all I do in LA.’

Reminder: her boyfriend is Mr Channing Tatum.

I, for one, could sign up for that kind of lifestyle. Heck, I’d even go on a tiresome hike if it meant a naked re-enactment of his Magic Mike ‘Pony’ scene at the end of it.

Our conversation was tragically interrupted when a flying espresso martini landed on Bec after Montana stood up and we discovered the table was very wobbly.

It was time to call it a night. I graciously accepted my gift bag containing some fabulous slippers, then shuffled to the courtesy bus that would take us all back to civilisation.

The next F1 party was at the Royce Hotel, hosted by Champagne Taittinger. Once again, Melbourne’s social set put this Sydney gal to shame. I arrived in a cute leopard-print dress, only to find a Great Gatsby-esque scene awaited me. Think women in long black ball gowns, Kate Langbroek in a full silver sequin jumpsuit. Okay, Jana, lift your game.

No expense was spared. Caviar bumps were being handed out left, right, and centre – and my actor friend was subtly informed they usually only give one bump per guest.

Speaking of bumps, a WAG at the party told me that Glamour on the Grid had been ‘all the same faces as last year’ and that there was ‘more snow in those toilets than a white Christmas’. I must have missed that! No one told me and my crew…

(Note: It is not suggested anyone mentioned or pictured in this article took drugs.)

Just as the night was winding down, fashion designer Pip Edwards arrived with her bestie Mike Nolan, bringing some star power. She had just landed back from LA and was telling me how exhausted she was after a few days at the F1. I mentioned I was heading to LA soon for a slightly controversial retreat, and she casually shared that she’d done one on tantric sex where she learned 10 different handjob techniques.

Honestly, just when I thought I couldn’t love her more, she outdoes herself. Pip is the kind of person you want to sit next to at a dinner party. I instantly understood how she put all those sexy ex-boyfriends under her spell. Fascinating woman.

By Sunday, I had wrangled my way into the F1 inner circle and toured a few of the ridiculously lavish suites. One, hosted by a streaming service, served Greek chicken with tahini feta sauce, dukkah-crusted pork, baked salmon with green apple and pine nut salad, and a decadent cheese plate. Oh, and brownies with dulce de leche. Ah, the F1 proving, once again, it’s a sport for the rich and famous. Certainly beats the meat pies at the cricket.

After the race, it was time for the after-party: Don Julio at Marmont. This time, I didn’t mess around fashion-wise. I was gifted a Camilla two-piece, and thank God I wore designer because the crowd was dressed to the nines.

I finally fulfilled a lifelong dream: I met a Spice Girl! Sporty Spice DJ’d a set, flawlessly mixing ‘Wannabe’ into Fatboy Slim‘s ‘Praise You’. 

Unlike Glamour on the Grid, this party was stacked with recognisable faces. Celebrity chef Curtis Stone was having a glorious time with his agent from New York, Scott Tweedie was in fine form, Pip was there again with her posse, and footy great Nathan Buckley showed up with his stunning girlfriend Brodie Ryan…while his ex Alex Pike, stood across the room. Awkward! Also spotted: Christian Petracca and his wife Bella Beischer, Jordan Ablett and a few Aussie Rules football heavyweights.

By the end of the night, tiny tequila bottles were being handed out, which led to one almighty hangover and a painful plane ride home.

But I get it now. The F1 is a big deal – because most of the action happens off the track. Go sport!