Brands GP

Woo Hoo! If only my Luxury Race Team Transporter's horn played "Dixie." With my baseball cap perched at a jaunty angle and Steve Earl belting out of the stereo I rolled out of Tesco's onto the A12 on my way to the Hamster's equivalent of the Indy 500, Brands GP. By 6 we had been admitted to the lower paddock and a small cauldron of chilli had been warmed up for my tea, in keeping with the redneck theme. Thereafter I helped the Colonel's carers erect his awning, he can do it himself but like most things, at that age, it takes him a very long time, and he usually needs a picture of Vera Lynn.

Friday practice was more like the Undie 500, complete pants. The rain lasted only long enough for me to fit a B'stone 090 on the rear and right on cue the sun came out. Two laps in the rear decided to have little race with the front to see who would be first out of Druids. I rolled down cooper straight hoping that the stain removing power of Vanish was all it was claimed to be and stuck my foot out to indicate I was coming off. As I crossed onto the exit it felt like someone had pushed me. I saw the white snout of a fairing and my initial thought was that some "Super Weaner" had got it all wrong. I stopped laughing long enough to realise I was now on the grass and falling off. As I got to my feet I looked over and saw Fish getting to his feet. Were Team NoBra engaged in some pre-race sabotage. Fish had seen my foot but confused this with my left which does strange things trying to get back on the peg after changing gear. He thus decided to show how big n clever he is by going round the outside of me on Surtees. This does shed new light on his failed bid to become Evertons new goalkeeper however, as I watched him put his head in his hands and miss.

Race one Saturday and maintaining the redneck theme, I had more fun when my dentist told me I had an std. Slithering round on a damp greasy road is fun in a pick-up truck, drinking beer and shooting at roadsigns with your 12 gauge. But I have already filled in my page of Brownie points for riding in the wet. Only enjoyable point was riding round a 350 on Surtees, I cant remember who it was but they should now go pick up the "Pink Tutu of Shame" from the cleaners where I left it.

Race two and the sun had come out and with it a smile on my face. I made a good start and had a look at Moose round the outside on Druids, but it was Hawthorn before I got past. Alas it was all for nothing as a rose joint in my gear linkage came undone and left the lever flapping around on my foot. Sometimes in racing it seems like the only luck you get is the "Shit out of" kind.

That night I sought a little consolation in a bottle of JD. Bally, Fish and Moose turned up to help me drink it. The Colonel managed to give his carers the slip and after drinking his own weight in Fosters rolled his zimmer over to join us all in a nightcap, tho ironically he was the only one actually wearing one. It was a truly marvellous evening. Bally had us in stitches with tales of crashes past. I had no idea what time what time it was when I got to bed but it was way past my usual bedtime of 10:30

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear even if I did'nt. The empty bottle of JD didnt so much speak volumes, but shouted them into my paper thick skull. This was going to need coffee magic. Suitably charged with eye of newt and wing of bat Gandalf the Shiny perked out a Red Cross strength brew. Two cups of that restored a pulse and kickstarted my central nervous system. For those of you unfamiliar with my morning java thats enough to turn a three toed sloth into an Olympic gymnast.

Race one and I was close to borrowing a guitar off Moose to right a Country n Western classic. Tipping it into Westfield chasing Peter Wright the rear went walkabout. As I rolled the loud switch off it became clear I had a puncture. If it were raining virgins I'd get Rangi's sister. So here goes -fx- slide guitar -fx- "Well I'm shit out of luck and mah tyres gone flat. Rangis sister smells bad, and she's twice as fat"; lets just call this a work in progress.

Last race of the weekend and it all was kissed and made better by a good start and a scrap with another of those pesky 350's that had longer legs on the straights but seemed blighted by braking, handling and directional probs on the corners. Which may explain why they were last seem heading off into the woods at Sterlings. That left me free to try and catch Moose n Peter W who looked to be having so much fun. But with only three laps I just couldn't reel them in. In fact the harder I tried to more ragged it got. No surprise then that my fastest lap was my last one when I had given up the chase.

By this time it was close to 6pm and I was in a hurry to get home. I have been sent to Leicester for the next two months,,, my luck continues. Leicester is like Paisley, but without the glamour. So I shall see you all at Cadwell. Rumours of secret testing sessions are partly true I was out last weekend on a 500 honda twin with the classics. A very different experience,,, so drop by Sat eve for a shot of the "good stuff" and tall tales well told. Hell we might even jest whittle some.

This is George Watson for Back O' the Grid, putting the count back into Country.

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