James McBride took an unscheduled break from practice with us last Monday evening. We wish him a full and speedy recovery from his high-speed crash. RR Berrie DSM has visited James in hospital and relayed our good wishes to him.

In keeping with tradition, at all the practices so far this year, we have secured the Gorse Lea position by the time roads have closed and have been rewarded with coffee and delicious home-made cakes from Mrs Berrie’s excellent Aaron House, The Promenade, Port St Mary, establishment (appointed supplier of high-class gateaux and beverages to the Gorse Lea Marshals).

I have had numerous inquiries about the welfare of the Gorse Lea Pheasant. He has, you may remember, a dangerous hobby of flying across the course from a concealed position in the impenetrable undergrowth bordering the stunning gardens of Gorse Lea House, at a height obviously calculated to generate maximum, in-your-face fear for any approaching racer. The GLP has been conspicuously absent from his usual 7.22pm flight slot this year, and speculation was rife at the Gorse Lea Shelter that he might have gone down with Euromanx. However, I am delighted to report that he is down with Tom at Ballagarraghyn and has been seen several times, strutting around on the road, tail raised in the arrogant position, just ahead of approaching bikes (the pheasant that is – not Tom).

We also had to watch helplessly on Tuesday evening as a duck and seven tiny ducklings jumped down from the Pheasant’s previous point of take off to play chicken (or should it be duckling?) with approaching bikes, before sauntering diagonally across the Course to the safety of Harold’s field. At the debriefing following this incident it was considered that a line of strategically placed oranges might prove to be an effective duck deterrent (although nobody was prepared to foot the bill - all claiming to be skint, and one suggesting that it was a problem for the Peelers).

On Wednesday evening there were fresh anxieties for the team as a large bull became amorous with a cow or heifer (renamed “one of the udders” as we did not have a livestock specialist present) by the fence opposite the post. It was agreed that it might not be appropriate, or wise, to red flag him.

Our numbers at the frontier outpost and gateway to the original Wild West (Peel) were increased on Friday by Cargo. He’d walked out from Douglas along the route of the old railway line, investigating the idea of improving his MGP lap times by taking the odd short-cut. We also enjoyed the company of Sector Marshal Fitzgerald, appropriately dressed in a Stetson (and some other stuff). Concealed about his person he had an alarming array of mobile phones and radios, leading to conjecture that it was he who caused the partial collapse of the Manx cellphone system. SM Fitzgerald brought with him Belgian Frank, who became a fully fledged member of the team following his unprecedented success in the “Find the Photographer” initiation challenge set during Saturday’s racing.

We were all bitterly disappointed for the many who gave so much in Saturday’s racing, only to be let down by technology. There were appreciative gasps of amazement when young-gun Gary Johnson was heard to be mixing it with the leaders on a Concrete Honda. He reinforced his challenge by achieving an astonishing 4th place. We speculated on what he might have achieved on a proper Honda.

Inexplicably, Saturday ended in a total breakdown of team self-control when RR Berrie DSM asked, “Who is number 3 in the sidecars?” and someone replied, “The driver’s Holden, the passenger’s Winkle.”


Gorse Lea Marshals – Always Up To Scratch.