It’s that time of the year. Anywhere you go, you can guarantee that whoever you meet, the first thing that he or she will say will be: ‘It’ll soon be Practice Week’.
The Manx, as a race, can be very predictable. The Manx Music Festival, which will always be known as ‘The Guild’ is a case in point.
If the skies drop a single spot of rain in Guild Week the ones in the know will tap the side of their collective noses, shake their heads, and say: ‘Well you know what week it is’.
Christmas has its perennials. Wherever you go you will hear: ‘It doesn’t feel a bit like Christmas’, ‘It’s just for the kids really’, and this is the one that really creases me up:
if there has been an accident, or someone has lost their personal skirmish with an illness, you are sure to hear the wise words: ‘Somehow, it always seems worse at Christmas’. No it doesn’t. Try telling that to the poor victim.
And the same thing goes for the most famous motorcycle race in the world. It is no exception.
Be it the weather or whatever, there will be a stock response just waiting to be brought into the conversation at the right time.
And when you think about it, it does sometimes feel there really is something out there just waiting to happen.
Now, I don’t normally take any notice of conspiracy theories, but sometimes when you put two and two together...
Take the Steam Packet. If the slightest thing happened to go wrong with the Manannan or the Ben-my-Chree during the TT it has the potential for complete chaos.
Likewise, just imagine the upset that would follow a serious road blocking accident on the TT Course.
And what has recently happened? The Manannan came off second best after a head-butting contest with the Victoria Pier.
And one of the Snaefell Mountain Railway trams was reduced to matchwood when it made a break for freedom.
And do you know what? I don’t think these two happenings were accidents.
I think they were practising.
As sure as Boxing Day follows Christmas, someone, somewhere is waiting with a metaphoric spanner to drop into whatever works is least expecting it. It’s unstoppable.
I think the boss of the Steam Packet must be a nervous wreck just trying to guess where the blow will strike.
All he can do is to try and think of the number of things that could possibly go wrong, and double it. And just to be sure, consult a fortune teller.
The next worse job in the world at TT time must go to the head of the police road traffic unit. I hope he believes in fairies, because he’s sure to need a bit of extra help.
Have you noticed that if, for example, there is an accident on the Ramsey coast road, there will be another one at Glen Helen 10 minutes later?
But what has more control over every aspect of the TT than anything else? The weather. The one part of the equation that absolutely no one has any control over, but that everyone relies on.
The Steam Packet can prepare their ships to the finest detail, but a storm in the Irish Sea will have the last word.
Every year, as the TT draws nearer and the preparations enter the home straight, the lists of ‘jobs to do’ are gradually being crossed off. The burger sellers, the T-shirt printers and the campsite operators are ready to go.
The campsites can be five star or simply a tent in a field. A day of rain is a great equaliser.
The TT Course can be scrubbed, polished and painted until it shines, but a spot of low flying mist will soon show who’s in charge.
And the place where all the bucks stop is the desk of the clerk of the course. His job is probably on the same stress level as the man with his finger on the nuclear rocket launching trigger.
All I can say is good luck, and in the words of one Steam Packet captain: ‘Brace, brace, brace’.