It’s maybe a good job that Jaggy Bunnet isn’t providing rally bulletins any more. Methinks his clutch on reality may be slipping. Reports had it that he was seen on Mull this weekend, but I’m not so sure …. and yet the following missive from afar landed in my in-box this morning. If he was there it would seem that he spent more time in Tobermory Distillery than he did on the stages ….
According to him, this is a true record of proceedings ….
‘The Invasion of the White Boxes’ ….
They came from across the sea. Herds of ‘white boxes’ with many pulling smaller windowless white boxes and from Craignure and Fishnish they did scatter across the green and rocky landscape like swarms of aphids on the succulent green leaves of a beautiful rose. As they spread across the magical isle, many stopped and gathered together in smaller tribal encampments from whence these white boxes disgorged a whole army of assorted upright two legged figures.
Wearing an assortment of multicoloured apparel, the invaders were seen to roam aimlessly across the wild terrain seeking out what looked to be vantage points from which to inspect this wild domain. Amongst them were a lesser number of individuals sporting highly vivid rankings of yellow and green while a few, possibly of a more authoritative bearing sported uniforms of glowing orange and they were seen taking up stationery positions in remote parts possibly acting as guards or lookouts for the hordes.
If this was a foreign invasion and occupation, then it quickly became more violent. Some of the white boxes were seen to open their jaws wide and disgorge highly colourful and menacing conveyances which rolled along the ground on revolving discs. Initially quiet, as darkness fell, these machines were heard to utter a frightening crescendo of noise, some spitting flames and creating great plumes of sparks whilst emitting pungent clouds of smoke as the rotating discs spun on the island’s roads.
As night fell, these mechanical steeds sped across the terrain at ever increasing and more frightening pace as the hordes drew back – in fear? Or admiration? It was hard to discern the facial expressions of the onlookers in the foul wet darkness of the night.
Great beams of light cut through the murky darkness sweeping the heavens as a portent of what was to come. The noise growing louder as they approached the multitudinous large groups huddled together for warmth and shelter, their noise and excited chatter overwhelmed by the mechanical cacophany of the speeding night monsters. And then gone in a flash of light and sparks fulfilling all the senses of the watchers – sight, sound and smell with the earth rumbling underfoot with each passing.
And when all had passed, the silence was tangible as the weary watchers trudged and splunged back to the white boxes for restorative sustenance – barbequed haggis washed down with manually and lovingly distilled water – carrots and green tea considered an abomination amongst such company!
At the finish of the speedfest, a new King was acclaimed, Paul ‘Son of Boko’ MacKinnon with his squire Paul Beaton adjudged to be the victors, ahead of the visiting furriners led by Daniel Harper and Martin Cressey, whilst last year’s king, Fergus Barlow with Darren Thompson, abdicated office to King Paul and finished third at the head of a magnificent list of resolute accomplishers and heroic fechters – with special and heartfelt commiserations to those who didn’t.
It was now time to wring out the wet woolly headgear and sponge down the sodden fabric apparel – ready for the next session, for all too soon it would be time to depart, load up the white boxes, decamp and leave the island to its annual hibernation – till next year.
Apparently there is more such historic nonsense here:
https://fife-motor-sports-agency.square.site/
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