Of course, he’ll also miss the intoxicating whiffs emanating from Scrutineering mixed with the occasional and most welcome aroma of the all too rare Castrol R fragrance. The spectatorial mayhem at the Dervaig junction and the comforting sounds of stab mells restoring bent steering arms and twisted metal back to some semblance of their original shape at Craignure service. And ‘service’ is the word, the whole Mull Rally experience is worthy of a worshipful ecclesiastical celebration.
Those memories only eclipsed by the mellifluous cacophony of four and six cylinder aural accompaniments making their red-lining angelic mechanical music as they pound over the lochs, around Calgary and doon the Glen. There’s simply nothing to beat the sights and sounds advancing on those gathered in a certain cemetary or sitting on the clammy wall as the damp seeps through the troosers and pants and into the very bones. It’s the searchlights sweeping the skies above Glen Gorm and Loch Frisa before bursting over the crest in a furious firework display of sparks, glowing brake discs and the furious bark and bellow of angry four wheeled monsters - and Kenny Watt’s wee Mini!
As for the rogue’s gallery below, if you see any of this lot, best give them a wide berth, they’ll only lead you into trouble and serious alcoholic iniquity. A rag tag bunch the lot of them.
Oh, and by the way, stay safe out there, whether watching, marshalling or competing – because you never know what might be making that rustling sound in the heather behind you in the silence of the creeping cold autumn darkness. It might even be the lost souls of those who have gone before and destined forever to roam the hills and glens - in search of tasty spectators!
