An Informitive Guide To Rally Deportment

Whilst perusing my copy of 'The Huntsman' at my club last Thursday week, I became aware of Bertie Coxon-Cumwhitton sounding forth by the billiard table. A boorish fellow at best, I nevertheless became intrigued by his badinage as he regaled his compatriots with a tale of his visit t'north, where he had, bay all acounts, attended a 'motorcycle rally'. The northern bounder was partly correct, I had indeed recently returned from a hunting expedition in the Gambia. In fact my Martini-Henry had barely a chance to cool down ! Aided by several large Pimms', I was finally badgered into producing a short, yet informitive guide to acceptable camping etiquette. By studying the following text you should enjoy a 'faux-pas free' event in t'north.

6:20am and my bladder alarm clock was ringing it's merry bell, that, and the jangling in my head from the previous nights activities made the exit into daylight a generally numbing experience.

As I meandered to the gents, in that random manner which only hungover legs can take you, I heard the dulcit tones of various bike engines rumbling down the drive, nah, can't be, but it was, the first folk without tickets arriving for the 10am opening.

6300 pre-book tickets had been sold leaving just 700 on the gate, so I guess they were keen.

A woman had apparently turned up on Thursday night, trying to get in, to be told, 'gates don't open until 10am Friday', upon the marshalls enquiring if she had a ticket, she proudly showed her wristband, only to be informed that no wristbands had been sent out, only tokens, which would be swapped for wristbands at the gate, her response ?, 'Ah bought this off the internet', so be warned, don't buy counterfeit wristbands or you'll have been lining some crook's pockets.

By 10am there was a long queue waiting for the gates to open, many of the 100 or so voluntary marshalls, whom without which the event simply couldn't happen, were on gate duty. The sun was out in force and most folk had one thing one their mind, parrrttyyyy !!!

Along with the obligatory black bin bags, this year rally goers were spoiled with a glossy 32 page programme with band times, bar and food locations, all the important things.

Also included was the useful and informative 'camping etiquette' penned from the electrostaic cranial disturbances which flit between the neurons in the the head of AndyWorld may prove a useful guide for your camping experiences in the future, so useful that Andy has kindly given permission for it's reproduction here.

By mid afternoon Friday both fields were getting pretty full, we met up with mates, who had forteanly managed to camp right next to us without even realising it was our tent, wot's the chances, let's celebrate it, crack open another bottle, enjoy the smoldering heat of the sunny afternoon and chill out.

Mostly, Friday afternoon's at Stormin' consist of, amongst other things, wandering the fields, meeting up with mates from near and far and celebrating with another toast.

Marty 'the shopkeeper' appeared on Friday afternoon aboard his trusty multicoloured GS750, his Bonneville America being in serious disgrace as he had been putting an air corrector kit on it and the stupid (many expletives ensued) air pipe from the cylinder head and come out no problem except it had brought all the threads with it.

With two stages there is a lot of entertainment to choose from, with the old adage in mind of 'you can't please everyone all of the time'

there was something to suit everyone, 'Kimera', 'Maiden England and Desilva did their stuff on the main stage whilst 'Eclipse' a Floyd tribute band played on the Iris stage, this is really just informative as I didn't see any of these bands, I did hear them and they all sounded pretty good, but then most stuff does on a sunny afternoon lying about on the grass drinkin' and doing deals for old GS850 motors,

which reminds me, if 'Kinch' from Fife or anyone who know him reads this, ask him to email me, Marty lost yer phone number.

Headlining on Friday were 'Hayseed Dixie' on a repeat appearance after last year. Yeah I know some folk don't like them, but then I'm not overly fond of the usual tribute bands who play the material note for note rather than an imaginative interpretation.

I usually measure reaction by how far back the crowd goes before folk aren't jumping about, in this case that point was way behind the sound desk. For my money I enjoyed their set immensely.

For most folk the reminder of the wee small hours was spent gathered around tents, blethering and drinking as ye do and listening to the unwelcome antics of those with no mechanical knowledge nor respect for their bikes thrashing the cold, thick oiled motors in a peculiar mastubatory manner. At least warm the motors up properly FFS. 'Click', door of the cupboard closes gently as the soap box is returned to the dark recesses of it.