Rounds 7 & 8 - Shelsley Walsh, 5th & 6th May

Room 101

My first offering to be consigned into Room 101 is drive time radio DJs.  Both breakfast and home time.  When I have the radio on in my daily driver (clearly not required in the TVR which has its own mesmerising soundtrack), I am seeking a mixture of music from within my preferred set of genres.  I don’t want to hear a celebrity D-lister telling me what they had for dinner yesterday; how comical their children were at bath-time; what their peculiar take is on a news item from page 27 of the daily rag.  ​And I especially don’t want their 

​sycophantic “possie” laughing at every non-amusing comment; contributing lines from their non-sensical in-jokes; and generally behaving like they couldn’t be having a better time.  I have to pay for this drivel, either by tolerating the annoyingly catchy adverts that commercial stations play, or 

​worse, the licence fee paid to our national broadcaster.  Yes, tell me the news, briefly.  And maybe some traffic news.  But I don’t want to hear your incessant ramblings and your joyful camaraderie.  Just zip it, and play more music!

My second selection is TV adverts that were not made in this country.  When you’re trying to flog me your laundry products, I want to see a British washing machine crammed into a tired looking kitchen.  I don’t want to see an industrial scale toploader clearly located in the basement, being filled by a soccer mom with perfect teeth.  When you’re trying to flog me lounge suites and housewares, please have the decency to make your show home look cramped and mismatched, instead of demonstrating a particular ​style of 

colonial furniture that people with any sense of European style find vulgar and cheaply made.  And when you want to accessorise with a delightful table lamp, make sure it’s got a 3-pin plug and a socket with an on-off switch on it.
   ​Now while I would look favourably on you to consign these two items to Room 101, if you feel that’s not possible,I could just 

about cope by switching channels to avoid the offending articles.  However, this third item is non-negotiable: pies that are not pies.  I’m not talking about pseudo-pies like cottage pie or shepherds pie – if we order  

​these in a restaurant, we all know that we will be served something that is mince based with a mash topping.  No, what I’m talking about is pies that clearly contravene

trade descriptions.  If I wanted stew with a lid, I’d ask for stew with a lid.  Chip shops get it right without even asking.  Football grounds get it right without asking.  Why do I need to ask when I’m in the pub?  If they try to pass off a “stew with a lid” as a pie, I then need to take another few minutes to choose something else less fraudulent from the menu.  I like pie.  Steak n ale.  Chicken 

n leek.  Steak n kidney. I’m partial to them all.  But when the pub landlord tries to justify his “stew with a lid”, he’ll say “but you get more meat, and more gravy”.  If I want more gravy, just serve it to me in a jug.  Pie has pastry on the top.  And on the sides.  And on the bottom! Anything else just isn’t pie.

​What about Shelsley Walsh I hear you ask?  Well, I was competitor number 101, so I thought I’d take the opportunity for the above rant. 
   The racing?  Saturday, everyone was first throughout the day.  Hank in first practice.  Jo in second practice.  Moggy “I wasn’t 

​sandbagging, I was just trying different tyres” in first timed runs.  Shelagh in second timed runs – a time of 33.10 gave her her first shiny red 25, fantastic.  (Well, until the organisers reviewed the times giving her a 43.something and handing the win to Moggy).

Sunday saw a slightly different line-up.  Pete took over the yellow Griff and got a PB.  I took over the Chimarsala and didn’t.  Geoff drove home overnight to swap his Lotus for his Vixen, and finished second.  Steve Thomas joined us for the first time in his Vixen, and knocked chunks off his time throughout the day.  Hank finished third, again.  Moggy won, again.
   We welcomed lots of friends over the weekend.  Ali came along with the club van and kept us all fed and watered.  We had visitors from several regions including WWM, C3C and South Wales.  And Mr Pack blagged his way in to park his Sagaris alongside us in the paddock. 
   Pie? Well, there wasn’t one on the menu at the pub, so I had to make do with steak.
   Shunter
   Go on, put some numbers on it (I have a spare 101).

With thanks to all of our photographers:
  Bobbox, Peter A, Shelagh, Jo, Hank, Shunter