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The other week I went to the picture house and
queued to watch the latest Star Wars movie. This was a waste of
my time. It was also set within one of these new leisure complexes
. This means that I could have gone bowling afterward, eaten a variety
of fast foods, played quasar, and bought a luxury leather sofa.
I didn't. I went home.
I went home because all in all the experience left me feeling a
bit ripped off. I hate being the last to know when a movie is crap.
Especially after I've just driven to a Leisure Complex. Leisure
and Complex. No and Yes.
More cross that I watched the movie. Surely someone could have
warned me. Funny though, Star Wars has a following of people who
never admit to the movies being as completely average as they actually
are. Instead they just keep on going and keep on fooling themselves
that they are having a great time.
Like people who go to the Nürburgring.
Tetley, KRJ, Keith. All bollocks. Listen to little Scott's top
7 tips for not going to that stupid place in the middle of nowhere
special at all.
1. The Ring is in Germany
 Germany
is a horrible country. Some of you may have forgotten this, but
during the twentieth century here in the UK we spent a lot of time
and money stopping people who live in Germany from making the crossing
in a big boat and calling England some new name like Das England
Boot, or MeinEnglandkampf, or something else. If Germany was Italy
and they tried it then we might have behaved differently. I quite
like Italians. They have pretty girls and a sense of style. Germany,
actually, doesn't.
Germany has things that I don't like. To start with I don't like
their hair. I'm short on hair so find it difficult to comment. Suffice
to say though, if I was charmed with a few more strands then I promise
you I wouldn't go to Germany to get my hair cut. I find the Mullet
a bit of an insult really. It's a bit like being a lesbian.
 The
food in Germany is also not totally to my liking. This is reflected
in the lack of German restaurants opening around the world. Not
sure about you, but I've never staggered out of a pub and declared
to my mates that 'I fancy a German'. Cuisine and Germany are rarely
mentioned in the same sentence. When in another life I find myself
as a farmyard animal living in Germany, you will notice that I spend
the whole day looking over my shoulder.
If Germany was such a nice country then Heskey wouldn't have bothered
sticking the fifth one in against them. We would have left it at
4-1, and had an early bath.
Another point about the Ring being in Germany is that Germany is
a long way away.
2. The Ring is a long way away
Some people will tell you that it only takes 5 hours to get to
the Ring. They are either spacemen or liars. Most you will find
are lying. The trip to ring cannot be described.
Instead I will describe a parallel experience.
Chose a very cold, cold place on the world map (the arctic is a
good one if you don't have a map). Go there, remove your clothes
and sit in one position for approximately 17 episodes of The Bill.
Then set 2 washing machines on full spin and grasp them with both
hands. To finish the sensation take your least favourite record
from your collection (mine is that little faggot Will Young, but
you don't have to choose him) and turn it up to the point of distortion.
Right, you are now close to what it feels like to ride a ratty old
bike for 11 hours in the freezing cold at a constant 130mph along
a bumpy German autobahn.
Did I mention stopping for a coffee or a bite to eat along the
way? Probably I didn't.
3. People die at the Ring
Yes they really do. I sometimes ponder the fragility of life. Especially
when sneezing. As you all know sneezing won't hurt you (well it
might but not much). But, sneeze at 160 mph on a bike and you will
travel about 250 ft with your eyes closed. 250 ft + 160 mph + closed
eyes + snotty nose = super-armco-spectacular-death-trick.
My point? Lots of people must sneeze when riding around the Ring,
because according to all my mates it's just like a fast road ride
and is safe. Pray tell then, why whenever I go does someone always,
100%, 6 visits out of 6, die? They must all be sneezing.
Yes, it's absolutely true. Every time I go someone gets killed.
Dead people are unpleasant. They are not particularly entertaining
or good company. In fact, they are pretty useless. More importantly
they take a while to scrape off of abrasive surfaces, and at times
get spread over large geographical areas. All this means less time
on the track. Perversely this also means that you will live longer,
because in turn you too are not on the track.
4. The memory game
My memory is bad. I admit it. I get lost quickly. The circuit does
not suit people in my condition. People without the ability to remember
long senseless Germanic names for bends, and string 160 corners
together, will also suffer the same fate.
It is entirely possible to get lost on the circuit.
Getting lost normally just means missing supper. Interestingly,
getting lost at the Ring may mean something completely different.
My point is this. Flat out right followed by very fast, sweeping
left, into flat out right. Or should that be hairpin left?
So instead of gung-ho-a-go-go, get used to holding off on every
corner in case you've got it the wrong way around.
5. The Schumacher family
911.
Sporty kraut runabout, or abbreviation for September 11th.
Doesn't really matter actually.
Amazingly, cars can be as quick as bikes. Put your stones down,
it's true. Need proof? Then look at F1 v GP times around most circuits.
Not at lot of people know this: Mrs Schumacher was a busy lady.
Not content with breeding 2 cheating Formula One swines, she was
also well known in her town for being a dirty old trout. Her bed
was the strongest one in all of Germany. The result is that over
a 35 year period she bore 387 offspring.
Every one of her little box-head children grew up to be excellent
drivers of the car. Only 2 became F1 champs, because sadly the other
385 had a severe vision impairment. Instead they were given a Porsche
each to blat around in. They all choose the Nürburgring to
drive.
Unfortunately they can't see where the fuck they are going, so
use the noise emitted from my end pipe to navigate their way around
the circuit. My end pipe isn't that loud. They drive with their
stereo on.
Tailgating for 14 miles at 160 mph listening to Whitesnake.
Waaa, waaa, I am ze fastest driver in ze Vorld.
Everywhere. 911's, flat out, no brakes, no eyes, inches from your
rear end. Dab those brakes? I don't think so.
6. Marshals, and Ambulance men
Here I have no comment.
Because they don't exist.
 7.
Paying to crash
Crashing is not as good as staying upright. It makes a right old
mess of your bike. My bike is a right old mess and I haven't crashed
it. Crash at the Ring and guess what? Men in peaked caps turn up
and make you pay for any damage you may cause to the circuit. Not
only that, if you do a proper job of it you pay for lost circuit
revenue.
Armco. Oil removal. Digs in the tarmac. Breakdown truck. Ambulance.
All these will be on the shopping list of things that you will be
paying for. As a clever crasher you could end up paying out anywhere
around two thousand pounds of your hard earned bees and honey.
You horrible tight wad circuit owner. I bet you've got lots of
money and a huge house and lots of cars and a boat and a wife who
the tennis instructor shags and surround sound TV and a hundred
pairs of shoes and that flash watch with a bubble over the date
and a dual drum washing machine and a really clever bottle opener
for all those expensive bottles of wine that you never drink.
So get off my case with making me pay for damage to your useless
circuit, miles away in the middle of Germany, with lousy food, crap
weather, too many bends, no marshals, a high death rate, populated
by blind Porsche owners, mullets and Michael Schumacher's dirty
slapper mother.
Have I made myself clear here?
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