OK, first off the Isle of Man is 'Up North'. This means it's mainly cold, windy and wet, has things called Boarding Houses or B&Bs and the food includes such delights as solidified blood products (colloquially known as black pudding), animals' stomachs drizzled with milk and everything is subject to a light coating of curry sauce.

The fun begins when you try and get to the place. Being an island, access is either by means of various steam-powered aircraft or by cattle barge. Being a biker you will want to go by sea so that you can take your prized toy with you, so the cattle barge it is for you. Going under such mysterious names as the King Orry and Ben My Chree, these boats must have seen sterling service evacuating tired, muddy men from Dunkirk in 1827. Loading has improved though - a few years ago you had to stick your bike in a net to be slung aboard by crane, but now we have a biggish plank of wood that provides you with a slightly scary ramp into the bowels of the vessel. Modernity has infested the Isle of Man Steam Packet Company a bit as they now have a Seacat. So if you want to miss the traditional festivity of the cattle barge make sure you book that.

Upon arrival you will be gassed by ancient old nails being started and revved up 20 minutes before the boat door actually opens. Learn the German for 'Turn that fucking heap off now, mate' ... it could come in useful at this juncture.

Exiting the boat you will be greeted by rain. But fear not, it always rains at 4.30 am in the Isle of Man. Splash your way along the prom to your 'hotel'. This will be an unheated bed and breakfast establishment located in a long terrace of similar buildings, erected sometime in 1900 and painted white. It will have 'The Savoy' or some such ridiculous name over the door.

There will be nowhere to park your bike ... three million other people have arrived before you and used up every square inch of any level surface to park a motley collection of, mostly, old nails.

If you have been unwise enough to book a 3 person room you will now find that it is exactly the same size as a single room (about 10'0 x 7'0) but has 3 beds in it, the third being under the sink and approached over the first two. The period Victorian wardrobe will have no hangers, but this doesn't matter as there won't be room to open the doors anyway. The nearest toilet is down the stairs and at the end of the corridor, so the sink comes in useful during the night.

One of the amusements in these boarding houses is the array of notices pinned to various fixtures. "Do not operate the flush after 9.00 pm", "Please do not replace your light with a stonger bulb", "Guests are requested not to operate the television", "Please do not ask for variations in the breakfast menu, a refusal often offends". Don't get too excited about the TV - this is not some satellite linked system in your room for enjoying live MotoGP, more a 1963 black and white job in the Guests' Lounge - and only BBC1 works.

So, meet up with your mates in the bar, which is shut, and head off into Douglas for a meal. Walk around town, walk around a bit more, get confused, and head back towards the hotel to that greasy spoon you saw 3 doors away advertising 'Chips with curry sauce'. At this point you realise that gastronomy is not big in the IOM. Time to book a table at the French restaurant at the far end of the prom. Make sure you book, and to be safe give them a few days' notice. As it's pretty much the only decent place in town they do get busy.

After your slap-up meal of chips you can enjoy the evening's entertainment. This can either be Bernard Manning telling a load of crap jokes or drunk nutter Irishmen doing burnouts and wheelies along the prom. The police have clamped down a bit on all this in recent years so the bike antics are rather muted now, although they haven't done much to affect Bernard Manning's jokes.

If you're really adventurous you can head off to the Castle Mona for a beer. If you're really, really adventurous you can book a decent room there, but be prepared for a rather large bill. Then on to the Miss Wet T-shirt Competition: a huge hall full of sweaty 1960's bikers with plastic mugs full of fizzy beer all shouting "Get them off". Perhaps not, then.

To be fair, there are a lot of decent pubs on the Island and some seriously strong beer, so a good evening will see you completely incapable of any meaningful riding the next day. And beware of wet mornings; these are common on the Island, but popping in for 'a couple' to while away the time can result in numb legs and another day not riding.

Everyone's gotta do it at least once in their life ...

This is what it's all about - you don't get closer to the racing anywhere else