IF you didn’t know about the Queen’s Jubilee, you might have thought that Britain was about to reach the climax of a giant, corporate village fete: wherever you looked, there was bunting and quaintness and high street goods forced into Union Jack livery. I kept expecting Margaret Rutherford to round the corner on an old bicycle and offer me raffle tickets.
With the country in an economic and political mire, this attempt to plug into an earlier Britain - postwar, perhaps, when everyone was full of pluck and pulled together - feels more than a little desperate. Still, it was the Queen’s party, and if she wanted a retro theme, then that’s her affair.
None of this was impinging much on the Isle of Man, anyway. Not only were many of us indifferent or downright hostile to our Lord of Mann, we also happened to be in the throes of our own national celebration - taking scale into account, TT mania could have the Jubilee for breakfast.
Come to that, it could probably go on to eat Tynwald Day for lunch; patriotism comes more naturally when politicians stay in the background. Like the Queen, the TT has its detractors, people who oppose what takes place under its banner, from road closures to fatalities.
But the passion and excitement it generates never wane; the mix of elements is too powerful. First, the riders: our sporting royalty, respected and loved for their bravery and the allegiance they show by choosing to test it on our roads. Then there’s the great injection of energy into the island caused by the sudden surge in population which, because only temporary, is welcome, and bittersweet.
For one precious fortnight, we don’t have to put up with the same old sight of each other because there’s a whole new face-scape going on. Close your eyes in the crowd and you could be backstage at Eurovision, only a gruff Eurovision which smells of beer and damp leather, rather than hairspray.
The TT is a showcase for great Manx strengths: racing things, watching things being raced, and drinking before, during and after the racing of the things. And because the Island’s coastline is now a festival perimeter, we go at the merrymaking part of the programme with double the usual vigour.
The Mountain Course also unites the island’s population in a common topic, whether it’s to praise or grumble. And we’re protective of an event which, like the Isle of Man itself, has often been misrepresented or underrated by the UK media. How many people listened to rapturous critiques of TT: Closer to the Edge by people who’d never previously paid attention to the races and thought ‘see, TOLD you so’?
Last but not least, it seems to me that the TT is cherished because through its long heritage, it connects the island’s past and present. Just recently, I came across a back issue of Manx Life from 1979, with rock group Nazareth on the cover - five sets of eyes staring out from a thicket of facial hair. They were part of a feature by Mike Percival which looked at musicians who’d set up home in the Isle of Man purely for tax purposes, and a further picture of the band was cheerfully captioned ‘Nazareth - all tax exiles’.
Here was a throwback to a time when it was not Fiscally Incorrect to say ‘tax haven’ in public; to Hailwood’s comeback, Odin’s Raven, the last days of the Birch, and plenty of life still left in the Palace Lido. A different Isle of Man in many ways and yet when the TT is in full spate, it feels like we’re still living in era which, if no less flawed than the current one, seems somehow more colourful, more defiant.
Whatever the Royal PR juggernaut might have you believe, there never has been a Golden Age. But the Queen, like the TT, is a brand, and what the public demands from a brand is consistency and continuity. And perhaps as long as the TT keeps going, we can feel, if only for a couple of weeks, that everything’s alright in the world as a matter of course.
