MOTOGP 2008 PHILLIP ISLAND

DESPATCHES FROM THE CORPORATE TENT

by Datalok

The phone call came at about 8pm. I was up to my coiffed cuticles in rugrat shit at the time and the mobile was jammed 'twixt ear and shoulder. I got something about "being a winner" between fits of girlish laughter. You do not need me to tell you at this point that it was Swifty, the Banzai Dwarf, informing me that the Burly Serb had selected me from the baying masses to receive a corporate booze and grogfest pass from BIKE ME! kindly donated by Buckets (a.k.a. Rob Colligan from Australian Motorcycle Tours).

Like many others I had thought it bad form to suckle at the teat of sycophancy in order to obtain such a prize. There were many more deserving of such a generous bequest and yet the little voice in my head yelled "Hahaha... fuck 'em". Those of you who know me are aware of my tendency to follow the voices in my head. I mean who am I to argue with The Bard of Songun on such a matter? After much mental gymnastics I was able to accept the will of the masses and feel that the 'ordinary people' did indeed wish me to cloister myself in opulent surrounds whilst they drank poor quality ales and wallowed in their own feculence. Stout fellows all.

I decided that it would be fitting to share the love with those whom I thought should have got the ticket in the first place. Island Mick was given one day's use due to his benevolence in allowing 50 fuckwits to park themselves on his ponderosa over the weekend. The other People's Champion was Rosie, and I couldn't think of anyone more fitting. There was no need to fret over my fellow attendees. Then Rob, in a fit of largesse, decided another ticket was there for the taking. Fuck! Now I had to think about it.

David Swift is the kind of guy who everyone should party with at least once. Once may be enough. You may wake up smothered in lipstick and Nutella beside the tepid corpse of a cocktail waitress from Manila called Trixy but you know you've had a good time. If you haven't had the pleasure (unlike every struggling actress and exotic dancer in Canberra and Melbourne) just think of him as a Mexican Scrambles. That is Friday done.

My esteemed father-in-law Rabbi was a shoe-in as well. He may be a bit of a Grandpa Simpson in the anecdote department but the baggage he carries is in the form of a ridiculously stacked motorcycle and not (despite outward appearances) the emotional kind. The fact that I needed someone to help me move large amounts of topsoil in the coming weeks (and my offer would be conducive to a general feeling of indebtedness) did not even enter my mind.

"HOW BLOODY GOOD IS THIS???" Rabbi frets over how on earth he can ever repay such a generous gesture to a man who already lays claim to his firstborn

The choice for Sunday was less obvious. Two tickets were up for grabs and Rosie had one. Who else better to ask than the lady herself. She mentioned Thommo. Perfect. The man is an apostle of the road and looks like he could do with fattening up.

Have you ever wondered what corporate would be like? Did you have as many preconceived notions of tents filled with disinterested 'beautiful people' as I did? Well I have to tell you I couldn't give a monkey's if I had to share a tent with Gadzooks and Zedman. It would have been worth it for the view alone.

And the people ensconced in Rob's Canvas Wonderland all seemed rather more splendid and down-to-earth than expected. Rob even provided a Colin Edwards lookalike for me to rip the piss out of all day. On the Friday I looked on in awe as Swifty did his blowfly at a window impression whilst trying to get into the knickers of the chief serving wench. Boris would have more success breaking into kiddies TV but the results were just as much fun to watch.

Saturday was spent looking at the smug sense of satisfaction on the face of Rabbi -- a visage that looks like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle. "I could get used to this" was his stock phrase on the day.

Boags Premium and salty stuff: Rabbi hits gustatory Nirvana

The food on Friday was adequate and tasty. Apparently complaints were made by some in other tents at the lack of quantity. In a fit of pique the catering manager decided to 'make us pay by swamping us in a deluge of tucker all day Saturday. He certainly showed us and I am just thankful he responded that way instead of crimping off a length of 'dirty spine' in the consommé.

I had feared that my ADHD and wandering ways would have me bored and feeling trapped after a few hours but I could have spent the entire three days there. Once you get over the Economy Class Fever where you believe that if it is free it must be consumed, the steady supply of grog and tasty snacks adds to the feeling of wellbeing so easily reached this close trackside at the best MotoGP circuit in the world. One thing that horrified me when I arrived was the bowl of foam earplugs as a centrepiece at each table. Thankfully everyone was as much into the aural porn as I was and if it wasn't for Swifty and myself filling our pockets with them they would have remained untouched.

Rob (whom I had never met) turned out to be a splendid fellow imbued with wit and charm and keys to the drinks cabinet. His daughter was an absolute delight. Her self-confidence shone like a beacon and I know she shall go far in whatever she chooses to do. It is refreshing to meet a young person who isn't intellectually vapid.

Mika pops in for a canapé

Fellow tent-dwellers had nearly all travelled from Sydney and toured down with Rob. Of an evening they were swaddled in freshly laundered sheets at a hotel in Cowes. This location proved to be perfect as it was close enough to the action but far enough away from Island Mick's gaff not to have their tympanic membranes torn like a bride's hymen.

To sum up: the experience was fabulous and more agreeable than I had thought possible. Rob played the role of Mine Host in a very Australian way -- relaxed and approachable. Such things are important and cannot be taught to those without. He was also having a ball. As Shaw said, "Happy is the man who can make a living by his hobby."

I have no doubt that beneath the calm surface everything was being planned and shepherded to ensure his clients had the best time possible. By the looks on people's faces he seemed to be doing just that. The fact that 75% had already rebooked for next year also seems to show that Mr Colligan is on to something.