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WILD COOT – A good lime


marciadottin, [email protected]

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Sunday, I got there late, 9:15 a.m. Tickets were sold out for the clubhouse, so I made my way to the grounds – still had to pay $25 each for my companion and me. We inched our way over the precipitous terrain where most of the spots from which you could see the cars racing were occupied. Eventually we settled for a spot behind a lady, although we perceived that she had a huge umbrella besides her makeshift chair.
 From this vantage point we could see the cars as they passed the VIP stand and we could see the finishing line.
 Talk about people. Over 20 000! They were from all walks of life – come to enjoy motorsports. Cars were parked in every nook and cranny disgorging their passengers, laden with iceboxes, coolers, baskets, backpacks and the whole works, to eat, drink and be merry. Beers and rum were popular beverages.
As each found a vantage point, iceboxes, pillows, comforters, seats and umbrellas were positioned to access comfort at the appropriate time.
 The barking and backfiring of vehicles having trouble to play the right melody rent the air. But we were there and the “sexpressions” hovered around us like a lively sermon. One fellow, in friendly banter, was telling another in the most vulgar way how he would defeat him next time he had a road race.
 Suddenly, a young lady dressed in a pair of black shorts, sitting on the ground, sprung up and screamed: “O sh…, a f…… santapee in my panty; it just sting me on my behind!” (She lucky.) The “santapee” would have stung her again had it been able to understand her copulating description of it.
People shouted: “Take off the panty, get out of the shorts!”
Fellows were drooling! She looked good dressed in shorts! Meanwhile the lady was spinning and pawing her behind with her hand inside her shorts and her panty.
 To the amazement of some young lads, probably her friends, the centipede dropped out. It was immediately crushed with some vicious kicks. But its sting was still having its effect and the lady continued to scratch inside her panty. Somebody handed her some ice that she placed inside her panty in an effort to soothe the pain.
 But the excitement continued on the track. The driver of a black car with a Chefette sponsorship logo was mounting the hood to accept the congratulations of the crowd.
 Bushy Park was a scene to be enjoyed. Never mind the sad arrangements for the many patrons, there was always the thrill of motor speed. This is over ten years that the sport has been in existence, and physical conditions should be better.
 I suppose that the organizers use the property under a yearly lease arrangement. It seems now that this is coming to an end and a change of ownership is on the way. If this materializes then there will be no more excitement about forty-legs as the patrons will be able to enjoy motor racing where everyone can see and be seated comfortably.
Bushy Park continues to attract international racers and popularity for the island. It is a private sector achievement that can continue to grow.
 We left early. The discomfort became unbearable and the poor vantage point deprived us of exciting moments, especially when cars overtook at the hammer bend.
 Best wishes to Roxanne Gibbs for the many years of pleasant support.
 • Harry Russell is a retired banker.

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