Guy Martin races the Isle of Mann TT; it’s on this week. Last year he crashed at 140mph between bungalows in a 30 foot ball of flames causing him a week off work as a lorry mechanic. Guy Martin is also transparent; devoid of the cloak of incongruence most of us carry. As a result Guy Martin is universally loved. He’s not particularly handsome, his shock of black hair is cut by a hedge trimmer but his eyes have a black blaze, his face is clear emotion. As a result since last year’s TT he’s been in a feature film and had his own series on TV. Now the TT is 200 miles along ordinary country roads at an average speed of 131mph, an unbelievably heroic achievement considering Vim Diesel would probably only manage forty. So Guy has dipped a toe in the entertainment industry and it’s come out dirty. Nice people and everything but they just don’t get the honesty, not the honesty needed to go 131mph average. However much they like it when they see it they, along with the majority of movers and shakers, decline it as one might a dish of sheep’s testicles offered by a Mongolian peasant. They decline the delicacy of being present not knowing the taste of it. Though the wise of the world have explained the facile illusion of fame and fortune they seem caught by it like a fish on a hook, unable to see past it. Guy is not an entertainer as his interviewer intimated; he’s a racer. ‘You watch if you like, I’m just doing what I love.’ Let nothing be important when seen through the eyes of your ego.
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