Ask Auntie Gef: What do I do about my post TT blues?

Dear Auntie Gef,

I had such an amazing TT. The whole two weeks were probably the best I’ve had, even despite the weather. But now I’m stuck feeling miserable that it’s all over and don’t really know what to do to fix it. Any guidance would be greatly appreciated.

Yours sincerely, Sad TT’s Over.

Dear Sad TT’s Over,

Ah the post TT blues. I know them well. I’m sure many of us do, so take solace in the fact that you’re most definitely not alone in how you’re feeling. In offices all around the Island today, people will have been sat at their desks, sunglasses on to dim the burning glare of their computer screens BLAZING into their bloodshot retinas, in a shell-shocked state wondering how they got here and where the last 2 weeks went. All that’s known is they feel rougher than a piece of burnt toast and more exhausted than Trump’s PR rep.

The streets are eerily quiet, no longer filled with the sound of engines being revved or an incredibly angry swarm of bees. (I didn’t go watch the Races so am not sure whether it was bikes or the bees we used on Nicolas Cage causing the noise). All that remains is a ringing in your ears; a souvenir of Tinnitus to remind you of what once was.

That blissful gift of anonymity from having 5 billion new people come the Island that meant you could rock up to Tesco looking your worst without having to worry about bumping into an ex/colleague/crush has also gone. It means I’ll have to go back to wearing a balaclava to do my weekly shop. And after 14 solid days of boozing, dancing, fair riding, and taking an avid interest in a sport you don’t care about the remaining 50 weeks of the year, the literal and emotional hangover hits in a similar vein to that of a holiday romance that inevitably had to come to an end but still hurts when it does.

So, what to do to ease this pang of disappointment, this hollow feeling within the pit(lane) of our stomachs? My advice is to start and stay in the first stage of grief: Denial.

Keep Going to the Grandstand 

The grandstand isn’t going anywhere. As far as I know. I stop noticing it when it’s not TT so it could fully disappear and be replaced with a gigantic homage to Claudia Winkleman’s fringe and I would be none the wiser. But if it is still there, go up, get drunk, and shout at some cars. Take your big camera along. It’s right by the police station too, so if anyone stops and comes at you yelling ‘WHY ARE YOU TAKING PICTURES OF OUR CAR, MY KIDS ARE IN THERE?!’ you can run to the fuzz for help.

Get Drunk From Waking

Easy remedy. Just add a little something something (splash of whisky/tot of rum/2 pints of Bushy’s) to your morning coffee. The coffee smell will cover the alcohol fumes. I do it and no one notices a thinn,mvhkjkjgfnzmvsbn+bjhznmvznvweqwr.

Wear Leathers

With the amount of spilled booze and sweat you produced while mosh-pitting in them at Bushy’s, those leathers are stuck to you indefinitely anyway so just keep them on and act like it’s a fashion choice instead of a hygiene concern.

Jesus is a Friend of Mine

Personally, having the classic ‘Jesus is a Friend of Mine’ experience at Bushy’s has pushed me even further into atheism. But this isn’t about me. If you LOVED IT and can’t get enough, I suggest the following.

With this tune continuing to batter the inside of your skull during work, corroding your brain from being repetitively stuck in your head, get a plastic pint glass of some form of liquid. Make sure it’s one that’s nice and sticky. Think Guinness or red wine. Sod it. Use BOTH in the same glass and WHACK A PRITT-STICK IN THERE FOR GOOD MEASURE. Then when the chorus drops (in your mind), launch the pint into the cluelessly unsuspecting faces of anyone stood within a 2cm radius of you. If people complain, tell them it’s a Bushy’s baptism and Jesus is a friend of theirs. If they don’t accept God into their hearts as a justification (Jesusification) then you might get suspended and told to go home, which is also a win.

Stand on the Prom and Spin Around

Missing the fair? Of course you are. It’s okay. Go stand on the prom and spin around in a circle as fast as possible with your arms outstretched, chucking wads of cash into the sea while you do. The resemblance will be uncanny.

Do these on repeat for the next 363 days until the 2025 TT rolls around or until you’re arrested. I’ll probably see you in the cells. The balaclava I do my weekly shop in doesn’t instil confidence in Tesco staff.

All the Best,

Auntie Gef xx