A lot of people wanted to know about 'Hippy' Dipply. He was an unassuming sort of presence at West Hamley right from the early days. He'd waft in on race nights, his kaftan and beard flowing in the breeze, and plug in. His home-made VW Camper van was beautifully painted in rainbow colours and CND symbols, and would consistently trundle round near the back of the pack, consistently emitting a sweet-smelling smoke. You couldn't help but like him. He was always smiling in a goofy, unconcerned sort of way- although his sitar practice got a bit trying sometimes. Always last in the point standings, he would merely shrug and say 'It's my karma, man', to which the traditional response was 'Well why don't you get a faster one then?'
There was nothing not to like about the guy. He always had these little chocolate cakes in his hessian shoulder bag which he passed around freely. A bit funny tasting, but they always seemed to get the club in a good mood when the competition got a bit too serious. He could roll a cigarette faster and thinner than any man I have ever known, and even while racing would happily 'skin one up', as he put it in his inimitably languid tones, in his left hand while his right forefinger kept his Parma controller busy. And then generously pass the smoke to whoever was standing nearby.
He became such an institution that people came from miles away just to watch him and listen out for his gnomic utterances. 'You have to be kind to your wheels' 'Armatures have feelings, too' 'If I wasn't last, someone else would be'- all ending with a pause and the inevitable slow, drawn out 'maaaan', which we would all join in with.
I guess one of us should have taken him in hand before things got too weird. When he started parking his VW under a perspex pyramid orientated toward Orion between heats, we smiled indulgently. Funny thing was, it did seem to go faster afterwards. So we all built little perspex pyramids to store our cars in. When nothing noticeable changed, he merely shrugged. 'you gotta know your car's starsign.... maaan. Like your Lotus, Clint. That's a typical Sagittarius. Orion's the wrong vibe completely.... maan.'
We gave up after that. Dippy didn't care. He just drew more and more into himself, nibbling quietly on an alfalfaromeo sprout in his more active moments.
Lil Cooper-Archer pointed out that he was getting thinner, and getting even more wafty in his movements. He got into the habit of crouching on the floor, cross legged, his hands resting palm upward on his thighs. Nobody minded that too much, especially since his kaftan kind of squelched up some of the stickier elements off the clubroom lino. But when he insisted on driving from that position, it seemed to be a problem. He'd never get his head above track level.
'It's OK.... maaan, I'm into levitation.'
We couldn't see any means of suppport. Lil furtively ran her hands under his robe as he bobbed about on the Driver's podium.
'There's definitely nothing between his legs' she reported with some disappointment.
There was nothing not to like about the guy. He always had these little chocolate cakes in his hessian shoulder bag which he passed around freely. A bit funny tasting, but they always seemed to get the club in a good mood when the competition got a bit too serious. He could roll a cigarette faster and thinner than any man I have ever known, and even while racing would happily 'skin one up', as he put it in his inimitably languid tones, in his left hand while his right forefinger kept his Parma controller busy. And then generously pass the smoke to whoever was standing nearby.
He became such an institution that people came from miles away just to watch him and listen out for his gnomic utterances. 'You have to be kind to your wheels' 'Armatures have feelings, too' 'If I wasn't last, someone else would be'- all ending with a pause and the inevitable slow, drawn out 'maaaan', which we would all join in with.
I guess one of us should have taken him in hand before things got too weird. When he started parking his VW under a perspex pyramid orientated toward Orion between heats, we smiled indulgently. Funny thing was, it did seem to go faster afterwards. So we all built little perspex pyramids to store our cars in. When nothing noticeable changed, he merely shrugged. 'you gotta know your car's starsign.... maaan. Like your Lotus, Clint. That's a typical Sagittarius. Orion's the wrong vibe completely.... maan.'
We gave up after that. Dippy didn't care. He just drew more and more into himself, nibbling quietly on an alfalfaromeo sprout in his more active moments.
Lil Cooper-Archer pointed out that he was getting thinner, and getting even more wafty in his movements. He got into the habit of crouching on the floor, cross legged, his hands resting palm upward on his thighs. Nobody minded that too much, especially since his kaftan kind of squelched up some of the stickier elements off the clubroom lino. But when he insisted on driving from that position, it seemed to be a problem. He'd never get his head above track level.
'It's OK.... maaan, I'm into levitation.'
We couldn't see any means of suppport. Lil furtively ran her hands under his robe as he bobbed about on the Driver's podium.
'There's definitely nothing between his legs' she reported with some disappointment.
