OVER & OUT
NEVER GIVE a bunch of journos, photographers and videographers a two-way radio. It only brings out the even-worse in them. Dad jokes, live fart transmissions, dodgy celebrity impersonations, you name it. In fact, every form of lame humour from puns right up to ‘Houston, we have a fly on the lens’. Laugh? I nearly started…
But here’s where PCOTY is different. The moment we started our hillclimb loop, the radio chatter just stopped. Dead. No more. Radio silence. After the constant, crackly barrage of pre-pubescent nonsense, this was almost like a temporary armistice to bury the dead jokes and cart the wounded gags back to the trenches.
It’s not that the MOTOR army had suddenly discovered the awful truth about man-boob jokes or that the anti-pun lobby had
