A decade ago Pullyman - aka Michael Cowin - was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease, a condition that affects people in different ways. Michael discovered writing and Island Life is featuring some of his musings. Sometimes topical, sometimes nostalgic, read about life as seen through the eyes of Pullyman

Well it’s official.

No TT, no biking festival, no Southern 100 and no Manx Grand Prix.

Is it the end of the world or is it a new beginning? Only time alone will tell.

When we moved to the promised land, in Greeba, it was 1965 and we didn’t know what we were letting ourselves in for.

It was the weekend before the Manx Grand Prix and we moved on the Sunday before the practice week which started on the Monday morning.

We knew that we now lived on the TT course and we knew that the first practice session was to start in the early morning, but we didn’t know that the noise of those un-silenced bikes was like the start of World War Three, going past our bedroom window at five o’clock in the morning.

I can honestly say that we had never heard anything like it before.

It was our first experience of the ’races’ in Greeba and, believe me, we didn’t need an alarm clock on the second day.

In those early days as TT course residents, the racing calendar and timetable was easy to understand.

Early-morning practice from 5am, Thursday afternoon from 2pm, and an evening session from 6pm.

And what about this? I swear that it is true.

I would leave work in Strand Street at a quarter to six.

The Mini would be parked somewhere in the back street: in those days you just parked wherever you could.

I would collect Brown Eyes from work at the telephone exchange behind Prospect Terrace and be home at Greeba by ’roads closed’ at six o’clock.

Try that today.

We lived at Greeba for 45 years and moved to Onchan 10 years ago. So that long-ago rude awakening by the MGP was 55 years ago.

More than half a century, gone like a puff.

Greeba was a community and once had a thriving social scene. There was the Greeba Young Men’s Club, a Sunday school and a chapel. Several families made their living from the land.

The Kewins farmed Eary Lhane and sold their produce on their vegetable round.

The Corletts supported several families with their market garden business and Harold and Doreen Leece were well known in Douglas Market Hall.

Last but not least the village pub, the Hawthorn - now a restaurant - was always busy with both locals and ’foreigners’ alike.

The Peel road, in line with all of the other main highways, has simply become busier year on year.

Douglas is where most folk work and fewer folk live.

The modern trading estates that are multiplying and growing on the outskirts of town are where everyone wants to build their new business and the equally-rampant new housing developments that seem to be mushrooming wherever builders can find an empty field. Taking everything into consideration, it’s obvious why driving to anywhere and back takes so long.

Of course there is one obvious solution to the problem of congested roads.

Make more use of our top-of-the-tree, modern and comfortable fleet of buses. However, there could be a hidden snag to look out for.

You may recall that some time ago I made a reasoned objection to the withdrawal from service of the now sadly missed No 23.

The main evidence that was given to us by the nice man who runs the buses was the result of a survey of passenger numbers of those who used route 23.

In a nutshell, it was underused.

For the last six weeks, our current link to the outside world, route 2, has swept past our house. On time, clean, comfortable and empty.

Beware of surveys. You have been warned.