Fhurt Pownder
Island News special dispatch, as reported by the Sandown Semaphore, cross-checked by a moderately sceptical kettle
Residents were startled to discover that the alleged culprit behind a BMW doing 88mph on the M3 was not merely haste, hubris, or an overconfident right foot, but rather the Newport Dragon, a Marks Corner Nymph with inscrutable taste in motorists, and two roadside well-wishers who may have been a banshee and something with far too many teeth for a Tuesday.
Mr Marcus Knight, 28, scaffolding magnate and reluctant zoological pioneer, told the magistrates he “sped up because of tailgating.” Island News can now reveal that the tailgater was ten yards of incandescent dragon breath and a nymph keeping station at wing-mirror altitude like a very pretty tax audit.
Witnesses say the nymph did not so much sit in the passenger seat as hover next to it, offering practical advice.
“Pop to the left a smidge, darling,” she trilled over the roar of the M3. “Your lane discipline is fine but your aura alignment is all to cock.”
At which point Mr Knight experienced two new sensations: first, that a mythical being had critiqued his driving, and second, that a BMW can indeed feel judged.
The chase
It began near Marks Corner where the Newport Dragon, who has been described by naturalists as “a listed building with opinions,” took umbrage at a scaffolding pole that squeaked in the wind. Dragons hate that noise. The Dragon issued a formal complaint in Old Solent, which sounds like a kettledrum having a sulk, then launched in a sizzling arc over Carisbrooke, the shadow of which made three collies sit and one parish council reconsider its minutes.
Mr Knight, meanwhile, had entered what experts call the “scaffolder’s fugue state,” in which all problems are temporarily solvable by an extra brace and a cup of tea. He was on his way to the airport to contemplate load limits from a safe distance when the Nymph introduced herself by appearing in his peripheral vision like a glittery parking ticket.
“BMWs,” she sighed, lounging on the slipstream. “So square, so fast, so decoratively impractical. Do you fancy a blessing for your differential?”
Mr Knight’s internal monologue, which until then had consisted exclusively of scaffold torque specifications and whether biscuits count as PPE, became overcrowded by having more than one thought going on.
You are being menaced by folklore, said a new voice in his head, which sounded disappointingly like his former RE teacher.
Apply more bracing, said the usual voice, which believed in the universal applicability of 48.3 mm tube.
She called your car square, said a third voice, which turned out to be pride with a toolbelt.
At junction 11, a banshee and a chupacabra waved politely from the verge like friendly yet horrified tourism ambassadors. The banshee attempted a wail but could only manage a sort of apologetic yodel after discovering her vocal cords were hoarse from last Saturday’s karaoke at The Horseshoe.
The chupacabra lifted a paw and a reusable shopping bag. Inside the bag there were limes, three mystery chutneys, and a copy of the Isle of Wight county press, cause the toilet roll had run out.
“Eyes on the road,” advised the Nymph, who had rotated to upside-down for variety. “And the speedo.”
Mr Knight obliged, which is how the camera met his better side.
The revelation about dumplings
As speeds increased and the Dragon’s breath wrote strongly worded letters on the rear bumper, Mr Knight’s mind threw off its scaffolding like a chrysalis and achieved philosophy at 4,800 RPM.
If dragons are real, then perhaps other truths have been hiding in plain sight, he thought, threading between lorries with the existential care of a man suddenly aware of categories. If nymphs hover and banshees shop local, what, precisely, is a dumpling?
At Winchester services, the realisation arrived like a pallet from the heavens. Dumplings are not baby ducks. They never were. They are floury optimism bobbing in gravy, not adolescent mallards in peril.
Mr Knight felt both relieved and slightly cheated by language.
Courtroom coda
In court, the magistrate warned him to watch his speed. Sensible advice, given that dragons, nymphs and concerned chupacabras are not yet listed in the Highway Code between box junctions and tractors driven by men called Keith.
The fine was levied, the points applied. The Nymph, who had come to observe, offered to pay the surcharge in acorns, which was politely refused on the grounds that acorns are not legal tender unless they are part of a commemorative scone.
Outside, the Newport Dragon delivered a brief statement through a translator from the Society for the Prevention of Squeaky Tubes.
“I object,” rumblingly declared the Dragon, “not to speed, but to scaffolding assembled without consulting the one rule about scaffolding - do it fast! Also, your motorway signage is a bit singed.”
The banshee attempted a supportive keening, remembered the karaoke, and settled for an encouraging thumbs-up. The chupacabra handed round the chutney. It was excellent with anything that had once been near a potato.
Epilogue: Mr Knight’s new rules of the road
Mr Knight returned to the Island a changed man. He now keeps to the limit, blesses his differential before long journeys, and has fitted his scaffolding with something called the Good Behaviour Brace, which is really just a bit of tube that squeaks less but sounds impressively moral.
He also keeps a pocket guide titled “Creatures You May Encounter At 70mph” which includes practical advice such as:
If a nymph paces you, offer her a mint and check your mirrors.
If a dragon objects to the pitch of your poles, tighten the fittings and apologise to the prevailing wind.
If a banshee waves, wave back. She is trying.
If a chupacabra offers chutney, accept. It pairs well with revelations about dumplings.
As for dumplings, Mr Knight now orders them with confidence and a small, respectful nod to language, which is, after all, a linguistic form of scaffolding we stack around reality so we can work on it without falling off.
*REFERENCES
Primary source:
Isle of Wight County Press. “Isle of Wight BMW driver caught speeding on M3 motorway.” https://www.countypress.co.uk/news/25605850.isle-wight-bmw-driver-caught-speeding-m3-motorway/
Follies universe references:
Newport Dragon: long-retired firebreather reputed to roost in Newport, partial to lecturing motorists about airflow and signage.
Marks Corner Nymph: airy patron of fast cars and questionable life choices, known to pace vehicles at wing-mirror height.
Banshee of Carisbrooke: roadside waver with a hoarse keen from overuse at karaoke.
The Chupacabra of Bowcombe: courteous passer-by with impeccable chutney.
Passport to Mythical Creatures: the Isle of Wight Follies quest log carried by players.
Notable locales: Marks Corner, Carisbrooke, Newport, M3 Junction 11 near Winchester Services.
