Can we export doom-mongers before racing returns in 2016?

COMMENT: Information would help us to decide where to eat

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I’m finding it very hard to describe in words that certain tone of voice some people have when they are determined to be defeatist.

Perhaps it’s more than a tone of voice. Perhaps it’s the slope of their shoulders, a slight hunching of their back or the corners of their mouths that turn down ever so slightly.

Explaining to some people is an exercise in futility, especially when you’ve already lost the will to live

It’s the kind of tone that sucks the very living soul out of you.

I was talking to such a person last week.

There was not one ounce of positivity about the America’s Cup.

No acknowledgement of the cash coming into the city, no appreciation that the world’s best yacht racers were competing for global domination off Southsea beach.

And certainly no notice taken of the sense of carnival surrounding the first stage of the World Series taking place in Portsmouth.

Nope. What were they going to spend this past weekend doing? Staying indoors where possible and avoiding Portsmouth at all costs.

Why? Because of the traffic, of course.

Portsea Island is called thus for a reason. If you’re in a motor vehicle there are three ways on or off the island.

If you’re on a bike or in a boat, you’re pretty much able to come and go as you please.

It was ever thus.

Portsmouth traffic should never be a surprise, but with racing going on all day, and only limited parking available on the seafront, it was hardly going to be an all-day traffic nightmare in the city.

I’ve been stuck in Cardiff when Wales have been playing England at the Millennium Stadium and I’ve never seen traffic like that in Portsmouth, even on a football day.

Explaining to some people is an exercise in futility, especially when you’ve already lost the will to live.

I wrote last week that I wondered what the ACWS legacy would be for Portsmouth. I hope to goodness it’s not a legion of buzzkills who slope their shoulders, hunch their backs and, in the words of Dad’s Army’s Private Frazer, tell the world we’re all doomed.

Can we export them before next year’s event?