1976 MZ ISDT replica

cadbury's fruit and nut 1 - loveless 52 year-old-teeth nil, sunday night, let the dog's out before going to bed, open fridge door and spy said chocolate bar shouting 'eat me', it's already open, one of the kid's already had a nosh on it, first piece snap's my lower left big molar straight off, bollock's, i phone first thing monday morning, first available appointment is friday, it's not too bad at first, just the occasional twinge, but, as the week goes on i know i'm in trouble, friday at last, i've booked half a day off and i'm at the dentist at 1230 hours, fifty minutes later i'm out, even through the anaesthetic i can feel it, apparently it's below the gum line so i have to have three pins drilled in to support what would have been my tooth originally, my dentist, sonia, reckon's it's the biggest filling she has ever done, this combined with the infection that had started running into my lower jaw and let's just say, i've had better day's, 1800hours and i'm out on the sporty, still feeling pretty secondhand but i'm on my way to frenchy's 'independance rally' at the duke william in matlock, don't feel like camping tonight after the day i've had so quick squirt up the a6 to say hello, i grab a coffee and wander down the site looking at the bikes, i'm liking the 'gulf porshe' twin cam, wrapped exhausts, race number's, quick filler and braced swinarm and the cheeky little buell s1, some very nice engineering touches, the lightened and drilled rear pulley, brembo brakes, one-off yokes, wavy discs, [and race number's], do it for me, i'm surveying the scene, not bothering anyone when  i hear it, 'oi', it's a voice from behind me, obviously they aren't talking to me, 'oi, you, it's a fucking bike rally, what you doing drinking tea and wearing a car t-shirt for?', my heart sinks, it's me he's talking too, i'm drinking coffee and i'm wearing a baby blue chevrolet 'built for speed' tee shirt, i turn to be greeted with the sight of four fat, black widow biker caricacatures, for a bunch of 'individual's' they all look the same to me, leather waistcoats, obligatory rally patches, dirty jeans barely concealing their bum cleavage and fat gut's, one even carrying a leather tankard, they have that early evening, sunburnt, after a day on the piss wavy thing going on, 'butch', [as i see he's called by the leather patch on his vest, i wonder if he see's the irony in that nickname?] stagger's towards me, 'oi, oi, oi, i'm talking to you', my back is to the setting sun, i have the advantage, he will only be able to see the outline of my shape, no detail or expression, 'it's' he pauses as if he needs his brain to catch up, 'itsafuckinbikerally', i look at his bloodshot eye's, he's hammered, i resist the urge to perform kokum-shote, chicken beak strike, knocking his head upwards with the back of my hand and raking his eyeball's with the descending strike, instead i turn and walk away without comment leaving the brothers to shout further insult's at my back, 'there are two kinds of dispositions, inward and outward, and a person who is lacking in one or the other is worthless.it is, for example, like the blade of a sword, which one should sharpen well and then put in it's scabbard, periodically taking it out and knitting one's eyebrow's as in an attack, wiping off the blade and then placing it in it's scabbard. if a person has his sword out all the time, he is habitually swinging a naked blade; people will not approach him and he will have no allies. if a sword is sheathed, it will become rusty, the blade will dull and people will think as much of it's owner,' hagakure, the book of the samurai,from the second chapter.