it's ok beavering away in the shed, working on whatever bike you might happen to be working on but, sometimes, you need to call on mates with different skill's, a lot of time on a project is spent travelling backward's and forward;s, drinking tea, having the crack and just sitting in that chair in the shed and looking and planning before you even pick up a tool in anger, got a call off frenchy, he wasn't sure about lacing up the eighteen inch rim up to the hub that i'd cut out of the r80 rim that i stole off barse so, i jumped in the trusty old polo and made the forty mile round-trip up to his workshop to box off the details, business as usual, take the piss out of his apprentice, flirt with emma and have a brew, no wonder i can't get the message accross, kev's still battered after a night out in, [excuse me but it has to be done, dirty fucking red-dog bastard's] - [s]nottingham, amongst the normal horrible harley davidson's i spot a confederate, kev fill's me in with the story, one of his customers, on business in the states get's talking to a bloke who just happens to have a hellcat in his shed that he doesn't want anymore, not only is it a hellcat, it's the one hundred and twenty four inch s+s engined model, [or, to put it in european terms, two point two litres of fuck-off engine], the whole deal, [including converting it to bullshit s,v,a, standard's and registering it in dear old blighty, road legal and ready to go] works out at a grand less than a brand spanking ugly-as-sin-what-the-fuck-were-they-thinking? ducati diavel, no contest, i'm drooling over the details, swingarm doubling as exhaust, beautiful machined yokes, faultless carbon-fibre tank, seat unit and exhaust heat shields, hand built, artisan motorcycle, it's got what no factory bike can ever have, it's got soul.......
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