classic bike show, stafford.

 more bikes from stafford, the best rocket 3 in the world, ever, peter collins restored classic speedway bike powered by one of john alfred prestwich's finest, ryan farquhar's manx classic gp winning 500cc paton and a lovely vintage flat-tank ariel.....

classic bike show, stafford.

late april in merrye olde england, spring is sprung, the bird's are singing happily, the new born lambs frolicking in the warm spring sunshine, the sap is rising, hey d.j, can a get a ree, ree, ree, wwww, wer, werrrr, ine, ind, rewind, spring? certainly doesn't feel like that today, i'm up early door's, the dog posse sniff, stretch and show their disgust at being dragged out of their bed's to face the decidedly unseasonable element's, ten minutes into the five-miler and their ear's are back, i'm wet, old fashioned wet, wetter than a very wet thing with added comedy value hose-pipe wettness and the temperature, cold, we ford the stream, it's four feet above the normal level, all this and we are officially in a draught warning, hosepipe ban in force, as we continue the walk water is flowing through the dry-stone walls that retain the bank's, the cloud is low and the sky is dark, three miles in and i'm on my knee's, a combination of gus-the-bastard pulling against his harness and the mud, my curses are caught on the squally north-easterly, ted is looking back over his shoulder at me with accusing look's, we get home after a mammoth effort, mr's b get's us a bowl of warm, soapy water and a couple of towels and i wash the boy's down, they are shaking with the cold, i soak under the hot shower, breakfast and a couple of cup's of hot tea, phone ring's, it's dangerous, 'ey up youth, shall we go to the show or what?' an hour later and we are at stafford for the biggest classic bike show in the world, twice a year we make the pilgramage, spring and autumn, we can't even park the dangerous mobile on the site and end up parking on a nearby country lane and tabbing in, the majority of traders are making a swift exit and still we have to pay full price admittance, fucking outrageous, i argue my point but get the robot, standardised version, 'sorry sir, we can't offer a discount, if you read the term's and conditions regarding inclement weather, blah, blah, blah' just fuck off, pay the money, and let's get on with it, first point of call is to see 'stainless steve' to stock up on fastener's, he's standing in a field, swamped with mud, his awning has blown away and his wares, in plastic trays. are an inch deep in water, he's wearing a jester's hat and a toothless grin, 'ey up bastard's, where you bin?' welcome to the classic bike show at stafford................

classic bike show, stafford.

 hard as a junkyard dog indian racer, cheekier than a very cheeky thing, 500cc jawa stuffed into a featherbed frame and two-stroke loveliness in the shape of a couple of scott's...................

classic bike show, stafford.

the loveless vinyl vault [aka skeletons in the cupboard]

the next four post's are classic northern soul 'stomper's', the term used for up-tempo, fast, soulful dance tunes, kicking us off is this gem by the velvet satin's, a beautiful slice of soul clocking in at one minute and fifty five seconds and arranged and produced by the legendary trade martin, he had a hand in loads of class records but is more famous as producing the world's worst record ever, the hateful 'we've got to stop the mosque at ground zero' what the fuck? forget all that and just listen to this big slab of soul.....

the loveless vinyl vault [aka skeletons in the cupboard]

this tune for me is forever 'bailey's' nightclub on a tuesday night, probably the most un-popular night of the week, the organisation that owned the 'bailey's' chain saw an oppurtunity to pack their premises with a load of kid's who didn't drink, didn't fight the bouncer's and didn't take drug's, [ahem], all they were interested in was the music, hector was the resident disc jockey, spinning the records and catering to the masses, we just wanted the weekend to come as soon as possible and going to 'bailey's' on a tuesday was one way to numb the pain of day to day working life............

the loveless vinyl vault [aka skeletons in the cupboard]

 used to pack the floor when i dropped this one at the old polish club on charnwood street, at the time mid-tempo, crossover tunes were very popular as championed at the mecca room's in blackpool, this is a balls to the wall, out and out classic northern stomper, apparently lady bo, [the famous bo diddley backing band guitarist had a hand in this one], total wig out time kid's, enjoy........

the loveless vinyl vaut [aka skeletons in the cupboard]l

rubin parker, i first heard this at an all-dayer at matlock pavillion on a bank holiday monday, short and sweet, and a great soulful vocal by rubin,  de-valued recently as the backing music to a fucking cat food commercial, just leave our music alone you tosser's.............

m. zed.

all mz rider's know this feeling, you have just been overtaken by a 'born-again' riding the latest model japper, he has four times the bee-hatche-pee, but, well frankly, can't ride for toss, he's threepenny bitting around the corners, you fix him in your sight's, gaining valuable yard's on every bend, he can hear you behind him, rinnga, dinnga, dingg as you search for the powerband, eventually he's your's, you stick it up him, mid bend, stand dragging, wallowing and weaving, sparks flying like a sparkler on bonfire night, up to the light's, there on red, shit, he's going to stuff you in a straight line dragrace, you feign disinterest as you adjust your snap bag on your shoulder, your ready, rev's rising, feathering the clutch waiting for the light's to change so you can do it all again, he bottles it and turn's left, victory is your's..............

# 13 baby

you trip me up