you just don't know....

treasure arrived today.

a 'proper' triumph...

with the 'false' triumph away at neil's for the bespoke exhaust, mid-week see's me replacing a blown gearbox seal on the bmw race bike, don't know if it was my 'enthusiastic' changing at the recent bhr practice day at cadwell park or the fact that 'someone' had 'perhaps' 'forgotten' to fit the specially drilled-to-vent-the-gearbox stainless bolt, [allegedly], ahem, what a tool, note to self, slow down, check yourself in your rush to fit machined stainless fasteners you dumb fuck. anyhoo, my old mucker chalky has been chasing me to do a couple of job's on his immaculate 1969, real triumph tiger. friday afternoon see's me swapping the fork springs for a set of proggressive items, changing the fork oil, [the stuff i drained out smelt like the brine out of a tin of tuna and probably would have offered the same performance] swapped out the o.e.m bars for a set of tt bars, had to shorten them by two and a quarter inches per side, under strict instruction from chalky, i would have left them 'wide' myself, but, what the fuck do i know? sitting back to quaff a well earned bitburger i could appreciate the engine, it really does look like it's doing a hundred miles an hour even sitting on the bench, yep, the second best looking engine in the world, the first? shut up! nothing beats an mz etz 250 and you know's it.............

stop, look, listen, [smell, touch, feel]

                                             stop look listen,

                                           ' i'm late, i'm late, for a very important date....'

                                             just reminded me of new order for some reason.....

                                off the beaten track.

                                            'i hate duck's me....'

                                only in derbyshire......

                                             'fucking, rucking duck dastardly!'

                                           ' i'm the king of the castle, get down you dirty rascal'

                                yeah, dead subtle those, fit right in with the landscape don't they?

                                            for scale purpose only, tiny ducati, massive f''ugly wind turbines

                                friesians.

                                friesians checking out the ducati.

                                atom heart mother.


easter. i like easter me, it's like bye, bye winter, hello spring, just one thing though, how come the date changes from year to year? i'm not taking the proverbial here, i just don't understand, my birthday is the twenty-ninth of june, same every year, always has been since 1959, guess it still will be until i shuffle off this mortal coil, but easter? the resurrection of the lord,  it can be anytime in a three week period, why is that? is it to fit in with alton tower's not having their new ride finished? perhaps it's to fit in with the chancellor's budget? sky tv's new schedule? the 'next' spring sale? dunno, anyhoo, on a blustery, cold, showery day in derbyshire, [typical bank holiday weather, after a glorious week of nice, warm sunshine while we are all at work...] it's time to head out after a big breakfast, endless tea and dossing on the sofa, the dog's are just reaching cabin fever and chomping at the bit to 'get amongst it' off the lead and terrorising the local rabbit population, oryctolagus cuniculus prove too tricky even for my pair of seasoned hunters and the pesky wabbitt's dissapear underground. onto the old, disused, pit railway branch line, someone has propped up an old 'stop, look, listen' sign up against the fence where the path crosses the line, i'm suprised to see it, i thought they had all been stolen and sold on ebay to collectors of railway ephermara, a worthless warning notice and yet, today, it struck a chord with me, 'stop. look. listen' so simple and yet how often do you actually do it? i know i don't, far too busy to just follow that simple mantra. and so, today, i actually did as the sign suggested, i stopped, i looked and i listened and i added a few more things to that list, smell, touched and felt, i looked at the countryside and i saw the fucking ugly blot on the landscape and surroundings of the wind turbines above carsington reservoir,i heard the birdsong, the traffic noise and the horrible 'wusssh, wusshh, wussssh' of the turbine blades invading the afternoon, i smelt the rain and the grass and the rich, warm smell of hot oil and dry clutch plates, i felt, i felt the pull of the horizon as the big ducati pulled me towards it through the narrow,country lanes like some sort of massive rubber band, not out and out acceleration, just a feeling of 'how did that happen?'  no direct input from me, the airbox induction noise, the termi's bouncing back off the dry stone wall's, a drop of the shoulder, the slightest shift of weight see's me barrelling through corners at highly illegal speeds that would see me locked up and the key thrown away and yet it all feel's so predictable, so safe and yet so thrilling, i guess that's why we do it, dangerous yes, life affirming? definitely! i'm cold, wet and need a slash, i pull off onto a lane and park in a gateway, turn around and there's a herd of black and white friesan cow's checking out the ducati, don't know where they came from! they take me by suprise, i walk up to the gate, they shy away at first, but their curiosity get's the better of their fear and they crowd up to me, i can feel their hot breath, i notice how small their teeth are, [worn out through endless grazing on the pasture? dunno, ask a farmer], snot flowing freely, dripping onto the floor and each other, bit like myself really.............

sunday........

let love speak up itself

trawling through my tunes today and i rediscovered paul heaton and the beautiful south, this tune,'let love speak up itself' moved me to tears, we have all been there, a mates wedding, your the best man, the worst man, the last man, 'to the worlds greatest mum, from the oldest swinger in town, let love speak up itself'...........

distance equals rate times time

that's it. i'm done. fuck motorcycles.fuck motorcyclists. i'm stressed to fuck me. i'm going to take up golf, or fishing, or embroidery, or gardening. anything but fucking motorcycles. i've dropped a right royal bollock, measured up my super-trick, realm engineering, ram rear shocks for the false triumph, smug as fuck, check me out, giving it the big 'un, the shocks turn up and i've given them the mounting hole diameter incorrect, what a twat, not an insurmountable problem, but dangerous is milking it big time, 'bailey, get a ruler!' then, the new 'dangerous' yellow ducati turns up mid-week, the shed is getting a touch 'tight' to say the least, oh well, at least the false triumph is off up to nrp to get an exhaust courtesy of nige, chalky and sweary mick turn up thursday afternoon to do the honours, at last, a bit of room freed up, the dangerous duc is on the bench, he can't wait to start changing bolts, starting with the front calipers, oh dear, in his haste he's rounded off the allen screws and i have to sort him out, carefully drilling out the corroded original items, revenge is mine, 'you know what you get with rushing croftsy?' 'yeah, i know bailey, bruised fingers and kid's.........'

tomorrow comes today [banana baby]

 so, i'm sitting in the shed, it's mid-week, nothing ever happens on a wednesday, [except, we always have a cob from gregg's on a wednesday, that's why we call wednesday's 'gregg's wednesdays at work incidentally, i always have a tuna crunch, i'm vegetarian you see, ok, beat me up, i'm actually a pescatarian because i eat fish and eggs but no meat, i tried a vegan diet, but fuck me, i'm an active bloke, i need some protein in my diet, i ended up tired and skinnier than a junkyard dog and feeling iller than the beastie boys], anyhoo,  i'm idly flicking through the ducati's for sale on e-bay, i'm stopped in my track's by this one, a banana yellow, carby model, total rebuild, even down to brand new ducati fasteners, re-sprayed and everything replaced better than they came out the showroom, so, to cut a long story short, me and dangerous don our stripy jumpers, masks and bags with 'swag' written on them and head over to the west midlands prepared to be dissapointed, fuck me, as soon as i see the bike i know it's coming home with us, if dangerous ain't buying it, i am, dangerous win's, he's having it, i lose out, shit happens............