solstice

december 21st, the shortest day, somethings never change, the 21st december is the shortest day, the least amount of daylight in the year, after today, the days draw out by two minutes a day until the 21st of june, the longest day, the seasons come, the seasons go, there's nothing so certain, today, the sun barely breaks the horizon, me and the boys take a long walk to celebrate the winter solstice, the trees are bare of leaves, naked in the milky winter sunshine, the sun offer's no warmth at this time of year, frosty and cold, dead leaves and the dirty ground, crab apples fallen from the tree and gently rotting away, the river, dark brown and muddy, swollen by the winter storms, up onto the southern most slopes of the peak district before they fall away gently into the derwent valley, dogs, panting, running, marking their territory, someone has marked out a huge 'w.w.1' on the steep hillside, burnt into the turf with some sort of chemical agent, 'world war one' it's a hundred years almost since the outbreak of the 'great war' the shadows lengthen, almost as soon as the day breaks it's fading away........

girl, you have no faith in medicine

xmas songs, i reckon the pogues, 'fairytale of new york' is the best ever, love this song, bring's a tear my eye every time, fucking brilliant, heard it for the first time this year today in the shed, anyway, enough of all that sentimental old bollocks, let's talk about stuff that really matters, mounted the big, ugly horn under the tank, out of the way, never to be seen again, turned up a little spacer out of a scrap of round stock that i found in the lathe bed, lets talk  headlight brackets, i had originally dismissed the big, chrome, stock headlamp, it was heading for one of the big, blue, plastic storage bin's in my ma's shed, never to be seen again and replaced with what? yeah, another cheapo 'bates' copy that i fit to almost, [ok, ok, every bike i build], a quick search on the 'tinterweb reveals a hundred and one alternative headlight mounting bracket's, all of them servicable, but, well, fucking ugly really, dig out some 50mm aluminium round stock, perfect, the fork leg diameter is 41mm, turn up a plug gauge to replicate the dia. of the forks so we have something to work to, a mountain of swarf hit's the shed floor, i'm not fussed, weighed in a couple of bags of turnings at my favourite scrap merchant's and swapped the moneytary value for used, servicable stock, like the man said, 'what goes around comes around' or, 're-cycling' i suppose, handmade parts, it's the way forward, inbetween all this, i've finished the cam cover, i have no fingerprints left, i've rubbed them away with endless pieces of 'wet and dry' [wet of course, with a squirt of 'fairy liquid' in the mix], all to a xmas soundtrack on the radio, mariah carey, 'all i want for xmas is you', sexy, george and andrew singing 'last christmas', mud, 'it'll be lonely this xmas', [who can forget les singing the last verse 'merry christmas darling, wherever you are' cracks me up everytime] a close second must be the darkness 'christmas time' [don't let the bell's end], brilliant, which brings us full circle, the pogues, best xmas song ever i reckon, 'it was christmas eve in the drunk tank......'

happiness by the kilowatt

 inspired by chris snyder at the 'boy and his duc' blogspot, i decided i really didn't like the aftermarket exhausts available for the new bonnies so decided to bite the bullet and go and see nige at n.r.p exhausts to order a stainless, two-into-one system for the triumph, the only system i've seen that does anything for me is the 'british customs' left-hooker exhaust, a bit more digging reveals that it's very, very loud, being an american system means they don't have to worry about the noise reg's, i don't want to ride around looking over my shoulder, waiting for a pull off the law all the time so i'm going for a b.c. style exhaust with a different 'silencer' very cheeky and fruity, just not 'motorhead' offensive if you know what i mean?, ahem......meanwhile, back in the shed..................................................

the reg/req on the 'false triumph' mounts on the bottom yoke, mirroring the position on the 'real triumph' it looks horrible so has to be moved, preferably to the position where the horn sits on the modern, 'false' bonneville, make up a new bracket from some scrap aluminium and mout it up with some nice stainless hardware, the ignition key likewise, i'm done with cheapo, car part's, the electric cabinet shut-off key's and all the other bollocks that just rattles and vibrates itself into a thousand atoms like some sort of large hadron collider, i'll stick with the o.e.m item this time, proper key, not searching through dog-shit filled verges looking for a piece of toss chinese punched out tin-foil that's vibrated it's way out of the switch, usual pack-drill, cardboard template, rough out a piece of 8mm stock with a hacksaw and finish on the miller, couple of spacer's, helicoil the switch so there's no nut's on the back, cut-down and clean up some stainless fasteners, make a new mounting stud in quality stainless, add some flanged stainless nuts, loctite and a little ball-milling for weight loss/decoration, you would pass this bike in the street when it's done and you wouldn't even notice it and that, ladies and gentlemen [and dog williams x] is what it's all about really.........

rude boys!!!!

sunday night already, blimey, where does the time go? friday see's the 'proper english gentlemen' out on the town, a brilliant night out, a couple of sweet sherries and a port and lemon or three, great company with tj, adi, lee and our jack, peroni's in the waterfall at a fiver a pop, over to the world famous victoria inn for a shandy and onto midland road where tj mugs the manager and see's us into the indian restraunt of the yesr for a feast, i'm not kidding, i really thought the table was going to collapse under the amount of dishes on it! hilarious watching the once a year mugs posting 'selfie's' on their facebooks, saturday dawn's far to early, mrs b brings me a cup of tea up, dog's jockying for position on the bed, that half awake/half concious, just five minutes more lie in, jobs done, dogs walked and me and mrs b skin out into 'enemy' territory for the saturday night beat gig at the rescue room's, the beat? well, what can you say, original rude boys, we check into the welbeck hotel, just around the corner from the venue, dump our bag and hit the shops for last minute xmas presents, bloody hell, didn't think it would be this busy! back to the welbeck, quick shower and a bite to eat at pizza express, peroni, seven english pounds a pint! fucking disgraceful! had to book too, there's no-way you would get in without booking, down to the rescue rooms as the doors open at 1900hrs, pint of san-miguel and a glass of wine for mr's b, i'm dancing to 'seven day's is too long' by chuck wood, fuck me it's 1915hrs and i've done it already,  the beat hit the stage at 2030hrs, 'rude boyyyyyze!' that's it, i'm ranking full-stop for the next hour and a half, the years disappear, 'mirror in the bathroom', 'twist and crawl', 'rocking the casbah', ''best friend' absolute brilliance, i'm nineteen again, 'keep your hand's off  me daughter......' [sung to jessica's boyfriend, i love being this age and embarrassing my children, brilliant] a tight set, performed by a great band, i'm stripped down to levis, con's and vest by the end of the gig, sweating like a bastard, we say our goodbye's to jess and adam, grab a bottle of wine and a couple of bottles of mineral water from the convenience store opposite the venue and head back to the dig's, goodnight irene........[ps, woke up this morning with a head like a hole and stiff from skanking too much, respect to the beat and great to catch up with a few of the derby lads who were operating behind enemy lines too........]

i walk on gilded splinters

lot's of stuff happening in the loveless shed, tiny, almost un-noticable progress being made, i turned up stainless fasteners for the the handlebar contols and levers to replace the 'jap-laqued' black fixings, the cam-cover, [yes 'dutch'  a real cam-cover, not like those ones on a bmw boxer twin with those false cam-cover's, bmw's are pushrod engines, remember? the cam's are in the bottom of the engine, just saying, anyway, you would have been too busy having your photo taken with david beckham to remember wouldn't you 'mate'?] everything looking good under the cover, no discernable wear on the cam-chain and the lobes are perfect, clean oil, everything good, ah yes, the cam cover, horrible, a quick check with the trusty magnet reveals its aluminium, whip it off and a quick rub with wet and dry and it should polish up nicely, except it's actually die-cast ally, no wonder they paint it, no problem, a couple of brush's with nitromor's and? bloody hell, it's etch primed epoxy coated, a brass cup brush in my drill hardly touches it, deep joy, that's xmas sorted then, hours of fun with wet and dry, soapy water and finger prints dissapearing into the ether, bored with this job already, time to have a look at re-locating the fugly ignition switch from the r/h side headlamp mounting bracket to the l/h side and a little more discretely, under the fuel tank should suffice thank you, cardboard cornflake template and rough out a piece of 8mm stock to something like a shape, bollocks, the mounting bolt is horrible too, no worries, got some 12mm stainless round stock and some lovely flanged 12mm nut's to make something more suitable, here we go again...........

where do we go from here?

i've been trying to keep it quite, the ram's are destroying all the team's we are playing, i really can't believe what i'm seeing, home and away the lad's are winning, not by the odd goal either, just smashing the opposition into the mire, we  clinically took apart a blackpool side yesterday at our place despite trailing to a goal down, it really never was in doubt, embarrasing really with the ease that the seasiders were despatched, despite the whinging complaints of old man ince and ince junior who appears to be following in his old man's footsteps, blackpool were bested by a rampant derby side, today's f.a.cup draw see's us against premiership giants chelsea, the russian owned, multi millionaire side managed by jose mourinho, early january, cold as fuck, home tie, if old jose disrespects the mighty rams and puts out a team of reserve players? well, football, funny old game, who know's what could happen? oh yeah, the  red dog's have drawn west ham at home too, same day, west ham and chelsea travelling north on the same day? oh dear, you couldn't make it up, always had a soft spot for the 'ammer's too, football, brilliant....

gus

i've faced a very difficult decision this week, walking the dog's, the mid-week, tedious slog through the typical british mid-winter, dark day's, and i mean dark, the light fading by 1500hrs, black as a witches hat by 1600hrs, toiling through the mud, steady drizzle soaking you to the skin, cold, miserable-half-light-half-life, half-way around our five mile circuit i'm aware of someone walking towards me, a lady i know, we have met many times before, i pick gus up and tuck him under my arm, it's the easiest option, gus doesn't like other dog's, or rat's, or rabbit's, or the postman, or cyclist's or jogger's, cat's, bird's, or next door, [who insist on banging the fence to wind him up] tractors, mountain bike riders, buses and small children who insist on trying to 'stroke the nice doggy' safely tucked under my arm, [or so i thought] the lady passes us, her own jack russell, off the lead, decides to jump up at gus, big mistake, gus clamps her dog mid-flight and he starts to shake it, blood, snot,  not good, the lady hit's gus on the head so hard she damages his eye and causes major ripping trauma to her own dog, who run's off towards the busy road, she's screaming as she tries to catch her dog, fucking hell, i'm gutted, i've tried to do everything i can to prevent this but it's happened again, this is the third time i've had this happen, i'm sore about the other dog getting injured, a sleepless night follows, is it time to let my boy go? i'm fighting my conscience, i love this dog, he's everything a J.R should be, tenacious, loving, hard, funny and a real character, what to do........

steve mcqueen vs dangerous dave

you can't take it with you

nasty, horrible, silver-painted wheel nuts, ugly, standard clutch and brake levers, fat, stupid handlebar grips, massive, 'joe 90' indicators and baboons arse rear light unit and the toss front master cylinder cover, watch and learn my young apprentice, help is at hand, renthal 'shorty' grey, sticky 'grip's in a medium compound, a bastard to fit, [remember, the grips are for seven/eighth's diameter bar's, the bonnies are one-inch] warm them gently with the jessica loveless hair-dryer until they become more malleable, a good bit of old fahioned spit or 'gob' for us brit's and work them on, tight fit but if your'e careful they will go on without ripping, oberon, what can i say about the english company's stuff? perfection personified, engineering brilliance, you buy it, fit it and it works, ordered my stuff at the bike show in brum on saturday, received it tuesday, mini indicators, multi-adjustable clutch-brake lever's master cylinder cover, lovely, i want to lick them, yep, they really are that lovely, warning, warning, those shit,  oem wheel spindle nuts are consigned to the bin, these beauty's are titanium cr500 item's, i matched them up from the thread pitch, got some for the ducati too, [same pitch, had them on the 750ss]  twenty english pounds each, [and that's still less than a hooded sweatshirt from your favourite, trendy fucking blogspot, know what i'd rather spend my hard-earned on]  had to work a deal to get them for that price, fuck it. you can't take it with you..........