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................