i'm running around like a blue arsed fly, scruting the bike, scruting my leather's, helmet, boots and gloves, waiting for noise testing, where's dangerous?, he's strolling around the paddock scoping out the bikes, 'there's an aermacchi-mettise here' 'fuck off dangerous, get some fuel in and check the oil' 'no, seriously, there's an aermacchi-mettise here, it's mint''dangerous, just get the bike sorted and get a brew on' 'i'm telling you, aermacchi-mettise, green, no race number's, must be parading it, lovely bike though' after the first race i change out of my leather's and we go in search of the imagined dangerous aermacchi, 'there you go wanker, told you' fuck, fuck fuckin' fuck, there you go, it's only an aermacchi-mettise, an aermacchi-mettise in british racing/rickman green, i can't talk, i'm just feasting on the bike, probably the best looking bike i have ever seen, 'what the fuck is up with you bailey?' i can't reply, i'm too busy, dangerous slip's on his oakley's, nod's, a half smile almost flicker's across his lip's, must have imagined that, there's no smile when i look again.....
well, i've sat and looked at it for a couple of day's and today i decided i really couldn't live with it, you have to be true to...
early seventies at southgate secondary modern and the young loveless was getting his ear turned by black music, mostly motown and what later...