Classic TT / Manx GP

Well, where do I start? No photo's I'm afraid due to my ancient desk-top crashing again and my equally ancient Sony Cybershot being the only camera on earth that's not compatible with the Apple operating system, so, here we go, as soon as I can re- boot the old girl, but, i'll get some photos up, until then, i'm afraid it's my drivel and no visual stimulation of the delights from the Mecca that is the Isle of Man, after a fitful nights sleep due to the same excitement experienced by a five year old on Christmas Eve, I was awake well before my alarm went off at stupid o' clock, shower, shave and tea and a toast, Gus joins me in the garden, it's dark but warm and he jumps up onto my lap, more cupboard love than real affection as he covets my hot, buttered toast, suddenly, he's gone, launching off my knee into the darkness, a Jack Russell on a mission, killing the the only thing on his mind, terrier instinct,the security lights kick in and I can just catch a glimpse of him fighting something in one of the bushes, I chase up the garden and try and flush him out, next thing he emerges from the bush, a dark shape in his jaw's, he's doing the terrier-death-shake-thing, I can't tell what it is but pray it isn't a ratashe dodges me with a drop of his shoulder like a seasoned footballer and runs straight between my legs, up the stairs and deposits his prey on our bed much to the delight of Mr's B, ( who, truth be told, isn't a 'morning person') I eventually arrive, breathless to discover Mr's B uttering 'what the fffffk!' Ted, my other J.R. Snarling and joining in with the party and the Legend Gus, blood and snot and hedgehog quill's sticking out of his face, his eyes half closed from the damage he's sustained in the frantic attack, I grab a towel and pick up the unfortunate hedge hog and take him out of the house and across into the field beyond our house,I gently unwrap him and after a few moments he uncurls and walks away into the hedgerow,
Meanwhile, my daughterJess arrives home after a night-shift and sets off the smoke alarm whilst making toast, deep joy, me and the girl Jess are trying to stifle our guffaw's as I relay the hedgehog incident, only one thing to do now, let's fire up the carbon, race canned Ducati twin and really fuck the neighbours off, bloody-fucking-hell, i'm almost embarrassed how loud this thing is, (for a nanno-second, most of the tosser's who live here are Johnny-Come-Lately's who wouldn't have considered living here when it was an old mining village but then, all of a sudden, a residence, rural with good metropolitan road access became desirable) anyhoo, I'm away, the big Duc coughing and spluttering on half-choke, I'm watching the temperature gauge, drop down onto the A6, down to the Triangle and onto the Ashbourne road, I know this road like the back of my hand, it's pitch black and the big Ducati isn't happy below three- thousand in the R.P.M, I'm struggling at thirty and forty miles per mile, be rude not too really, there's nothing on the road, the temperature gauge indicates we are good to go, I wind it on, twice the legal limit and then some, the exhaust note bouncing off the cottages, I bet the residents are loving it too, the sound of a big twin on race pipes before dawn, I get sucked in, there's just something so special about riding a bike, pre-dawn, on your own, I don't need the brakes,just rolling on and off the throttle, revelling in the sound of the pipes and un-restrictive air box with the k and n filter, mmmbahhh, mmmbahhhh.......

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