i always assumed that charlie and inez foxx were man and wife, how wrong i was, the brother and sister duo recorded some classic soul tunes, 'mockingbird' being the most famous, this classic from 1971 on a british 'duck egg blue' pye international being one of my favourites, i had some inez fox stuff on stax back in the day but sadly they went the way of a lot of my vinyl when i went through one of several 'downsizing' period's, cd's were the future, why did i need these huge slabs of vinyl?, what a cock............, [click last photo for two minutes and thirty seven minutes of hot buttered soul.....]

we make our way down into the paddock, stopping by the hairpin to watch the bikes and outfits, it's a practice day, a time to shake off those winter cobweb's, shame no-one told these lad's and lasses, no compromise braking, back wheel's locked and smoking, elbow to elbow, just because the bikes are classic or vintage doesn't mean the riding is any less forgiving than a modern bike, i can't take it all in, my brain is fried, there's bhr regulars, international historic race series bikes, classic racing motorcycle club bikes and scooters, every bike is to die for, proper, i spot ron mauls championship winning boxer twin, he's fitted twin disc's and a 'k' series front end, the outragous 'big-wheel' triumph outfit, the cleanest guzzi leman's i've ever seen and the vellocette that took the owner 17 month's to build and which seized half a lap into the first lap, bummer, we sit in the warm spring sunshine, eating cheese and tomato cob's, swigging tea and taking it all in, the sight's, the sound's and the heady mixture of hot engines and castrol 'r'.........

 the polo is in for the dreaded emm-ohh-tee, i need to use up my annual leave or lose it, i'm up at 0500, quick brew, slice of holy ghost and i'm in mrs b's motor dropping off the boy jack at work, home for 0645, 'nother brew, double egg-on-toast and walk the dog's, it's one of those day's in england, cold, frosty, sunny, but, with a slightly misty 'ting and 'ting, walk up to the venture garage, have the crack with the lads, i get my m.o.t, there's a list as long as my arm, 'you're in for a world of pain next year youth if you don't get it sorted or fuck it off' i heed richard's warning, i've done well out of the old girl and it doesn't owe me diddly, but, today, i'm happy that i'm legal again, quick shower and the dangerous one turn's up on his mates 'whorenet' thing, we make the fifty mile sprint down through middle-england, skirt the mighty metropolis that is derby, drop onto the a6, into shardlow, the river is very low i note as we wait at the light's on cavendish bridge, into donington, yep, that donington, past the race track and i nearly get 't' boned by a dozy twat on a hyabusa pulling out of the museum, through breedon, lount, coleorton and stop for fuel in shepshed, the blossom is starting to show on the tree's, the green shoot's of spring, the sap's rising, the smell of turned earth and cut-grass, my favourite time of year, past bosworth field, the site of the thirty-two year battle for the crown of england that saw henry vii defeat king richard, turn left, a mile down the road and we are at another famous site, mallory park, the home of the post tt races, the transatlantic series and a certain battle between an italian gentlemen, mr agostini and a local boy, john 'mooneye's' cooper, park up and a visit to the cafe for liquid refreshment, we sit in the early spring sunshine, drinking tea, listening to the sound of singles and twin cylinder motorcycles being thraped to within an inch of their lives, my finger's are white, a combination of the cold and the vibration from the the sporty, the hot tea cup offer's some relief and the blood starts to fill my empty veins and capillaries, pumping, throbbing......

still waiting for my crankcases, heads, cylinders and rocker covers, they went to be blasted to clean over thirty years worth of road grime away, the first place i used did a piss poor job, i could have done better with a brillo pad and some gunk, for all the geezer's bigging up of the job i was going to get, well, let's just say i was 'mildly dissapointed' and so was he because i didn't pay him, off to another blaster then and again the promise of a speedy turnaround, that was three weeks ago and i'm still waiting, oh well, been here before, suppose i'll be here again. crack on with the exhaust then, first job was to remove the single balance pipe that joins the two downpipes, the balance pipe is to aid low-down carburetion and scavenging, this engine will be spending it's life at the upper end of the rev limit so we can cut the pipe out and file the redundant weld away ready to make up a couple of blanking patches, i did this mod on my jim cray tuned cafe racer 15+ years ago and the bike ran a lot better, the carbon oval race cans turned up at work today, that was a pleasant suprise, i ordered them at dinnertime monday and they were with me before twelve today, good service indeed for a change and i would recommend the firm, powertech exhausts in blackpool, the cans are 300mm long and are carbon and stainless construction, a removable baffle and all the hanging strap, rubbers and clamps are supplied with them, got to make up an adapter to go between the can's 51.5mm dia and the header pipes 35mm dia, but shouldn't be too much of a problem, just need the crankcases back now so i can get the right length for the pipes.............

 if you had told me on xmas eve, as me and dangerous sat swigging cobra's in the shed, that we wouldn't have been at the british historic racing practice day on the 22nd of march in the year of our lord two thousand and twelve. i would have told you of my intention to expose my nether regions on ripley market place, we were well ahead of the game, smug as a very smug, smug thing, what the fuck?, where has it all gone wrong, i've been a good boy, most night's after my shift i've been in the shed, machining, cleaning, fabbing part's and yet, here we are, four day's until practice and no engine, i'm sitting in the shed, looking at the big hole where the engine should be, it's still in a hundred part's, scattered across derbyshire and nottinghamshire, oh well, only one thing to do, crack open a bottle of shiraz and get some wham on the cassette deck, 'everything she want's' tune, i'm dancing in my pant's me.........

the internet's great, but, me? i'm a luddite at heart, you can't beat a book or a magazine, i must have spent thousands on the printed word in it's various form's over the year's and you know what? i don't regret a penny of it, i can't pass a newsagent or a charity shop without going in for a browse and more often than not, i come out with a bag full of books or magazines or cd's or vinyl or even heaven forbid cassette's or video tapes, book's, brilliant........

 when johnny rotten walked off the stage at the winterland ballroom in san francisco uttering the famous 'ever get the feeling you've been cheated?' no one could have imagined the implications, punk was dead, long live post-punk, when mr lydon revealed his new band p.i.l or public image ltd we were all expecting a similar sort of three chord thrash, no, no, no, here was a bass heavy, dub influenced sound that was a million miles away from the pistol's, this was their first release from 1978, dressed in a 'sun' newspaper type sleeve and with a dig at one of the most popular radio one dj's at the time, the self-styled dave lee travis the presenter of the radio one breakfast show, he really was a 'smashy and nicey' type of character, coining the name 'the hairy cornflake' or 'the hairy monster' cringe worthy in hindsight, the p.i.l release was firstly a massive dig at malcolm mclaren and secondly, the whole 'wonderful radio one' world at the time, the centre spread was originally going to feature an erect penis with the tagline 'the hairy monster you love to wake up with' but, sadly, the virgin record label bottled it and censored the image, still a great tune though.......