aermacchi

i read all the comment's that people post on the blog, but,i know i don't reply very often, please accept that it's not that i'm not interested, it's rather that i really don't think that i have to, i don't want that to sound negative, it's just that i really appreciate people commenting, i love it that you take the time to comment, like i've said before, this is an open blog, positive or negative, i'll not censor any comment's and as my 'regular's' know, i often just send you a 'mail instead of posting a reply on the blog, a comment on my last post by squire neil got me thinking today, 'so now you need to buy a lime green polo neck and a pair of cream slack's?' brilliant! i'm walking the dog's and the loveless, arrested development brain is processing stuff, my thought's drift to the recent 'distinguished gentleman's' ride, where a bunch of media lovey's rode around laahndahnn, suited and booted, i'm sorry, i feel like the kid in the emperor's new clothes story, why the fuck would you want to do that? excuse me? i think we should organise an 'undistinguished gentleman's' ride out, for all the waif's and stray's and original mutherfucker's, let's ride through town's dressed in denim cut-off's, rigger boot's, donkey jacket's and pit-boot's with toe-cap's showing, scooterist's on cut-down vespa's, cherry red doc martens shining and 'paddy's' sown onto our m1a's, mz's, gsx-r's on open race pipes, converse, stone wash jean's, open fingered 'clippy' gloves, bell star's, simpson bandit's, thrashing through town, carving through the traffic in town, spitting at taxi driver's, waving at kid's, burn-out's and doughnut's, urban drag racing, wheelie's, black visor's, no numberplates, no tax, no mot certificates, yeah, the 'undistinguished gentleman's' ride out appeal's more than 'profiling' around in a fucking suit, motorcycling to me has alway's been more about being outside the 'norm' not trying to embrace it, a chance to leave all the everyday bollock's behind, why would you want to conform? to try and appear as a trend-setter? never been that, never will be, a message to you rudy, just be yourself, you might not 'fit-in' but you will be your own man, [or woman] anyhoo, here's some photo's from this afternoon of the 'aermacchiasta' drinking tea, eating mince pie's and having the crack, a veritable goldmine of experience and not a suit in sight.....

aermacchi

boxing day

i hate boxing day, no i don't hate boxing day, rather i hate walking on boxing day, no i don't hate walking on boxing day, i just hate the people you meet when you are out walking on boxing day, no i don't hate all the people you meet walking on boxing day, just most of them, i walk all year round, everyday, in all weather's, rain or shine, snow, frost or those cloudy, drizzly dark day's that we get most day's in england, i'm out in a pair of goretex boot's with too short laces where they've rotted off, they used to be waterproof many moons ago, now they're just split with age and the constant wet, im wearing my cammo 'old navy' short's like i do all year, can't stand wet trousers flapping around my ankles and that slow, cold, wet wicking that you get as the damp rises to your nether regions that you get with 'long's', an old clash t-shirt, longsleeve base layer and my trusty berghaus jacket, filthy, ripped and torn and stained green from the numerous stiles that i encounter on my usual walk's, topped off with my 'arai' baseball cap, two day's growth, two jack russell terriers in tow and i'm looking like the sort of man you wouldn't want to meet out in the wood's, we set off just as the light is breaking, it's a mild morning and there's a glimpse of winter sunshine, the bird's are chirruping gently, almost in relief that the rain has stopped and given them a brief respite, how much rain have we had this year? normally bone dry track's are flooded, dry stone walls and tree's collapsed with the amount of water, it's like walking on a sherry trifle, boot's sinking into the mud and the earth greedily sucking at your feet, progress is slow, i give up trying to walk around the worst of the wetness and just plough straight through, ankle deep, stopping briefly to check out my favourite house in the world, a timber and glass construction built deep in a clearing in the wood's, i love this place, it just dissapears into the surroundings, in winter, even when there's no leaves on the tree's and even more so when the glass reflects the greenery, the water in the bottle brook is high but not as high as it's been in the last few days, [check out the flotsam and jetsam hanging off the branch on the left hand side of the brook], nearly home and i think i've made it, but no, i hear them first before i see them, a group of around ten to twelve 'boxing day walker's' clad head to toe in northface, marmot, haglof's and berghaus, loud, laughing and compass on strings around their neck's, some packing trekking poles, one bright spark has a head-light on top of his beany, [well, you must be prepared you know, it's only another seven hour's until it get's dark], you never can be too careful when your'e making that hazardous trek two miles to the dead poets for a lunchtime pint you know...........

nothing that has happened so far has been anything we could control

me? i'm blessed me, spent a peaceful christmas day in the company of my family, surely that's all that really matter's? i got a bellyfull of food, i was warm and with my loved one's, i got to walk my dog's in the [almost] daylight and without getting wet, [although we did get a little muddy] and i got some brilliant present's, jack came up trump's, i got some great book's, [you all know me so well], gil scott heron's 'the last holiday', 'young, gifted and black' the story of trojan records, mick walkers brilliant 'italian racing motorcycles' and 'british racing motorcycles' 'dream spectre's' off jessica, [the amazing ukiyo-e, images from the floating world' music in the shape of the alabama shakes, julian cope and two home-made cd's, brilliant, people just don't do 'mix tapes' anymore since the demise of the cassette tape, got two today, one off my old friend who has been doing them since the late eighties, a really professional looking job, complete with artwork and another, a rough and ready compilation, marker-pen-on-a-tesco-disc, at the end of the day, it's what's in the groove that count's.......

so here it is, merry xmas, everybody's having fun...

happy christmas everyone, i mean this, our own xmas will seem a little hollow this year, my father in law, desmond percy holden, royal navy veteran, dad to betty, hazel, danny, donald, mr's b and darren, beloved husband of his wife katherine, sixty year's married, passed away last friday, a lifetime in anyone's reckoning..... me and dangerous had the loveless xmas party tonight, opened the shed and found santa had called, i love you mr's b, after all you've been through this week you found the time to hang a couple of stockings on the 'macchi......

tattoo

ben jones, roadhouse tattoo, chellaston, derby, england, this is typical of 'the world's most handsome man' i was blissfully unaware of this photo until tonight, but, if you know ben then you know it's typical of him, want some quality ink? get yourself down to roadhouse, take a big stack of money, sweet's and chocolate, a hanky to wipe away the tear's when you are laughing, flower's, a good attitude, have a wash and clean your teeth, make sure you are wearing decent shoes, express an interest in black women, harley davidsons, ducati panigale's and gun's, knive's and eating meat, [meat is murder] don't take your kid's and you won't go far wrong, quality tattooing, don't haggle and you won't end up with a cock and bollock's hidden in your piece like barse and marshy.......

boxer race project

i've been so wrapped up with the aermacchi recently that i've let the boxer project slip into the background, that changed today, up at sparrow's fart, sweary mick turned up at 0545 hrs to keep me company, he's armed with salmon sanwiches on brown bread, a flask of strong coffee and some home-made ginger cake, it's raining heavily and off we go, the roads are flooded, surface water, limited visibility, fog, dark and cold, the traffic is light, just articulated lorry's delivering their cargo to supermarkets, m1, m25, m2, a2, all drift by in that strange, misted up windscreen, heavy spray and limited light thing, sweary mick keep's passing me little nip's of hot, strong java, the 250 miles pass in what seems like an hour, the dartford crossing bringing back memories of me and barse riding side by side over the bridge on our way to the kent custom bike show, did i mention it was rather inclement today? past the 'three mariner's' pub and along the single track road to jim's house, sweary mick guides me into the driveway, bloody hell it's tight, i have to fold the mirror's in on the van to get into the drive, unload the boxer into jim's workshop and we spend the next couple of hours shooting the shit, catching up after twenty years and discussing what we want jim to wave his majick stick at regarding the boxer, we are away at 1130 hr's, stopping to grab a butty ovelooking the thames estuary, [did i mention it was raining by the way?]the boxer is going to get what it deserves, a right royal shoeing, some serious bee-haitch-pee, not cheap, [quality never is], it's a nightmare journey home, it hasn't got light all day long really, we are back and sitting in my shed at 1600hrs, drinking tea and eating hot mince pie's, nearly five hundred miles under our belt's, fuck it, it's xmas, fancy a peroni?.......

aermacchi

footpegs, small detail, you put your feet on them, that's it, they don't serve any other purpose, somewhere to rest your size ten's while you change gear or use the rear brake, i love footpegs me, i look at them like i look at someones shoes, weird?, yep, scruffy, beat up converse?, yep, that's ok, brogues, loafer's, d.m's? if you ever turn up wearing them un-polished, [in anything other than ox-blood polish], then you are a lazy-arsed bastard, scruffy training shoes? get the fuck out of here, there's an old saying, 'clothes maketh the man' for me that's true, there's no place on earth for a pair of too-short, boiled, grey, nike jogger bottom's, stone wash denim jeans or those 'baby-sick' yellow, low-slung jean's, anyhoo, enough of the loveless sartorial fashion tip's, i'm obsessed with footpegs, here's the latest offering, knurled, shorty's, [less than two and a half english inches long, [that's sixty-five metric millimetre's] hand- turned, white nylon, peg-end's, like a pair of hand-made english loake's, [look them up] no, we aren't going to offer them for sale through our blogspot, 'web-shop' 'big-cartel or any of that other fucking self-promotion, wanna-be trendy wank, two blokes in a shed in derbyshire, nowhere near london, not buying bmw's and selling our z1000's because the monkkee-boy's say we should and have suddenly discovered that it's that it's the thing to do, [note, have a look at my blog and bikes and post all about how you are going to 'cut-up' and 'racerise' your bmw twin, quoting all the stuff you've thought about doing to 'your' bike while pumping me and dangerous for 'information' wanker, just a 'trent' in disguise, 'top-yoke, drilled-for -lightness' it's a stock top yoke without the plastic cover........