northern soul

willie mitchell, 'that driving beat' if anything ever summed up all-nighters then this is it, half -past four in the am and the dj drop's this tune, sorry, i'm suddenly awake and giving it my utmost attention, absolutely fucking brilliant.....

aermacchi

couple of shot's from last week, had to make up a guard to stop the grease and shit off the drive chain hitting the pvl ignition and causing major electrickery problems, i cut up a piece of square-section stock, made up some mounting's, drilled 'em and milled to shape, tried to bend up a bit of stainless stock and fucked it up royaly, so, i just dug out an old mud-flap off the work truck and, well, there you go, i'm dead chuffed with it, shame it's going to be hidden behind the original cover and no-one but me and dangerous will ever know it's there, sweary mick say's i should just pretend to be adjusting the ignition so everybody can see it, story of my life, dangerous get's all the glory, me? i'm the twat roughing out all the work........ [p.s. sorry that the photo's are in the wrong order again, but hey, it's really not my fault, contact blogger and tell 'em]......

football

ey up, i'm back, after a particularly nasty dose of 'man-flu' which saw your's truly and the rest of the bailey's reduced to a sorry bunch of barely functioning human beings, just trying to struggle on through the daily drudge of work and domestic chores, all the while just wanting to just curl up and die, by midweek i had honestly thought about painting a big red cross on the front door to warn others that the inhabitants were infectous like they did during the great plague of london during the mid 1600's, i did manage to get in the shed and did my best to pass it on to dangerous who just mocked me for being weak and kept telling me to 'wipe your nose bailey, you're dribbling snot all over the work' and 'stop fucking coughing' cheer's dangerous, thanks for your sympathy, the last thing i felt inclined to do was to keep trying to post stuff on the blog, especially after the third attempt to do the same post, hence it was time to just let the virus run it's course before in my short tempered, ill state i took a ball pein hammer to the computer and reduced it to a big pile of plastic, glass and elecrical circuitary. eventually friday arrives and tonight we have a game against high flying crystal palace, football on a friday night? brilliant, it's not even on sky so why a friday night? how's about having the next game on thursday morning around 0900hrs? football = wednesday night, 1945 hrs and saturdays, 1500 hrs, it's simple isn't it? anyhow, a good game of football, palace taking the three points by virtue of a goalkeeping error by legzdins who stood rooted to the spot like a rabbit in the headlights while yannick bolasie just rounded him and scored easily, the chance to regain a point was squandered two minutes from time when connor sammon blasted the ball straight at the magnificent speroni for an easy save, that was that then, a good, fast, entertaining game, i felt the boo's from some of the 'faithful, were out of order at the whistle, they obviously must be the usual suspects who take advantage of the reduced ticket offer's and don't come very often? me and jack walked back into town, the difference between the football supporters making their way home, or for a consoling pint, wrapped up in coats, scarves and hats to fend off the cold and the friday night party people couldn't have been more different, lad's braving the weather in cap sleeve t shirts , low slung cuff-bottomed jeans and thin canvas slip-on shoes with no socks and the girls exposing acres of flesh, lot's of celluite and teetering on high heels as they staggered from one 'fun-pub' to the next, all in a pavement wide swathe of shreaking, raucous drunkeness, 'fancy a pint dad' say's jack, 'not tonight mate, let's just get some chinese and go home'........

northern soul

autry dewalt mixon junior, or, junior walker, was a motown legend, i saw him and his band playing live at an all-nighter way back in 1977-78?, the venue was the st ivo recreation centre, in st. ives, cambridgeshire, let's get this straight, here was a detoit soul legend, playing a sleepy east midlands rec. centre? holy shit batman! i was there, junior and the band eventually shuffled on stage around four in the a.m., about six hours late, [and you thought the stones or oasis were bad at keeping the crowd waiting?] but, as soon as they started to play this song, mr mixon honkin' on the sax like a honking donkey with lung trouble,  total attitude, 'yo motherfucker's, y'all come to see a SOUL show?, one, two, three, four, i'm a roadrunner baby' then, then, about ten minutes into his set, he drop's this tune, fuck me.....

fuck off blogger

i'm really struggling to publish stuff at the minute, blogger has a major issue, it's taking me loads of time to post anything, time i can ill-afford, i'm getting well fucked off with trying to post pictures and then getting kicked back, my last post being an example, why is everything arse about face? i post my pictures in a specific order and they are just randomly posted up! get it sorted.......wanker's.

sporty

after yesterdays 'family outing' it was back to some serious shed time today, me and dangerous spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to mount the pvl ignition system to the 'macchi, things got a little fraught as we 'discussed' the best way to mount the ignition, just to put things into perspective, we are mounting it on the opposite side of the engine, not where the original points mount, reason?, this model is a 1963 wet-clutch model, we can't cut the right-hand casing down to suit the pvl, we don't want to run a battery and points as per the standard ignition system, so, we have to mount it off the end of the crankshaft on the opposite side of the motor, there's a taper on the end of the crankshaft, we need to machine the same taper onto the stator, same as we did on the mz racer, dangerous just couldn't get his head around the fact that the markings on the ignition were showing the firing point, 45 degrees before top dead centre, i tried to tell him that we just had to work backwards from that datum point, dangerous just wouldn't have it, i decided to let him have a think about it and dug out this horrible rg500 front mudguard out of my stash, with a little trimming here and there, well, it still looked shite, i cut out the sides of the guard and offered it up, the tyre is just so wide but with a lot of shaping and sanding, dropping the forks out and machining some of the stock off the mudguard mounting lug's i reckon it will fit, [just need to fab up a couple of manx type 'y' brackets], dangerous finally get's it regarding the ignition for the 'macchi, we work out how to mount it, move on and share a couple of peroni's there's no time to be falling out, but, when you spend so much time working together i guess that's just inevitable........

killing two bird's with one stone

saturday afternoon see's chalky, sweary mick, dangerous and me making the hazourdous journey into enemy territory, we sneaked across the border into nottinghamshire from god's own county, derbyshire, we were on a raiding mission, total black op's, undercover, trying to blend in with the locals as we made our way through mansfield, chalky going as far as licking the rear offside window so that we didn't raise any suspicion of not being 'local', our destination was a small industrial estate in bilsthorpe, the home of d+m engineering, the classic race preperation workshop run by dave greenham, we were here to pick up a pvl ignition system for the 'macchi, the pvl's are a self generating system so we can scrap the heavy battery and once you fit them that's it, [we ran one on our mz racer and the bike started easily and ran perfectly, even when some toss-pot inadvertently forgot to tighten up the stator plate, ahem], dave was a real gem, he's raced at the highest level and after he retired worked for numerous factory team's as a mechanic, he patiently listened to our questions and pointed us in the right direction, all over a decent brew, when you are building something like the aermacchi there's no such thing as a 'bolt on' everything has to be modified to suit an application, it's all about long hours, sometimes day's, spent trying different option's, dave know's this and offered us loads of help, even dipping into his own personal stash to chip in with backing plates for the stator, all on trust, before today we hadn't even met, 'take it and try it, if it's no good for what you want drop it off next time your over this way' brilliant, oh yeah, next door to daves unit is nrp exhausts, they make bespoke exhaust systems, mostly one-off's, mostly for race bikes, all beautifully made in stainless, aluminium or titanium, i showed nige a couple of photos on my camera of the 'macchi exhaust as it is now and enquired if he could modify it to fit a silencer to get the db's down to the noise limit levels for english racetrack's, 'yeah, cause i can', that's it then, i just need to work out the angle of the dangle, make up a cardboard pattern and send chalky and sweary mick up on monday to get it fabbed up, sorted, my faith in people has been restored today, a wealth of knowledge, given freely and with no agenda other than getting old bikes out on the track, [still glad to make it home back over the border, 'chalky, keep licking that window youth, i reckon we've got away with it and the dozy fucker's ain't sussed us yet'.....

gallows

hardcore punk. no excuses. for the people, by the people, the mighty gallows. [for all the cry- baby's who might be offended, for all the people who hide their profiles  but still want to chip in, for all the wannabe's, for all the trendsters, for all the old-school, for all the hooligans, for all the have's and have-not's, for all the tattooed freaks, for all the racer's, for all the lonely, for all the young, old, live and dead, for all the soldiers, believers and schemers, skinheads, punks, mods and rockers] for everyone....

scooter's, alright for riding to work so you don't get your bike dirty, but really?, there not 'proper' bikes are they? you can't do trackdays on them, or go touring on them or anything, and most of them are fucking dirty, smelly two-strokes anyway, they ain't proper are they?, ok for your sister or your mum to ride down the shop's on, but come on, real blokes ride bikes, harleys, or japper sportsbikes, naked's, big tourer's, race replica's? but a scooter? gay, gayer than a very gay thing, not a 'man's bike' kid's ride 'em don't they? scooter's, nahh, behave.......

gallows

gallows, after a legendary gig at the now de-funct bell hotel, sadlergate, derby, [support act one of the most dangerous bands in punk history, trash talk] the mighty gallows bit a chunk off and spat it out, following the departure of the lead singer frank carter in 2011 the band released another album last year, my mate, the shovelmeister barse, saw franks new band at the deaf institute in manchester and reported good things, meanwhile, here's the original line-up, sans frank, but with alexison fire vocalist wade macneil, heres a tune  about the g20 summit, the riots and civil unrest, punks not dead.....

sporty

it had all started so well, i'd phoned sparky paul on sunday to arrange for him to come and have a look at the wiring on the sporty, i just don't get electickery-majick, i've tried, but, i just don't get it, sparky paul turned up on the dot, 'ahh, is this the patient?' he said, stroking his four day old growth and staring at the 'macchi through the bottom of his tri-focals, [no, no mistake there, tri-focals], 'err, no paul, it's this one over here' i reply, more beard stroking and some muttered oath's, all the while making notes in the most unintelligble scribble on the world's most scruffy notebook, dangerous turns up, 'ey up paul, can you have a quick look at the lathe while your here, it's sort of stalling when we start it up' [fucking hell dangerous, paul doesn't multi-task very well and i want my bike wired, fuck the lathe!] the next hour and a half passes in a blur, paul is on a mission trying to sort out the reluctantly starting lathe, all thoughts of the sporty gone to some far away galaxy that electricians brains go to, 'good new's gentlemen' announces sparky paul, 'i've sussed it, let me draw it out for you so you understand the problem', he put's his crusty notebook on the workbench and proceed's to knock dangerous's glasses straight off, down the back of the bench, between the mains gas pipe, wall and heavy bench, dangerous look's at me, i look at dangerous, we both look at paul, he decides to do one, 'oh, erm, i'll give you a phone call when i'm ready tim, see you david, goodnight' and with that, he makes a sharp exit, an hour later we have stripped off the contents of the bench, crow-barred it away from the wall and dangerous, imitating 'janus stark' the legendary circus escapoligist in the old comic's , has managed to extract his eye glasses from their position, wedged, betwixt the wall and bench.....