easter. i like easter me, it's like bye, bye winter, hello spring, just one thing though, how come the date changes from year to year? i'm not taking the proverbial here, i just don't understand, my birthday is the twenty-ninth of june, same every year, always has been since 1959, guess it still will be until i shuffle off this mortal coil, but easter? the resurrection of the lord, it can be anytime in a three week period, why is that? is it to fit in with alton tower's not having their new ride finished? perhaps it's to fit in with the chancellor's budget? sky tv's new schedule? the 'next' spring sale? dunno, anyhoo, on a blustery, cold, showery day in derbyshire, [typical bank holiday weather, after a glorious week of nice, warm sunshine while we are all at work...] it's time to head out after a big breakfast, endless tea and dossing on the sofa, the dog's are just reaching cabin fever and chomping at the bit to 'get amongst it' off the lead and terrorising the local rabbit population, oryctolagus cuniculus prove too tricky even for my pair of seasoned hunters and the pesky wabbitt's dissapear underground. onto the old, disused, pit railway branch line, someone has propped up an old 'stop, look, listen' sign up against the fence where the path crosses the line, i'm suprised to see it, i thought they had all been stolen and sold on ebay to collectors of railway ephermara, a worthless warning notice and yet, today, it struck a chord with me, 'stop. look. listen' so simple and yet how often do you actually do it? i know i don't, far too busy to just follow that simple mantra. and so, today, i actually did as the sign suggested, i stopped, i looked and i listened and i added a few more things to that list, smell, touched and felt, i looked at the countryside and i saw the fucking ugly blot on the landscape and surroundings of the wind turbines above carsington reservoir,i heard the birdsong, the traffic noise and the horrible 'wusssh, wusshh, wussssh' of the turbine blades invading the afternoon, i smelt the rain and the grass and the rich, warm smell of hot oil and dry clutch plates, i felt, i felt the pull of the horizon as the big ducati pulled me towards it through the narrow,country lanes like some sort of massive rubber band, not out and out acceleration, just a feeling of 'how did that happen?' no direct input from me, the airbox induction noise, the termi's bouncing back off the dry stone wall's, a drop of the shoulder, the slightest shift of weight see's me barrelling through corners at highly illegal speeds that would see me locked up and the key thrown away and yet it all feel's so predictable, so safe and yet so thrilling, i guess that's why we do it, dangerous yes, life affirming? definitely! i'm cold, wet and need a slash, i pull off onto a lane and park in a gateway, turn around and there's a herd of black and white friesan cow's checking out the ducati, don't know where they came from! they take me by suprise, i walk up to the gate, they shy away at first, but their curiosity get's the better of their fear and they crowd up to me, i can feel their hot breath, i notice how small their teeth are, [worn out through endless grazing on the pasture? dunno, ask a farmer], snot flowing freely, dripping onto the floor and each other, bit like myself really.............
