Not much going on right now……. Hasn’t been for a while.
Just thought I’d say Something rather than Nothing, but I guess there’s not a lot of difference between the two which means I might as well not bother, but I am, so that’s Something I guess.
So here’s to Something.
Wrote to my buddy mad Eddie in the States today……… well, last night too actually. Today was in response to him answering right away. He’s been on a downer lately and the once long,-deep-and-regular emails have dropped off for a while now. Mainly my fault I guess; plodding and struggling through life’s thick mud as I’ve been doing for a while now kinda leads me to ‘not bothering’ with a load of things I really should be bothering with.
‘Not bothering’ is kinda misleading though……… it smacks of those things ‘not bothered’ with being unimportant to me. Couldn’t be further from the truth really. Depression kills your life. Kills everything within shouting distance of it too. Kills friendships. Kills passions. Kills your job. Even kills your doctor’s patience too, if you refuse the mind-and-dick-debilitating medication which fails to cheer-up seventy percent of those who swallow it.
Kills the fucking lot really.
Mine’s from my job, and it’s not bad enough to have me curled up in a ball, but it’s bad enough that I can’t be bothered, unless I have to on someone else’s behalf. Work mostly. Which keeps me topped up nicely, thanks.
It’s the bullshit that's increasing in a way that would’ve been unimaginable a few years ago. Actually, it’s still bleddy unimaginable. These son’bitch weenies, all sat in their cosy offices are pissing on us all down here. As if we didn’t have enough of it to clear up as it is. I am often overwhelmed with their ingenuity, and ability to treat the ridiculous as entirely reasonable and practicable.
Anyway……… enough. I’m on a day off, and if I don’t watch it I’ll spend it walking around here having a bleddy good row with the buggers.
So, there’s Something, instead of Nothing.
Now, I’m off to do Nothing.
Y’all have a good day doing Something.
Or Nothing.
Either way, don't feel bad doing it, ok? :o)
Kxxx :o)
Showing posts with label laugh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label laugh. Show all posts
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
Laugh-out-loud books........... and one in particular. :o)
Hi Y’all,
I’ve been reading a rare book, ….. One that really made me laugh right out loud.
A lot of books have reviews by people who describe how a book had them ‘laughing out aloud’, and quite often by People Of Note, sometimes on behalf of Publications Of Note,. Sometimes the book was so funny, evidently, that such an open display of humour was unavoidable in public.
Well, that’s as may be, and far from it for me to doubt the truth of the reviewer, but quite honestly I find few books really are that funny. Most are quite funny, but those that really make you do more than chortle, smile, or interrupt the natural breathing rhythm to shove out a reverse sniff from the nostrils are quite rare. Maybe it’s just me who finds that, but I suspect not.
The book which has had me laughing aloud, and to the point of moist eyes a few times, is Rich Hall’s ‘I Blame Society’
To some extent I think it was helped by my having his ‘voice’ in my head pretty much all the time I was reading it. Made all the easier because it’s written in a dialect which kinda makes it hard not to ‘hear’ him in your mind, and that dry way he has of telling a yarn, assuming you’ve seen his stand-up performances, and/or other appearances on TV. I’ve recently seen him on our British comedy quiz show, ‘QI’, hosted by the amazing Stephen Fry, so that may well have been the reason his voice was speaking to me.
It didn’t have me laughing all the time by any means, and certainly not aloud every time I did laugh, but I couldn’t go very far without something funny hitting home. The other day, (the pebble collecting day), I sat on the beach and absolutely howled with laughter a good few times. I rocked back and lay there laughing for a minute, dried my eyes and sat up to read the same bit again, only to burst out laughing and repeat the performance.
It was a pretty empty beach. Just as well. Undignified behaviour for an Old Greaser.
Now, before you get the impression that I’m claiming this to be a great work of literature, I’m not. Partly because it isn’t in ‘classic’ terms, but also because I wouldn’t exactly be qualified to make such a judgement. To be honest, I hold a personal view that a great work of literature could be anything that intensely amuses the reader, is especially fluid and easy to read, and fills your head with what was intended by the author. Still, that’s not the point………. I’m not qualified to judge, that being generally the preserve of the finely educated.
Anyway…….. to quote Amazon’s synopsis:-
‘Married six times, all to women named Brenda, Otis Lee Crenshaw's bourbon-fuelled odyssey takes him from the high mountains of East Tennessee to the bottom of the music charts. A man not above faking his own death to sell more records, this is his not quite true story of romance, recidivism, country music, and an unshakable belief in Marriage at First Sight.’
Ok, so that’s generally the gist of the book, but in amongst it all are some wisdoms, and here is where I wished I’d noted the page numbers where I read them, but I didn’t, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. You will probably have to be the sort of person who ‘thinks’ a lot about life, has been hammered by it at times (and who hasn’t, bar the very fortunate?….. Or perhaps less fortunate, I guess.), and can think a bit sideways at times too.
There was one morsel that tickled me, and I had been dying to try it out on someone since I read it……….. I was at work yesterday, and got my chance. Someone (We’ll call her Cheryl, shall we?) was going on about something or another, bless her. Some detail of out working day that was to be set in concrete as it tends to be these days. There were a few staff around to be amused by my great wit, and so I took a risk……….
“So, I’ve moved all the furniture around and it should be better for you all now”
“Cheryl, do you hear that?”
“What, I don’t hear anything?”
“Exactly, Cheryl, because that’s the sound of nobody giving a shit”
Everybody laughed, mainly because I was laughing my head off, and I JUST got away with it. It was a real close thing, because ‘Cheryl’ is Quite an Important Person, and knew she shouldn’t really be seen to see the funny side of it. It was ok because she knew it wasn’t meant spitefully, and I was just getting a laugh out of it.
Getting away with it. My biggest kick since I was born. :o)
Not so great when I come a cropper though, but isn’t that the measure of how good something feels………….. how bad the downside is. How dark the flip-side of the coin.
Sorry, rambling away.
Maybe I’ve read this at just the right time, in just the right mood, and so it floated my boat, I dunno. I read another of his books, called ‘Things Snowball’ a while ago, and can’t remember clearly, but don’t think it had me laughing as much as this one did. I must have a look for it, and read it again. Different things ‘fit’ us at different stages of our lives.
I’ve actually gone and rummaged around for ‘Things Snowball’, found it after ages wandering around my books, muttering, “I bleddy KNOW it’s here somewhere”, but not being able to see it anywhere. You know when you can ‘see’ where it is in your mind’s eye, but when you look there, it’s ‘gone’.
I suddenly found inspiration, and went delving into The Big Box, so called because it’s a real big box, yanking all the books out, finding it wasn’t there, and then and not being able to pack the same number of books back in again. There’s a lesson to be learnt there, and one I’ve learnt and seemingly repeatedly forgotten; never be too efficient in your box-packing/storing/tidying, because if you don’t leave some slack, you’ll never do such a good job when you go and take something out, and so The Untidiness will start all over again.
Always leave some slack in your efficiency!
In the end, after looking absolutely EVERYWHERE, I found it two books down from the top of the stack on the floor by the bedside cabinet. I KNEW I’d see the bleddy thing recently!
You know what it’s like when you find a book, especially one you’ve driven yourself to the edge of what sanity you have left, and believe me I can scarce afford to go anywhere near that precipice; you just have to start skimming though, and reading at least bits of it, don’t you? I ended up reading a few chapters ……… and, sure enough, ………… nope, nothing like as funny.
Funny, but not laugh-out-loud funny, as the reviewer on the back cover from The Scotsman claimed. Still we all find different humour funny, and so maybe these reviews, including my opinion here, aren’t worth reading. You just have to suck it and see. (Stop it!)
So, as per the usual, I guess I’m wasting everybody’s time here today.
Sorry (sigh) :oI
Ok, that’s enough…….. it was just going to be a few lines.
Y'all know how it is.........
K.x :o)
I’ve been reading a rare book, ….. One that really made me laugh right out loud.
A lot of books have reviews by people who describe how a book had them ‘laughing out aloud’, and quite often by People Of Note, sometimes on behalf of Publications Of Note,. Sometimes the book was so funny, evidently, that such an open display of humour was unavoidable in public.
Well, that’s as may be, and far from it for me to doubt the truth of the reviewer, but quite honestly I find few books really are that funny. Most are quite funny, but those that really make you do more than chortle, smile, or interrupt the natural breathing rhythm to shove out a reverse sniff from the nostrils are quite rare. Maybe it’s just me who finds that, but I suspect not.
The book which has had me laughing aloud, and to the point of moist eyes a few times, is Rich Hall’s ‘I Blame Society’
To some extent I think it was helped by my having his ‘voice’ in my head pretty much all the time I was reading it. Made all the easier because it’s written in a dialect which kinda makes it hard not to ‘hear’ him in your mind, and that dry way he has of telling a yarn, assuming you’ve seen his stand-up performances, and/or other appearances on TV. I’ve recently seen him on our British comedy quiz show, ‘QI’, hosted by the amazing Stephen Fry, so that may well have been the reason his voice was speaking to me.
It didn’t have me laughing all the time by any means, and certainly not aloud every time I did laugh, but I couldn’t go very far without something funny hitting home. The other day, (the pebble collecting day), I sat on the beach and absolutely howled with laughter a good few times. I rocked back and lay there laughing for a minute, dried my eyes and sat up to read the same bit again, only to burst out laughing and repeat the performance.
It was a pretty empty beach. Just as well. Undignified behaviour for an Old Greaser.
Now, before you get the impression that I’m claiming this to be a great work of literature, I’m not. Partly because it isn’t in ‘classic’ terms, but also because I wouldn’t exactly be qualified to make such a judgement. To be honest, I hold a personal view that a great work of literature could be anything that intensely amuses the reader, is especially fluid and easy to read, and fills your head with what was intended by the author. Still, that’s not the point………. I’m not qualified to judge, that being generally the preserve of the finely educated.
Anyway…….. to quote Amazon’s synopsis:-
‘Married six times, all to women named Brenda, Otis Lee Crenshaw's bourbon-fuelled odyssey takes him from the high mountains of East Tennessee to the bottom of the music charts. A man not above faking his own death to sell more records, this is his not quite true story of romance, recidivism, country music, and an unshakable belief in Marriage at First Sight.’
Ok, so that’s generally the gist of the book, but in amongst it all are some wisdoms, and here is where I wished I’d noted the page numbers where I read them, but I didn’t, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. You will probably have to be the sort of person who ‘thinks’ a lot about life, has been hammered by it at times (and who hasn’t, bar the very fortunate?….. Or perhaps less fortunate, I guess.), and can think a bit sideways at times too.
There was one morsel that tickled me, and I had been dying to try it out on someone since I read it……….. I was at work yesterday, and got my chance. Someone (We’ll call her Cheryl, shall we?) was going on about something or another, bless her. Some detail of out working day that was to be set in concrete as it tends to be these days. There were a few staff around to be amused by my great wit, and so I took a risk……….
“So, I’ve moved all the furniture around and it should be better for you all now”
“Cheryl, do you hear that?”
“What, I don’t hear anything?”
“Exactly, Cheryl, because that’s the sound of nobody giving a shit”
Everybody laughed, mainly because I was laughing my head off, and I JUST got away with it. It was a real close thing, because ‘Cheryl’ is Quite an Important Person, and knew she shouldn’t really be seen to see the funny side of it. It was ok because she knew it wasn’t meant spitefully, and I was just getting a laugh out of it.
Getting away with it. My biggest kick since I was born. :o)
Not so great when I come a cropper though, but isn’t that the measure of how good something feels………….. how bad the downside is. How dark the flip-side of the coin.
Sorry, rambling away.
Maybe I’ve read this at just the right time, in just the right mood, and so it floated my boat, I dunno. I read another of his books, called ‘Things Snowball’ a while ago, and can’t remember clearly, but don’t think it had me laughing as much as this one did. I must have a look for it, and read it again. Different things ‘fit’ us at different stages of our lives.
I’ve actually gone and rummaged around for ‘Things Snowball’, found it after ages wandering around my books, muttering, “I bleddy KNOW it’s here somewhere”, but not being able to see it anywhere. You know when you can ‘see’ where it is in your mind’s eye, but when you look there, it’s ‘gone’.
I suddenly found inspiration, and went delving into The Big Box, so called because it’s a real big box, yanking all the books out, finding it wasn’t there, and then and not being able to pack the same number of books back in again. There’s a lesson to be learnt there, and one I’ve learnt and seemingly repeatedly forgotten; never be too efficient in your box-packing/storing/tidying, because if you don’t leave some slack, you’ll never do such a good job when you go and take something out, and so The Untidiness will start all over again.
Always leave some slack in your efficiency!
In the end, after looking absolutely EVERYWHERE, I found it two books down from the top of the stack on the floor by the bedside cabinet. I KNEW I’d see the bleddy thing recently!
You know what it’s like when you find a book, especially one you’ve driven yourself to the edge of what sanity you have left, and believe me I can scarce afford to go anywhere near that precipice; you just have to start skimming though, and reading at least bits of it, don’t you? I ended up reading a few chapters ……… and, sure enough, ………… nope, nothing like as funny.
Funny, but not laugh-out-loud funny, as the reviewer on the back cover from The Scotsman claimed. Still we all find different humour funny, and so maybe these reviews, including my opinion here, aren’t worth reading. You just have to suck it and see. (Stop it!)
So, as per the usual, I guess I’m wasting everybody’s time here today.
Sorry (sigh) :oI
Ok, that’s enough…….. it was just going to be a few lines.
Y'all know how it is.........
K.x :o)
Thursday, 26 March 2009
A meal and then clubbing with My Girls, a few inspirational quotes, and some Rube Goldberg gadgets. :o)
Went out for a meal last night with a load of staff ('My Girls') I used to work with last year, and then to a big pub, which is pretty much a night club in all but name……. the same one I went to a couple of weeks ago or so, with the bunch of staff I work with now.
It was a great night out, and we had a great laugh. They are a good bunch, and the humour is terrific when we are all together. I was in ‘Entertain’ mode, and the restaurant owner said they were all welcome back, excepting myself. He was smiling though.
(Thankyou God for a great night out.)
I got back home, and it’s silence had the usual ‘flattening’ effect. Another rare night out in the company of people with full lives, and another return alone to a quiet house. Jeees, how many times have I come back to a quiet house? Still, at least I don’t have to put up with someone else’s shit I guess. Some would gladly swap places with me in a heartbeat, eh? :o)
(Thankyou God I don’t have to put up with someone else’s shit!) :o)
Had a bad night………. bad dreams which kept me wakening up through the night. Stood outside for a while pondering on it all, and calling for Lomax, as I do every time I happen to get up at night. Made a cuppa, had a read, and back to sleep at four-ish. Slept on and off then until nine.
Exciting life, innit? :oI
(Thankyou God for waking to another day)
This blog isn’t kicking off today……… no inspiration.
Give up for today, eh? Sometimes you’ve just got to let it go.
Instead,……….. here’s some quotes I found whilst browsing around the ‘net this morning. I just might inspire someone else today. :o)
"I never knew I was going to get to the result until I got there." -- Pablo Pardo
"The perfect state of creative bliss is having power (you are 50) and knowing nothing (you are 9). This assures an interesting and successful outcome."
-- Tibor Kalman
The good news is that you can become more innovative just by taking some action, however small, today. My favorite book on this subject is The Knowing-Doing Gap. In one section of the book, 49ers coach Steve Mariucci explains how he stamps out inaction by not sporting a watch:
"Always know what time it is. It is always NOW. And NOW is when you should do it."
"The best measure of a blog is not how many people it reaches, it’s how much it changes what you do. Changes your posture, your writing, your transparency, your humility. What blogging has done for me is made me think. I get to think about how the outside world will understand something I’m trying to do, for example."- Seth Godin
Exhilaration is the Breeze
That lifts us from the Ground
And leaves us in another place
Whose statement is not found
-Emily Dickinson
................ And here's some U-Tube links:-
This wooden marble 'adding machine' would be fun to make........... maybe a lot bigger with more adding slots to calculate a far bigger number.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcDshWmhF4A&feature=channel
Here's a link to a music machine........... whether you think it sounds good or not is immaterial really.............. just think of the work to put it together, eh????
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_Ajg1G3vik
That got me looking at Automata........... something that's always fascinated me, and which I'd love to get around to making someday. I'd love to make something that is complicated, and goes all around the woods to do bugger-all in the end.
I love the setups where, like a row of falling dominoes, a whole series of events results in something trivial happening at the end. There's a name for these chain- reaction mechanisms but it escapes me right now.............
Ah, yes............ Rube Goldberg Mechanisms.
There's several on U-Tube........... Honda did one, which was an advert called "Cog", and was quite brilliant in itself, using nothing but Honda car parts!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYabfifhEPE
The best one though is absolutely fantastic, called 'The way Things Go'. It used many more spectacular chain reactions, fire and fireworks being amongst them, and although it's a little more amateurish and less 'slick' than the Honda one, it's actually far better, at over a hundred feet long, and lasting for 30 minutes in the full version
Here's a U-Tube link to a shorter version...........
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U82eWptFxSs
There's bloke called Theo Jansen who designs and builds the fantastic Strandbeests:-
"Since 1990 I have been occupied creating new forms of life.
Not pollen or seeds but plastic yellow tubes are used as the basic material of this new nature. I make skeletons that are able to walk on the wind, so they don’t have to eat.
Over time, these skeletons have become increasingly better at surviving the elements such as storms and water and eventually I want to put these animals out in herds on the beaches, so they will live their own lives."
have a look at his website........... fascinating, it really is. No electronics whatsoever, which means absolutely no computers of any size at all.
here's a link to them working.........
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3_eY22R0TWE&NR=1
........... and here's a U-Tube link to a lecture of his..........
http://www.strandbeest.com/
There's a BMW advert on the end, and a bit at the beginning, but ignore that. I guess he needs sponsorship, and I won't knock this absolutely genius guy for that! :o)
Ok, y’all have a good day out there,…. well, what’s left of it anyway .............. it's pretty much over here, as it's just gone 5.30pm.
Another day without Lomax bites the dust. I sure hope he's ok, wherever he is. :o(
K.
It was a great night out, and we had a great laugh. They are a good bunch, and the humour is terrific when we are all together. I was in ‘Entertain’ mode, and the restaurant owner said they were all welcome back, excepting myself. He was smiling though.
(Thankyou God for a great night out.)
I got back home, and it’s silence had the usual ‘flattening’ effect. Another rare night out in the company of people with full lives, and another return alone to a quiet house. Jeees, how many times have I come back to a quiet house? Still, at least I don’t have to put up with someone else’s shit I guess. Some would gladly swap places with me in a heartbeat, eh? :o)
(Thankyou God I don’t have to put up with someone else’s shit!) :o)
Had a bad night………. bad dreams which kept me wakening up through the night. Stood outside for a while pondering on it all, and calling for Lomax, as I do every time I happen to get up at night. Made a cuppa, had a read, and back to sleep at four-ish. Slept on and off then until nine.
Exciting life, innit? :oI
(Thankyou God for waking to another day)
This blog isn’t kicking off today……… no inspiration.
Give up for today, eh? Sometimes you’ve just got to let it go.
Instead,……….. here’s some quotes I found whilst browsing around the ‘net this morning. I just might inspire someone else today. :o)
"I never knew I was going to get to the result until I got there." -- Pablo Pardo
"The perfect state of creative bliss is having power (you are 50) and knowing nothing (you are 9). This assures an interesting and successful outcome."
-- Tibor Kalman
The good news is that you can become more innovative just by taking some action, however small, today. My favorite book on this subject is The Knowing-Doing Gap. In one section of the book, 49ers coach Steve Mariucci explains how he stamps out inaction by not sporting a watch:
"Always know what time it is. It is always NOW. And NOW is when you should do it."
"The best measure of a blog is not how many people it reaches, it’s how much it changes what you do. Changes your posture, your writing, your transparency, your humility. What blogging has done for me is made me think. I get to think about how the outside world will understand something I’m trying to do, for example."- Seth Godin
Exhilaration is the Breeze
That lifts us from the Ground
And leaves us in another place
Whose statement is not found
-Emily Dickinson
................ And here's some U-Tube links:-
This wooden marble 'adding machine' would be fun to make........... maybe a lot bigger with more adding slots to calculate a far bigger number.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcDshWmhF4A&feature=channel
Here's a link to a music machine........... whether you think it sounds good or not is immaterial really.............. just think of the work to put it together, eh????
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_Ajg1G3vik
That got me looking at Automata........... something that's always fascinated me, and which I'd love to get around to making someday. I'd love to make something that is complicated, and goes all around the woods to do bugger-all in the end.
I love the setups where, like a row of falling dominoes, a whole series of events results in something trivial happening at the end. There's a name for these chain- reaction mechanisms but it escapes me right now.............
Ah, yes............ Rube Goldberg Mechanisms.
There's several on U-Tube........... Honda did one, which was an advert called "Cog", and was quite brilliant in itself, using nothing but Honda car parts!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYabfifhEPE
The best one though is absolutely fantastic, called 'The way Things Go'. It used many more spectacular chain reactions, fire and fireworks being amongst them, and although it's a little more amateurish and less 'slick' than the Honda one, it's actually far better, at over a hundred feet long, and lasting for 30 minutes in the full version
Here's a U-Tube link to a shorter version...........
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U82eWptFxSs
There's bloke called Theo Jansen who designs and builds the fantastic Strandbeests:-
"Since 1990 I have been occupied creating new forms of life.
Not pollen or seeds but plastic yellow tubes are used as the basic material of this new nature. I make skeletons that are able to walk on the wind, so they don’t have to eat.
Over time, these skeletons have become increasingly better at surviving the elements such as storms and water and eventually I want to put these animals out in herds on the beaches, so they will live their own lives."
have a look at his website........... fascinating, it really is. No electronics whatsoever, which means absolutely no computers of any size at all.
here's a link to them working.........
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3_eY22R0TWE&NR=1
........... and here's a U-Tube link to a lecture of his..........
http://www.strandbeest.com/
There's a BMW advert on the end, and a bit at the beginning, but ignore that. I guess he needs sponsorship, and I won't knock this absolutely genius guy for that! :o)
Ok, y’all have a good day out there,…. well, what’s left of it anyway .............. it's pretty much over here, as it's just gone 5.30pm.
Another day without Lomax bites the dust. I sure hope he's ok, wherever he is. :o(
K.
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Back-Patch Biker Club party, and Other Thoughts that get sparked off............. as they do. :o)
Not a lot been happening. Had a couple of good days at work, despite them being very busy. Good-humoured, and hard working staff makes all the difference in this job, same as in most I would think, and I feel very sorry for those who have to do without it around them as they work. Most times it’s the only thing that makes it bearable.
No-Problem-Pete dragged me off on our bikes to a Back-Patch Club party at their clubhouse a few miles away on Saturday night. It was real good, largely because, as I was talking about the other day here, these are the Real Thing, and it showed in the genuinely friendly, and unpretentious atmosphere. Many who are outside of the biking world would be amazed at how unintimidating it was too.
Motorcycling in this country is traditionally a dirty word, for many reasons, not the least of which it being the traditional interest (at one time!) of the young, and the lower classes, and traditionally perceived as being so 'dangerous' as well. I'ts more acceptable now our wealthier middle class forty-something’s are embracing it as a lifestyle accessory, although it certainly still retains that second-class citizen feel . If you ever want to feel your life is worth nothing more than dried spit on the pavement, look into the eyes of a motorist as they access your worth, and risk to themselves, just before they look away and pull right out in front of you. It happens often; pretty much daily, if you ride a lot.
It’s more often not a case of “I didn’t see you mate” than a case, of “I did, but I couldn’t care less if you live or die” You don’t believe me? Let me take you for a spin and open your eyes a bit.
In fact we as a group cause very little of the perceived trouble to any community. There were some troubles back in the sixties and early seventies, but that was a result of having those upstart weirdo mods, and skinheads about the place, who insisted on using poxy little scooters to display their ‘masculinity’. I mean, who, if they were of any genetically sound ancestry worthy of preservation, would ever use a scooter, an excellent vehicle to shop and commute locally on, as something with which to attract the Chicks? I ask you, I mean, c’mon?
Anyway, I digress……… we’re all friends now, so they tell me. :o)
No, get any amount of us together and you won’t find any trouble……… unlike some other more socially acceptable pastimes, like football f’rinstance. Ask yourself………. If biking events cost a fraction of what football costs to police, and has such a history of violence at their venues, would it not be banned pretty quickly? I rather think so!
Y’all may not be aware of this, but in 2008 there were several traditional biking rallies and activities effectively banned by some pretty sly police and ‘establishment’ goings-on. This was despite there having never been any trouble in years gone by.
It's evidence of the creeping cancer in our society of the weenies (small ‘w’) at work. They are, cold wet slimy drip, by cold wet slimy drip, destroying out country, and they are sneakily doing it by effectvely trying to outlaw the minority interests first. By the time the majority take notice it will be too late. It actually already is
If you want evidence that we bikers, as a group, cause little trouble to the society we live in, just go to the Isle of Man during TT race week (Fortnight if you include Practice Week, and you should really). There, something like 35,000 bikers land on this tiny little island for a week of pure speed, and love of two wheeled (And a few three wheeled) machinery. Ask any of the police over there just how much trouble they have to deal with, and you’ll find they will say none at all. Any night that week there are just a relatively few coppers patrolling Douglas (The capital of the I.O.M.), despite the streets and pubs absolutely CRAMMED with thousands of bikers, and the main drag three-deep with thousands of bikes parked up in rows as far as you can see. I really is quite a sight.
I was talking to a copper over there one year, and he said that the reason bikers were no trouble is because we are what we are from our love of the bikes. We don’t need to kick somebody’s head in to get our kicks (Did you see what I did there?), because we get those kicks from the bikes. That’s right on the button.
Yup, and so take it from me, the I.O.M., during TT week anyway, would be the safest place you could wander alone at night. Ask any I.O.M resident too……….. they absolutely love us. The ones who don’t are the few super-rich who don’t like their little tax-haven boat rocked, but they aren’t the indigenous people, not by a long chalk. However, their influence is slowly (cold wet slimy drip, by cold wet slimy drip) diluting the event, and I fear for it’s future once my generation has slipped it’s mooring from this mortal coil.
Anyway……. yup, it was a great party, and the bikes outside were a good mix of styles and modifications. It was good to be amongst a group where not one was a bullshitter. These boys were all time served troops. :o)
As an aside……….. someone told me that the locality used to get swamped every year with a certain travelling fraternity, but after this back-patch club moved in and sorted out their clubhouse, they strangely visited just the once. There was no intimidation, it was only the knowledge that there were a group of hard-core bikers established there, and so this particular group of ‘travelling people’ suddenly chose to make a mess, and plant themselves for free, somewhere else.
Funny that, don’t you think?
Makes me wonder what would happen if other people got together and refused to stand for any shit from those who think they can do as they please. Maybe one day we will all get so pissed-off with being the victims being trampled on, and the scum openly laughing at the majority, that we will get our shit together, but I fear the opportunity is fast diminishing.
We pay the police to do it for us, but they are so roped in by political correctness, bullshit, and self-serving politicians, that they can’t be effective any more. I fear their numbers are also weakened by an infiltration of weenies in their ranks. They’d be the ones fast-tracked for promotion then.
If we don’t watch it, fascism will take a hold……… history should warn us of that. I for one get tempted to vote for the BNP quite often……… not because I’m racist, nor because I want them in power for one second, but because our thieving, skiving, dishonest two-faced weenie politicians need a big wake-up call!
Sooner the better!
Sorry……….. ranting again. :oI
How’d I get to that point?
It’s The Rambling that does it y’know. :o)
Y’all have a good day out there, wherever you are……… and thank God for at least one thing today, and every day. I’m into my sixth (I think?) “Thankyou God” day, and am still hanging in there.
Mind you, I started to ship some water yesterday morning, but managed to bale it dry by the afternoon :o)
Remember what Churchill said………. “Never, EVER, give up!” :o)
Thankyou God, that I haven’t.
K. x :o)
No-Problem-Pete dragged me off on our bikes to a Back-Patch Club party at their clubhouse a few miles away on Saturday night. It was real good, largely because, as I was talking about the other day here, these are the Real Thing, and it showed in the genuinely friendly, and unpretentious atmosphere. Many who are outside of the biking world would be amazed at how unintimidating it was too.
Motorcycling in this country is traditionally a dirty word, for many reasons, not the least of which it being the traditional interest (at one time!) of the young, and the lower classes, and traditionally perceived as being so 'dangerous' as well. I'ts more acceptable now our wealthier middle class forty-something’s are embracing it as a lifestyle accessory, although it certainly still retains that second-class citizen feel . If you ever want to feel your life is worth nothing more than dried spit on the pavement, look into the eyes of a motorist as they access your worth, and risk to themselves, just before they look away and pull right out in front of you. It happens often; pretty much daily, if you ride a lot.
It’s more often not a case of “I didn’t see you mate” than a case, of “I did, but I couldn’t care less if you live or die” You don’t believe me? Let me take you for a spin and open your eyes a bit.
In fact we as a group cause very little of the perceived trouble to any community. There were some troubles back in the sixties and early seventies, but that was a result of having those upstart weirdo mods, and skinheads about the place, who insisted on using poxy little scooters to display their ‘masculinity’. I mean, who, if they were of any genetically sound ancestry worthy of preservation, would ever use a scooter, an excellent vehicle to shop and commute locally on, as something with which to attract the Chicks? I ask you, I mean, c’mon?
Anyway, I digress……… we’re all friends now, so they tell me. :o)
No, get any amount of us together and you won’t find any trouble……… unlike some other more socially acceptable pastimes, like football f’rinstance. Ask yourself………. If biking events cost a fraction of what football costs to police, and has such a history of violence at their venues, would it not be banned pretty quickly? I rather think so!
Y’all may not be aware of this, but in 2008 there were several traditional biking rallies and activities effectively banned by some pretty sly police and ‘establishment’ goings-on. This was despite there having never been any trouble in years gone by.
It's evidence of the creeping cancer in our society of the weenies (small ‘w’) at work. They are, cold wet slimy drip, by cold wet slimy drip, destroying out country, and they are sneakily doing it by effectvely trying to outlaw the minority interests first. By the time the majority take notice it will be too late. It actually already is
If you want evidence that we bikers, as a group, cause little trouble to the society we live in, just go to the Isle of Man during TT race week (Fortnight if you include Practice Week, and you should really). There, something like 35,000 bikers land on this tiny little island for a week of pure speed, and love of two wheeled (And a few three wheeled) machinery. Ask any of the police over there just how much trouble they have to deal with, and you’ll find they will say none at all. Any night that week there are just a relatively few coppers patrolling Douglas (The capital of the I.O.M.), despite the streets and pubs absolutely CRAMMED with thousands of bikers, and the main drag three-deep with thousands of bikes parked up in rows as far as you can see. I really is quite a sight.
I was talking to a copper over there one year, and he said that the reason bikers were no trouble is because we are what we are from our love of the bikes. We don’t need to kick somebody’s head in to get our kicks (Did you see what I did there?), because we get those kicks from the bikes. That’s right on the button.
Yup, and so take it from me, the I.O.M., during TT week anyway, would be the safest place you could wander alone at night. Ask any I.O.M resident too……….. they absolutely love us. The ones who don’t are the few super-rich who don’t like their little tax-haven boat rocked, but they aren’t the indigenous people, not by a long chalk. However, their influence is slowly (cold wet slimy drip, by cold wet slimy drip) diluting the event, and I fear for it’s future once my generation has slipped it’s mooring from this mortal coil.
Anyway……. yup, it was a great party, and the bikes outside were a good mix of styles and modifications. It was good to be amongst a group where not one was a bullshitter. These boys were all time served troops. :o)
As an aside……….. someone told me that the locality used to get swamped every year with a certain travelling fraternity, but after this back-patch club moved in and sorted out their clubhouse, they strangely visited just the once. There was no intimidation, it was only the knowledge that there were a group of hard-core bikers established there, and so this particular group of ‘travelling people’ suddenly chose to make a mess, and plant themselves for free, somewhere else.
Funny that, don’t you think?
Makes me wonder what would happen if other people got together and refused to stand for any shit from those who think they can do as they please. Maybe one day we will all get so pissed-off with being the victims being trampled on, and the scum openly laughing at the majority, that we will get our shit together, but I fear the opportunity is fast diminishing.
We pay the police to do it for us, but they are so roped in by political correctness, bullshit, and self-serving politicians, that they can’t be effective any more. I fear their numbers are also weakened by an infiltration of weenies in their ranks. They’d be the ones fast-tracked for promotion then.
If we don’t watch it, fascism will take a hold……… history should warn us of that. I for one get tempted to vote for the BNP quite often……… not because I’m racist, nor because I want them in power for one second, but because our thieving, skiving, dishonest two-faced weenie politicians need a big wake-up call!
Sooner the better!
Sorry……….. ranting again. :oI
How’d I get to that point?
It’s The Rambling that does it y’know. :o)
Y’all have a good day out there, wherever you are……… and thank God for at least one thing today, and every day. I’m into my sixth (I think?) “Thankyou God” day, and am still hanging in there.
Mind you, I started to ship some water yesterday morning, but managed to bale it dry by the afternoon :o)
Remember what Churchill said………. “Never, EVER, give up!” :o)
Thankyou God, that I haven’t.
K. x :o)
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
Serving Time At The Kickstart.........
Pete called in again at mid-day, and then went off to Andy’s to fiddle with the GS650 Suzuki he bought the other day.
(One like this GS650, but with a bit more of a 'patina' about it.) :o)
He’s been polishing and said it was looking a lot better than when I saw it the other day, so I dragged the Harley out to at least let her suck some air through her lungs, and went over for a gander.
Yup, sure enough, it looked a lot better, and whilst we were all stood about admiring it, Andy invited Pete to demonstrate his fledgling kick-starting skills on the XS650 Yammy he was doing up.
Peter hasn't yet Done His time At The Kickstart, but is very keen to impress. I have to say, though, that in my extensive experience at trying to impress, and boy, have I ever tried, it's invariably something to regret at leisure.
(Andy and the XS650 Yammy)
Pete, and with some considerable optimism I have to say, swung a shapely leg over the snoozing Yam, gently leaning on her stand looking so quiet and harmless.
They often do that y’know,………. look quiet and harmless. :o)
It wasn’t the wisest thing he’s done that day, if indeed he’d done anything wise that day, which was doubtful. He'd visited me that morning for a start.
He Assumed The Position, with much settling the foot in the optimum location on the long kickstarter lever, and prepared himself for the first stroke. There's generally only the one location, but it's a biker tradition to seem to be choosing from several. It gives you time to gather courage, and/or consider if there isn't something else you'd rather be doing.
A manly swing was taken.
Nothing.
No life evident in sound or deed.
Another, even manlier swing, again to no avail.
Ok……… more ‘application’ needed, and this is where it started to all fall apart. He launched himself into the air, and descended on the kickstarter once again, with a mighty grunt that would've made any woman want to drag him off into the bushes. Mid-way down the stroke, the Peter Foot slipped off the kick-starter, and it flew back up along the Peter Shin. It was horrible to witness, it really was.
If you’ve spent your yoof swinging over a variety of spiteful big British motorcycle engines, and in particular Big Singles, by means and method of applying leg power to a kick-start lever, you can feel the pain quite acutely in your mind just by watching the affair. If, however, you've led a more sheltered and less colourful life, you will sadly be unable to share the experience as acutely, but believe me, it’s excruciatingly painful in the extreme.
Peter was obviously in considerable pain, but, to his credit was manfully attempting to line himself up for another go at it. I was impressed. A lesser man would've quit there and then.
Andy and I naturally encouraged Pete to overcome The Hurting with hearty laughter and several inferences that one simply wasn’t manly enough. I'm sure it helped him a lot, because he soon took another hearty swing at it.
And again.
And again.
Just as well he’s a Fit Boy.
Hope was taking the last train outta town, though.
You could tell he was gpong for The Big One, by the way he gathered himself, and then swung on it from great height, and in the most determined manner so far.
It’s unclear as to exactly what happened. Peter later offered that the kick-start suddenly had no resistance, and slammed to the bottom of it’s stroke, unexpectedly snapping his leg straight.
The vicious bitch must’ve half-heartedly fired. :o)
That his foot certainly slipped of at the bottom of the stroke, and his shin was in the way once more as it flew upwards again, was for sure-certain.
I know, because I saw it.
I swear I felt the pain before he did. It was pain on top of pain. Let me explain to the uninitiated amongst you.
The whole manner of kickstarting a motorcycle is inherently designed to ensure each fresh injury is directly inflicted on the exact spot of the one before, and more often than not inflicted immediately beforehand. There is also a characteristic of the activity which ensures that multiple contusions will pile up in a crescendo of agony, because of the rule of thumb that if it doesn't start first time it's not going to start before the tenth attempt either. There's something about trying to start a reluctant motorcycle which encourages the hope that the Next Time will have it running. It all adds up to a permanent limp. A traditional test of manhood sadly missing these days to filter and preserve the purity of the breed.
You could always tell a Goldie (BSA 500cc Gold star) owner, by the way he walked.
I digress............
Pete hobbled off the bike, and was quite beside himself………. Reduced to assuming a foetal crouch moaning away to himself. (I'm convinced I heard him mentioning his Mummy, but can't be sure-certain, so I won't mention it.)
(Pete, Trying to stand, .......bravely laughing. Mummy would have been proud of her boy!) :o)
I found myself clutching at My Parts in sympathy, but luckily I don't think anyone noticed. Why specifically at My Parts, I’m not altogether sure, but I guess it’s an instinctive Man Thing.
It was very funny, though, and how we laughed as we felt his pain. We boys are sympathetic like that y’know. :o)
Andy strode forward, confident at a superior technique, born of Many Years At The Kickstart, and swung masterfully aboard, as Pete-The-Defeated hobbled away to lick his wounds.
Andy, once astride, prepared himself with much gusto and a deep drawing on the smouldering fag adhering to his bottom lip. As a confidently determined a man as I have ever seen. I was prepared to be impressed by a polished technique.
(XS650 Yam. Andy, preparing with gusto for the First Thrust. Pete in pain, and trying not to be a wimp.) :o)))))
It was going to start impressive first kick.
He kicked.
And kicked.
And kicked, and kicked and kicked and bleddy kicked.
The breathing was a tad laboured.
Oh dear.
Things were looking serious.
Not in the least, Andy, as the smile became fixed and relatively absent of his easy humour. Suffice to say, he was exhausted after some pretty enthusiastic, and, it must be said, determinedly expert kicking.
(Andy considering the honorable options. Pete still in pain, but still unable to look us in the eye.)
Nothing.
Bugger –all.
Less than Bugger-All in fact, which is commonly regarded as Not A Lot.
Ok, then………. Plugs Out, in the time honoured tradition of having a face-saving rest whilst carrying out seemingly worthwhile remedial activity. One of those Man things, we all know about, but never collectively acknowledge. Plugs Out is one of the best, and for that reason, the most common.
We all agreed with a three-way conversation on the subject.
“Pete, whip the plugs out, while I take a leak” (Said breathlessly, .........and not in a romantic way either)
“The plugs?”
“Yeah, (gasp, sucks on fag, gasps again) could be the plugs. Give ‘em a (gasp, suck) quick clean.”
“Yeah, Pete, could be the plugs.” (Sips tea)
“I’ll be back in a minute.” (Gasps, draws on fag, gasps again)
Yeah, ok, could be the plugs. ………I’ll take ‘em out and clean em up then.” (Pete limps over with spanner in hand, glad of the distraction. Clutches at leg)
“I’ve had duff plugs.” (Sips tea)
“Yeah, so’ve I.” (Plug socket clanking on cylinder head)
“Several times. Had some new ones that were buggered, I did. Took three days stripping everything else to find that out, it did.” (Slurps big gulp of tea, as if at the memory)
“Yeah, I've had new ones that were buggered too. Plugs is dodgy things y’know” (wipes already clean plugs with rag to make cleaner. Clutches at leg)
“Yeah, they are. Wouldn't think new ones would be buggered, would you? Fuckin’ things.” (sighs, sips tea)
“Yeah.” (Puts extra-clean plugs back in. Winces and clutches at leg. Hobbles to one side.)
Plugs are back in again. Leads are on. All’s ready for action.
Hope hangs in the air like a damp sponge on a string
Andy reappears, adjusting Parts
Swings a mighty leg over the silently waiting Yam. Adjusts parts again. (Note:-Important, this, to hitch one's Parts well up out of the way in case one's foot slips off mid-way down, causing one's weight to be cushioned on One's Parts as one crashes down on the seat). Determinedly Assumes The Position, and, lithely for one so large, leaps onto the Yammy kick-start again.
He’s a Big Boy, and the Yam could tell it was futile to resist a determined man of such a stature.
It coughs.
“Nearly!”
Then it fired.
Just the once.
“Nearly. Must’ve bin the plugs.”
“Yeah, must’ve bin the plugs.”
“Yeah, c’mon Andy,…….. this time!”
Great joy and hope abounded in we three boys, and Andy applied his person upon the starting device once again.
BRRRAMMMM………It started at last, and a wonderful clamour it was, to be sure. Not as good as it could be, but then again one carb body is cracked around the pilot jet, so allowances were made.
Pete was still suffering, but bravely laughing the laughter of one who is pretending all is well, but knows all present know it isn’t, but are laughing, glad it isn’t them who are suffering.
If you get what I mean. :o)
You had to be there really.
And you had to have kicked many a bike over yourself. It’s an Old Greaser Thing. A common scenario we all knew and loved, back when you kicked these things over every sodding day.
But, like I said, …………you had to have been there. :o)
Nite nite,
K. :o)
P.S.
Why didn't I volunteer my expert services?
Well, The bloody Enfield takes it's toll as it is, I'm a damn sight older, got dodgy everything but particularly the knees, and besides which, someone had to remain standing, and with enough breath to be able to speak, to ring the ambulance, didn't they? :o)
K.:o)
(One like this GS650, but with a bit more of a 'patina' about it.) :o)
He’s been polishing and said it was looking a lot better than when I saw it the other day, so I dragged the Harley out to at least let her suck some air through her lungs, and went over for a gander.
Yup, sure enough, it looked a lot better, and whilst we were all stood about admiring it, Andy invited Pete to demonstrate his fledgling kick-starting skills on the XS650 Yammy he was doing up.
Peter hasn't yet Done His time At The Kickstart, but is very keen to impress. I have to say, though, that in my extensive experience at trying to impress, and boy, have I ever tried, it's invariably something to regret at leisure.
(Andy and the XS650 Yammy)
Pete, and with some considerable optimism I have to say, swung a shapely leg over the snoozing Yam, gently leaning on her stand looking so quiet and harmless.
They often do that y’know,………. look quiet and harmless. :o)
It wasn’t the wisest thing he’s done that day, if indeed he’d done anything wise that day, which was doubtful. He'd visited me that morning for a start.
He Assumed The Position, with much settling the foot in the optimum location on the long kickstarter lever, and prepared himself for the first stroke. There's generally only the one location, but it's a biker tradition to seem to be choosing from several. It gives you time to gather courage, and/or consider if there isn't something else you'd rather be doing.
A manly swing was taken.
Nothing.
No life evident in sound or deed.
Another, even manlier swing, again to no avail.
Ok……… more ‘application’ needed, and this is where it started to all fall apart. He launched himself into the air, and descended on the kickstarter once again, with a mighty grunt that would've made any woman want to drag him off into the bushes. Mid-way down the stroke, the Peter Foot slipped off the kick-starter, and it flew back up along the Peter Shin. It was horrible to witness, it really was.
If you’ve spent your yoof swinging over a variety of spiteful big British motorcycle engines, and in particular Big Singles, by means and method of applying leg power to a kick-start lever, you can feel the pain quite acutely in your mind just by watching the affair. If, however, you've led a more sheltered and less colourful life, you will sadly be unable to share the experience as acutely, but believe me, it’s excruciatingly painful in the extreme.
Peter was obviously in considerable pain, but, to his credit was manfully attempting to line himself up for another go at it. I was impressed. A lesser man would've quit there and then.
Andy and I naturally encouraged Pete to overcome The Hurting with hearty laughter and several inferences that one simply wasn’t manly enough. I'm sure it helped him a lot, because he soon took another hearty swing at it.
And again.
And again.
Just as well he’s a Fit Boy.
Hope was taking the last train outta town, though.
You could tell he was gpong for The Big One, by the way he gathered himself, and then swung on it from great height, and in the most determined manner so far.
It’s unclear as to exactly what happened. Peter later offered that the kick-start suddenly had no resistance, and slammed to the bottom of it’s stroke, unexpectedly snapping his leg straight.
The vicious bitch must’ve half-heartedly fired. :o)
That his foot certainly slipped of at the bottom of the stroke, and his shin was in the way once more as it flew upwards again, was for sure-certain.
I know, because I saw it.
I swear I felt the pain before he did. It was pain on top of pain. Let me explain to the uninitiated amongst you.
The whole manner of kickstarting a motorcycle is inherently designed to ensure each fresh injury is directly inflicted on the exact spot of the one before, and more often than not inflicted immediately beforehand. There is also a characteristic of the activity which ensures that multiple contusions will pile up in a crescendo of agony, because of the rule of thumb that if it doesn't start first time it's not going to start before the tenth attempt either. There's something about trying to start a reluctant motorcycle which encourages the hope that the Next Time will have it running. It all adds up to a permanent limp. A traditional test of manhood sadly missing these days to filter and preserve the purity of the breed.
You could always tell a Goldie (BSA 500cc Gold star) owner, by the way he walked.
I digress............
Pete hobbled off the bike, and was quite beside himself………. Reduced to assuming a foetal crouch moaning away to himself. (I'm convinced I heard him mentioning his Mummy, but can't be sure-certain, so I won't mention it.)
(Pete, Trying to stand, .......bravely laughing. Mummy would have been proud of her boy!) :o)
I found myself clutching at My Parts in sympathy, but luckily I don't think anyone noticed. Why specifically at My Parts, I’m not altogether sure, but I guess it’s an instinctive Man Thing.
It was very funny, though, and how we laughed as we felt his pain. We boys are sympathetic like that y’know. :o)
Andy strode forward, confident at a superior technique, born of Many Years At The Kickstart, and swung masterfully aboard, as Pete-The-Defeated hobbled away to lick his wounds.
Andy, once astride, prepared himself with much gusto and a deep drawing on the smouldering fag adhering to his bottom lip. As a confidently determined a man as I have ever seen. I was prepared to be impressed by a polished technique.
(XS650 Yam. Andy, preparing with gusto for the First Thrust. Pete in pain, and trying not to be a wimp.) :o)))))
It was going to start impressive first kick.
He kicked.
And kicked.
And kicked, and kicked and kicked and bleddy kicked.
The breathing was a tad laboured.
Oh dear.
Things were looking serious.
Not in the least, Andy, as the smile became fixed and relatively absent of his easy humour. Suffice to say, he was exhausted after some pretty enthusiastic, and, it must be said, determinedly expert kicking.
(Andy considering the honorable options. Pete still in pain, but still unable to look us in the eye.)
Nothing.
Bugger –all.
Less than Bugger-All in fact, which is commonly regarded as Not A Lot.
Ok, then………. Plugs Out, in the time honoured tradition of having a face-saving rest whilst carrying out seemingly worthwhile remedial activity. One of those Man things, we all know about, but never collectively acknowledge. Plugs Out is one of the best, and for that reason, the most common.
We all agreed with a three-way conversation on the subject.
“Pete, whip the plugs out, while I take a leak” (Said breathlessly, .........and not in a romantic way either)
“The plugs?”
“Yeah, (gasp, sucks on fag, gasps again) could be the plugs. Give ‘em a (gasp, suck) quick clean.”
“Yeah, Pete, could be the plugs.” (Sips tea)
“I’ll be back in a minute.” (Gasps, draws on fag, gasps again)
Yeah, ok, could be the plugs. ………I’ll take ‘em out and clean em up then.” (Pete limps over with spanner in hand, glad of the distraction. Clutches at leg)
“I’ve had duff plugs.” (Sips tea)
“Yeah, so’ve I.” (Plug socket clanking on cylinder head)
“Several times. Had some new ones that were buggered, I did. Took three days stripping everything else to find that out, it did.” (Slurps big gulp of tea, as if at the memory)
“Yeah, I've had new ones that were buggered too. Plugs is dodgy things y’know” (wipes already clean plugs with rag to make cleaner. Clutches at leg)
“Yeah, they are. Wouldn't think new ones would be buggered, would you? Fuckin’ things.” (sighs, sips tea)
“Yeah.” (Puts extra-clean plugs back in. Winces and clutches at leg. Hobbles to one side.)
Plugs are back in again. Leads are on. All’s ready for action.
Hope hangs in the air like a damp sponge on a string
Andy reappears, adjusting Parts
Swings a mighty leg over the silently waiting Yam. Adjusts parts again. (Note:-Important, this, to hitch one's Parts well up out of the way in case one's foot slips off mid-way down, causing one's weight to be cushioned on One's Parts as one crashes down on the seat). Determinedly Assumes The Position, and, lithely for one so large, leaps onto the Yammy kick-start again.
He’s a Big Boy, and the Yam could tell it was futile to resist a determined man of such a stature.
It coughs.
“Nearly!”
Then it fired.
Just the once.
“Nearly. Must’ve bin the plugs.”
“Yeah, must’ve bin the plugs.”
“Yeah, c’mon Andy,…….. this time!”
Great joy and hope abounded in we three boys, and Andy applied his person upon the starting device once again.
BRRRAMMMM………It started at last, and a wonderful clamour it was, to be sure. Not as good as it could be, but then again one carb body is cracked around the pilot jet, so allowances were made.
Pete was still suffering, but bravely laughing the laughter of one who is pretending all is well, but knows all present know it isn’t, but are laughing, glad it isn’t them who are suffering.
If you get what I mean. :o)
You had to be there really.
And you had to have kicked many a bike over yourself. It’s an Old Greaser Thing. A common scenario we all knew and loved, back when you kicked these things over every sodding day.
But, like I said, …………you had to have been there. :o)
Nite nite,
K. :o)
P.S.
Why didn't I volunteer my expert services?
Well, The bloody Enfield takes it's toll as it is, I'm a damn sight older, got dodgy everything but particularly the knees, and besides which, someone had to remain standing, and with enough breath to be able to speak, to ring the ambulance, didn't they? :o)
K.:o)
Tuesday, 17 February 2009
On Lomax, Harleys, and simple joys of mo'sickles :o)
Lomax was much more lively when I came home from work this afternoon, than when I left him curled up on his fleece on the bed early this morning. He hasn't left my side for a moment since having his 'little procedure'
He’s been playing here with The Rat, his favourite toy which Suzy made for him for Christmas, from the remnants of the big fake-fur cushion she also made for him. He sinks into it (the cushion), and is a picture of ultimate luxuriant relaxation when he’s sleeping on it. I'd swap places with him in a heartbeat. He really has a great life! :o)
I took the Harley into town to give it a bit of exercise after work.......... well, not exercise worthy of the name, but more a stirring of her bones so she doesn't get all arthritic. :o)
Harleys and winter just don't mix.............. the crappiest finish of any modern bikes. (This is a year 2000 1200 Sportster Sport.......... and, yes, I know it's not a 'real' Harley!)
Quality, my ass!
‘Sport’, my ass too! :o)
It does have a certain hard–to-define 'flavour' though, which is missing from more modern designs, and it’s amazing how content I am to be plodding along on it. Very different to riding the 1200 bandit I’ve also got……….. no way could I ever ride her,(‘Hoover’) anything like as slowly. I guess that's down to the Harley’s old-fashioned long-stroke engine….. it just lopes along with a lazy beat, and in no hurry at all. You just fall into step with it somehow. Bit like the Enfield Bullet I've got (Indian made), which I absolutely love, much to my surprise.
The Harley and the Enfield Bullet, to a less practical extent (As in covering distances at any speed above sixty mph), both have only the sun-in-your-eyes-wind-in-your-hair (Yup, I take the lid off for a few miles sometimes, if plod isn't about!)pleasures going for them. Start to try and make any serious offerings to the God of Speed, and it all comes apart. Literally as well as metaphorically.
They are somehow a purer form of motorcycling. Man and machine, on a more equal footing, where the machinery can be seen, understood, easier to be a part of, and which don’t ever become better than you are.
I guess these bikes take me back to my roots; back when I started out on a long road of riding some thirty-eight years ago now, progressing onto ever more sophisticated bikes as the years passed, which somehow lose their flavour in proportion to their gains in reliability and performance. It's a grossly unfair rule of thumb in life, but the better they get the less charismatic they become, somehow.
It’s a real hard thing to quantify, but in worshiping the God of Speed to the levels of today’s once unheard of heights, the simple pleasure of just simply rolling along an empty road in the sun lose their hold.
He’s been playing here with The Rat, his favourite toy which Suzy made for him for Christmas, from the remnants of the big fake-fur cushion she also made for him. He sinks into it (the cushion), and is a picture of ultimate luxuriant relaxation when he’s sleeping on it. I'd swap places with him in a heartbeat. He really has a great life! :o)
I took the Harley into town to give it a bit of exercise after work.......... well, not exercise worthy of the name, but more a stirring of her bones so she doesn't get all arthritic. :o)
Harleys and winter just don't mix.............. the crappiest finish of any modern bikes. (This is a year 2000 1200 Sportster Sport.......... and, yes, I know it's not a 'real' Harley!)
Quality, my ass!
‘Sport’, my ass too! :o)
It does have a certain hard–to-define 'flavour' though, which is missing from more modern designs, and it’s amazing how content I am to be plodding along on it. Very different to riding the 1200 bandit I’ve also got……….. no way could I ever ride her,(‘Hoover’) anything like as slowly. I guess that's down to the Harley’s old-fashioned long-stroke engine….. it just lopes along with a lazy beat, and in no hurry at all. You just fall into step with it somehow. Bit like the Enfield Bullet I've got (Indian made), which I absolutely love, much to my surprise.
The Harley and the Enfield Bullet, to a less practical extent (As in covering distances at any speed above sixty mph), both have only the sun-in-your-eyes-wind-in-your-hair (Yup, I take the lid off for a few miles sometimes, if plod isn't about!)pleasures going for them. Start to try and make any serious offerings to the God of Speed, and it all comes apart. Literally as well as metaphorically.
They are somehow a purer form of motorcycling. Man and machine, on a more equal footing, where the machinery can be seen, understood, easier to be a part of, and which don’t ever become better than you are.
I guess these bikes take me back to my roots; back when I started out on a long road of riding some thirty-eight years ago now, progressing onto ever more sophisticated bikes as the years passed, which somehow lose their flavour in proportion to their gains in reliability and performance. It's a grossly unfair rule of thumb in life, but the better they get the less charismatic they become, somehow.
It’s a real hard thing to quantify, but in worshiping the God of Speed to the levels of today’s once unheard of heights, the simple pleasure of just simply rolling along an empty road in the sun lose their hold.
Just letting a big engine propel you along at it's natural long-legged gait, to the tune of a simple couple of cylinders banging and throbbing away, as the bike rides itself down familiar roads in the sun; it diminishes the faster you go, until all that's left is a kind of feverish adrenalin rush that leaves you exhausted at the end of the ride. It's addictive, and like any addiction, it's hard to return to the early levels of that addiction. The God of Speed demands a very heavy price, and I have paid dearly in blood, and broken bones, thankfully when I was young enough to heal quickly.
It's all been kinda worth it though, because, boy, have I had some fun along the way on every one of those thirty-eight years. I have loved every bike I ever had, and spent countless hours making them better than they ever were out of the factory, pulling more performance from their big hearts, making their handling far sweeter. bonding with them all, my girls.
It's all been kinda worth it though, because, boy, have I had some fun along the way on every one of those thirty-eight years. I have loved every bike I ever had, and spent countless hours making them better than they ever were out of the factory, pulling more performance from their big hearts, making their handling far sweeter. bonding with them all, my girls.
You forget the pain, the punishments from the law, the hours fixing the broken machines, and retain the effects of the good times. The thousands of hours in the saddle, and not only in the sun; the bad weather has it's perverse pleasures too, akin to winning a battle against all the odds, and believe me, some trips have been that rough. I've had ice form on my beard, snot freeze solid in it (great innit??) and all over the front of my Belstaffs (Those wax cotton 'waterproofs'), ridden in rain so hard the roads were like a river, and it pounded your arms through the clothes. Freezing fog, deep snow, sleet, the lot. Pure sheet ice is the only thing you can't really ride on. Not for long anyway.
The good times though............. so many of them I long ago lost count.
The good times though............. so many of them I long ago lost count.
Deserted roads late on moonlit nights, hurrying back from Cornwall to Somerset, or to the rising sun on a summer morning before anyone is up are priceless. It's the 'alone-on-the-road' thing that have captured the hearts and souls of many before me, and those to follow me too I expect.
The sunny days, riding with a girl I love on the back though, have been the very, very best. Riding to a beach together, and then riding home again sunburned-hot, and just in t-shirts and jeans, with her familiar form pressed against my back, arms wrapped around me, and her smiling face over my shoulder, chasing our shadow skipping along the black-top ahead of us as the sun is setting behind us...........
The sunny days, riding with a girl I love on the back though, have been the very, very best. Riding to a beach together, and then riding home again sunburned-hot, and just in t-shirts and jeans, with her familiar form pressed against my back, arms wrapped around me, and her smiling face over my shoulder, chasing our shadow skipping along the black-top ahead of us as the sun is setting behind us...........
Nothing beats that. Nothing.
It never did, and it never will.
Early open-cockpit pilots talked of reaching out and touching the face of God.
I kinda know just what they mean.
Do you?
OK, that's it,
Early open-cockpit pilots talked of reaching out and touching the face of God.
I kinda know just what they mean.
Do you?
OK, that's it,
Y’all go careful out there. :o)))
K.
K.
P.S.
Note the almost non-existent Chicken Strip on the back tyre........... on a standard Harley!
Have a look at the size of it on most 'brave boys' sports bikes.
(A Chicken-strip is the unscuffed bit on the side of the tyre, because the rider is too chicken to lay the bike over far enough to get rid of it.)
The size of it shows those who can't walk the talk. ;o)
Mind you, the older I get (54-and-bleddy-counting!!!), the harder it is to keep that precious and hard earned 'edge' of many years honing. (sigh)
K.
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