Monday, September 27, 2010

Comfort Zone

I was almost out of mine on the weekend; ushering at a friends wedding meant wearing a suit. Thankfully it was the classy top and tails combo. Stick courtesy of my great grandfather.
Oh and I'm not a pixie, my g/f is 6' 4" and she's wearing a pair of hefty heels.

Monday, September 20, 2010

Uncle Tom

Well, my 100th post and a celebratory one at that. As of just before midnight last night I became an Uncle when my Sister gave birth to Joshua David. I only just found out, seems the little bugger (9lbs 10oz) wasn't so keen on coming out. No pics, but hey.

Some show pics

Long day.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Triumph Live

Is on this Saturday 18th at Mallory Park, Leics. My Speed Turnip was shortlisted and invited to appear in the custom show, if you see me about, come say hi.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

A weekend wasted

Is never a wasted weekend. Or at least that's how the saying goes.
The original plan was that I was taking the g/f up to Lake Windermere for her to compete in a swimming race. Her race was postponed due to algae, so I was set then to head over to Spalding for the Kustom Kulture weekend, until the bends and tube from OJZ arrived. With the weather looking promising I set to doing a job I'd been putting off for a while; making the exhaust system for the DR.

2 days later, and I've got a finished system. Chuffed.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Good evening

First off my copy of Sideburn 6 arrived, no thanks to the posties who managed to lose the first one sent out. So I retired to the local to enjoy it, along with the best crisps ever.

Then I got home and fitted my new beartrap pedals to the pushiron. So much better than the clip pedals it came with. The cat has decided they make a good scratching post too...


Very fast turnaround on the seat for the Triumph. I cannot wait to have it in my sweaty mitts. Cheers again Steve at lucky7moto

Wednesday, September 1, 2010


On The Move 'Man, You Gotta Go.'

The blue jay scuffling in the bushes follows
Some hidden purpose, and the gush of birds
That spurts across the field, the wheeling swallows,
Have nested in the trees and undergrowth.
Seeking their instinct, or their pose, or both,
One moves with an uncertain violence
Under the dust thrown by a baffled sense
Or the dull thunder of approximate words.

On motorcycles, up the road, they come:
Small, black, as flies hanging in heat, the Boy,
Until the distance throws them forth, their hum
Bulges to thunder held by calf and thigh.
In goggles, donned impersonality,
In gleaming jackets trophied with the dust,
They strap in doubt--by hiding it, robust--
And almost hear a meaning in their noise.

Exact conclusion of their hardiness
Has no shape yet, but from known whereabouts
They ride, directions where the tires press.
They scare a flight of birds across the field:
Much that is natural, to the will must yield.
Men manufacture both machine and soul,
And use what they imperfectly control
To dare a future from the taken routes.

It is part solution, after all.
One is not necessarily discord
On Earth; or damned because, half animal,
One lacks direct instinct, because one wakes
Afloat on movement that divides and breaks.
One joins the movement in a valueless world,
Crossing it, till, both hurler and the hurled,
One moves as well, always toward, toward.

A minute holds them, who have come to go:
The self-denied, astride the created will.
They burst away; the towns they travel through
Are home for neither birds nor holiness,
For birds and saints complete their purposes.
At worse, one is in motion; and at best,
Reaching no absolute, in which to rest,
One is always nearer by not keeping still.

Thom Gunn