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How often do you get presented with a serious problem and have the means to quickly and simply fix it? Never. It just doesn’t happen in my experience. It’s always a process. A series of token gestures. Often as not a well intentioned disaster. I was presented with the problem of Nathan (my nephew), stuck in a £5.60 p/h job, the meagre proceeds of which (save the housekeeping he volunteered to give his mam) he was spending entirely on getting wasted to tolerate the job. He was taking home between £100 -£150 p/w. Unpaid extra hours, flat rate for overtime, fucking disgrace. He was going to get a bike off his mate so I gave him a jacket and such. Then his mate’s bike got nicked. The solution seemed clear, if Nath was willing to clean his act up, we’d lend him the money to get a bike so he could get a better job. I say “if”, without emphasis in that sentence. When I was in that situation I simply couldn’t have quit. I would have preferred to have lost a limb. It was my whole life. The fact that Nathan gave up the same day that Lisa (my sister) put the offer to him I find nothing short of staggering. Honestly. Stunning. Anyway, he immediately got his shit together. So I tracked down a decent learner bike, and we lent him the money to buy it. He put in for his Compulsory Basic Training, and completed it last Thursday, I went out for a ride with him to get his confidence up, and that was that. He is a biker.   Phase one completed.   Being a methodical sort he was waiting until he was legal before applying for jobs. I put in an application form for him for in the warehouse, order picking, at my works. Then I noticed the actual job was being advertised online so I recommended he applied online as well. Yesterday they told him he had an interview today, (Tuesday). I had a surprise day off so I went with him for a ride, to show him the way. He passed the interview and the drugs and alcohol test, his induction is on Monday! 4 days of training in health and safety, driving a LLOP (Low Level Order Picker), stacking pallets, that sort of thing, then crack on. More money on basic, with lots of extras on top, better job, better conditions, a real full time job, with a pay rise at the end of the 6 month probation. He’s got a bike. And within a week, a decent job!   Phase two completed.   My work here is done. That was easy. How I like my good deeds; quick, easy, and involving motorbikes. Bloody good effort, Nathan. Right, later, St Buck of the Blessed Bike.

I watched a clip via Twitter last night and they mentioned Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), which reminded me of my army days. I got sent to the shrink due to issues and a panel of them interrogated me. They sent me back to my regiment with a letter for my army doctor. The doctor’s was closed so I had it overnight. Curiosity got the better of me and I steamed it open. It was 27 years ago but I know it involved Personality Disorder, I think it was Borderline. Nearly 30 years I’ve dismissed it. Borderline makes it sound like barely a consideration. It turns out that’s just the medical term for an exact condition. One that is characterised by anger, risk-taking, drink/ drug abuse, self-harm, suicidal thoughts and a lack of self esteem. Fuck. 27 years. All the bikes I’ve crashed, the wilful disregard for life and limb, the years and years of alcohol dependency, self mutilation, mental anguish, anger and self loathing. All. A. Fucking. Condition. I thought the individual bits were normal. I thought everyone else was a pussy because they saw a gap that was so tight that if *anything* went wrong they would die and they backed off. I did it anyway. The bleeding I’ve done to try to atone for the unconscionable deeds of my past. Slipping into overdose unconsciousness knowing I might not wake up. If that’s how you are, you rationalise it. Everyone get’s stressed, the self mutilation is a release valve. You’re going to die anyway, why not have some fun on the way? If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention. Etc. All. A. Condition. The whole of my life is a lie. I’m a tad upset, as you can probably guess. I’m going, in another case of hope over experience, to see the doctor. Most of it I don’t actually mind, but there are some aspects from which I’d give anything to be free. Buck.

It’s been eventful. I said last time that my black bike had blown over. A horrifying picture to be sent when you are 5 hours away. At first I didn’t believe it was the wind, thought it was the kids messing about. But for some reason our house gets the wind howling across the front. We have to bungee the bins to out awning thing to stop them blowing into next door’s car. So OK, wind. I changed the lowering kit thing, fixed the snapped fairing and carried on. Then I looked out of the window last week to see my red one on it’s side, which had toppled the black one, which had smacked into the car. *weeps* I ran outside, dragged the covers off the bikes and the locks and stood them up. Not easy. The red one got off with a graze to the bar-ends as the black one cushioned it’s fall. The black one had the red one’s handlebars smack it in the fairing. Smashing a lump out of the side that hadn’t been damaged last time. Super. The car too the black one’s handlebar to the (rusty) wing. Buggery bugger. For the time being I’ve stopped using the bike covers which are obviously catching the wind like a sail and I’m putting the bikes on main stand every time (instead of side stand). So far, so no worse. You can’t get replacement fairings for love or money. Mainly money. But you still can’t get them. I’ve found this product that you mix up and pour in and it set as plastic. I just have to take off the fairing, tape it perfectly and pour it in. Easier said than done. I’ve bought a new wing and been spray painting it. I’m waiting for it the clear lacquer final coat to dry. Tomorrow I have to take the grill, bumper and wing off to replace. Super dooper. It was near dark when I finished but it totally looked the wrong colour. I’m hoping it dries right, because I’m not doing it again. What else? Oh yeah. To deter thieves I put a disc lock on my red bike (on top of the engine immobiliser and alarm). This slots through your front brake disc and locks, making it impossible to ride the bike away. I forgot to take it off. Rode forward a foot then slammed to a stop, nearly falling off. I thought nothing of it, took the lock off, rode to work down the motorway. And back. Giving it beans. I stopped outside our house as usual, started walking the bike back into the parking spot, touched the front brake, nothing. What?   Bad picture, but if you look at the bottom of the brake calliper (black bit with “Nissin”) you can see the brake pad dangling down. That is supposed to be in the calliper. Part of the calliper where a bolt goes through has snapped off. I’d just ridden like a dick along […]

I got a really shitty cold, back in March, since then I’ve lost a lot of my taste. I used to love cream, now it is meh. I can sort of taste it, but mostly meh. I warned Wendy off a cream cake the other day saying it tasted like cardboard. She ate one anyway, said it was gorgeous. One of Marks and Sparks special range, apparently. I had a hankering for chips. We’ve not had a chip pan for at least 10 years. I bought a deep fat fryer with a lid and a filter to keep the smell down. My Swedish chum put me on to a top tip, pre-boil the chips. 5-6 minutes pre-boil, drain well, straight into hot oil. I reckon I’m at the peak of my chip game, they are fluffy on the inside, crisp on the outside, perfect. And tasteless. I bought proper salt (as opposed to the grind-it-yourself sea salt rocks) and proper chip vinegar, not the tons of fancy white wine vinegar and such we have in the cupboard. About all I can taste is the butter on the bread. Butter and chocolate are about the only things I can still properly taste and enjoy. Which is just super for a lardarse. But now it’s going from irritating absence of taste to false tastes. I had to throw the egg component of the classic British delicacy, chips and egg, away. It tasted of garlic. I know there’s no garlic in the pan, the oil or the egg, but bugger me I can taste it. And now my sense of smell is getting in on the act. Our washing powder, which we’ve used for years, is starting to be repulsive to me. And my leather jacket. I washed it and conditioned it with leather conditioner. A honey and jojoba thing that makes the leather supple and waterproof. It’s a proper product, as recommended by a proper biker site. But for the past few weeks I’ve noticed a disgusting smell that has just been getting worse. There isn’t one. I’ve asked Wendy and Lisa to smell it and they say it smells of leather and vaguely of  patchouli oil (I tried to mask the smell but the oil has lost it’s potency). There is no disgusting smell. But when I put it on I’m nearly heaving. I already had some specialist leather cleaner so I’ve given it all a couple of coats today and I think I’ve got rid of some of the stench. I’ve ordered a conditioner made from other stuff. And some new, very stinky, patchouli oil. If I can’t sort it I may have to mothball my leathers and buy a new coat. It’s making me gag. My only consolation is no-one else can smell it. If I thought everyone else was smelling it I’d have binned it already. Another bloody annoying thing, I think I’m starting to get tinnitus. I use silicon ear plugs at night to get to sleep […]

I’m still in a transitional phase. Work is long hours so good money, but it’s killing everything else. I had an upbeat day a few days ago when I decided to get back to my running and sax, but I’ve not, yet. The only thing I’m keeping up at the moment is my painfully slow learning of the Spanish language. I’ve put all the lessons on my ‘phone so they shuffle up randomly. I was struggling over one lesson and not moving on until I’d mastered it. This way, I’ve found out by accident, is more like natural learning. I think. You are bombarded with stuff, most of which you don’t get the first time around, but by constant repetition you learn it. Which makes other bits fall in to place. Anyway, I’ve finally finished the introductory course and I’ve just started on the language builder. It’s not like I’m in a rush. And if Theresa the Appeaser does bollocks Europe up for us I’ll just go back to learning Russian, but with my new approach. That’s it. Work, a vague desire to return to saxing and running, and plodding on with my Spanish.   The only other thing is bikes. Glorious bikes! The VFR750 (black one) didn’t sell, even at a £300 reduction. Bugger ‘em. I’ve stuck a new back tyre on it as the tyre on it, although it still had loads of tread, kept spinning up in the wet. I did it today. The guy at the tyre place said “That’ll be why, this one is from 2005.” A 12 year old tyre! With tons of tread! What the actual hell is wrong with people? Even running two bikes I’m not expecting to get more than two years out of a tyre. Once I knew there was a way to find the date of tyres I googled how and checked my other tyres. I’ve only just changed the front one on the VFR800 (red one) the back one is 2014 and quite surprisingly worn. I noticed a small groove in a flat spot on the centre of the tyre. A strut that was supposed to support the hugger (mudguard close to the tyre) had snapped and was rubbing against the tyre! I took the strut out. The hugger is supported everywhere, it obviously doesn’t need it. I’ll be using the black one as a winter hack to I’ll easily get another month or two out of the red one’s back tyre, then replace it next year. It was £143 for the black one’s tyre so I’m in no rush. That just leaves the black one, front. It wasn’t alarmingly old (forget exact date) but I’ll be keeping an eye on it. First signs of dodgy front end and it’s getting replaced. Seeing as I can’t sell it I’m getting the black one ready. I’ve changed the back tyre and the footrest (which had been welded, frightening off one potential buyer) and I’ve booked it in for a […]