yen_powell

We fitta all five gears and all five neutrals! Wet myself watching this.

It's called the Dengie Peninsula and this bit is the Dengie Marsh. According to the plan of the Roman Fort, the church is at the location of the main gate and the walls were half on the current dry land area and half in the marsh area behind the church. Some land must have been lost and the marsh is slowly putting it back again. Looking at the side and rear wall of the church you can see an old arch and possibly the mark of the wall, I wonder if they literally remodelled the gateway and tower to build the church.

I had taken a flask of coffee with me and guzzled most of it near the church. On the way home I stopped to take a discreet waz behind a convenient hedge. This thing was hanging in the branches right in front of my face. I'm assuming some sort of firework, perhaps someone here can identify it. Edit, now I look at the picture properly I can see the bird scarer label.

I knew there was a memorial to the abandoned air force base nearby so I rode about till I found it. It's on the road leading to the old nuclear power station. I took a picture of the bike in front of it, then remembered the top box opinions on here so took that off for a second to compare shots without it. Not much in it if you ask me. The plane looks like a Mosquito, the plane built as a bomber by furniture makers due to its wooden construction, but so fast many were used as fighters. The base seems to have been used by quite a few nationalities, so I took pictures of the names on the memorial in case anyone recognises a surname, you never know do you. There are Poles, Czechs Kiwis and Canadians shown as well as RAF and RAF Auxiliary. The remnants of some of the perimeter roads are still about. Driving schools use some for emergency stops and 3 point turn practice. My girlfriend of the caravan days gave me driving lessons when we were were down that way.

I had a short stroll to the marshy shore. There were two WW2 concrete pill boxes in the fields. I was taught that there are usually a minimum of three, all placed so that anyone trying to lob a grenade in through a window slit are under fire from the other two. I couldn't find the 3rd, maybe it was demolished by the farmer. They all got money at the end of the war for that purpose, but most just ploughed around the boxes and kept the cash instead. What a place to sit and wait for German tourists to turn up on your door step.

I usually have this place to myself, but there were people everywhere today, maybe they are getting out before they go back to work or the weather becomes more wintery. There were a few people sitting in silence in the church, so I joined them for a little while. I didn't like to take a picture whilst in there as I didn't want to disturb them, so I took one from the doorway after first turning off the flash.

I went past my old caravan site (Lucky Heather any one?) and stopped briefly at the adjacent slipway into the Blackwater. One of my caravan neighbours used to keep an old WW2 pink painted jeep (with no bonnet) at his place and would use it to tow his boat to the slipway when he was down. He came back without it in a panic one day and I and other neighbours helped him to smash up an abandoned wooden shed to make duck boards and then we helped him recover the old vehicle from the mud it had got stuck in on the foreshore. I stopped and took a picture of the approach tarmac road to the church, that's a Roman road that is. The one connecting the old fort to Chelmsford. I parked as close as you're allowed to the church and walked the last few hundred metres. I think the real Roman road over this last section is in the field to the right. It doesn't show in the pictures, but there is a definite bow in the grass like a road camber which follows the alignment to the church which used to be the gateway in to the fort. Note the adder warning signs. I tucked my trousers into my boots, like a docker who's scared of rats in a ship's hold.

The roads started to get drier the further I got from home. Along the way I suddenly found a lane full of parked cars, the reason became apparent when I came round a corner to find it was some sort of canal lock with a small cafe. Then I found a road sign with an unusual name.

Well, it's an unseasonably warm January, proof that all those years of spraying deodorant and buying fridges has done the trick, you can thank me later. My last day of freedom before going back to work tomorrow so I thought I'd head out to a place on the coast not too far from me. I was a doddering pensioner at a very young age. In the 1980s when I was still in my early 20s I owned a caravan nearby at a place called St Lawrence. It was originally bought with my then girlfriend as a place for some alone time as we both lived at home with our parents at the time. It later turned into a place that needed the grass cutting a lot and I sold it to a work colleague for a profit after a few years. So I had been to most places around there and thought I'd revisit. My caravan has been replaced by a small housing estate facing the estuary, I didn't bother taking a picture of that. I headed there on the smaller back roads, I like to ride at my own pace, not holding up others or being held up myself. It was a strange overcast day, the roads were full of puddles and generally quite cacky, but I wasn't scared because my bike is still covered in all the shit from my Christmas journeys in the poxy rain and fog. These first two pictures are to show you the empty sploshiness of the roads I took.

When I had my first kidney stent I hated having to get up and out of the tent for a wee all the time. This is when I discovered the power of Lenor, the fabric conditioner. Nice wide neck for the well endowed, plenty of fluid capacity, waterproof lid and the first few wees smell of lovely meadow flowers.

On the odd occasion when I was doing a single night visit to a rally or other event I went for the lightweight option. Pain in the arse for getting in and out of without getting your knees wet though. But it packs up super small and dries quickly when you get home. Picnic table was pressed into service on one occasion.

You know, since Brexit France has given the impression over and over again that it is a spoiled child who didn't get its arse smacked enough when still young and impressionable. It has thrown itself on the floor of the supermarket and started screaming over a variety of subjects recently because it hasn't got its own way. I can't help thinking the allies chucked the wrong nation out in 1944.

Quick, lock this thread!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He's Spangelsh and proud of it. Having said that Walenish has a certain ring about it.

Covid apart I can go to almost any country I want, it's just a bit more paperwork now. I needed a passport pre-brexit to go to mainland Europe from the UK, but I needed that for any other country anyway. It's no different to a trip to Egypt or Morocco, I needed a visa each time. I needed a green card document for my vehicle insurance in Morocco and had to fill out paperwork to take it in and out, it was hardly the Berlin Wall to get across the border.

The amount of people that moan about the place it should be deserted, can't be all bad.

As you know, I loves a toilet story so thought I'd plop a youtube vide here. The toilet assassination is bit scary, I shall be carrying out a full inspection before sitting down from now n.

From The Daily Mash YULETIDEOLOGISTS have long agreed that 70s Christmases were the best. This judgement by men in their late 50s is objective fact. Here’s why: Advocaat Beats Cherry B and Watney’s Party Seven because this Dutch alcoholic custard was the tipple that told you that the festive season was here. Anything even slightly continental was exotic then. Also, washed away the taste of the rank wine you drank at morning Mass. Crossfire Before kids went soft with their Space Invaders, Crossfire was the most wished for and cherished Christmas present. You fired ball-bearings into your opponents’ goal with plastic guns, the excitement making you forget the agony of the blisters on your forefingers at least some of the time. Marking your wish-list of shows to watch in the Radio Times This was the golden age of light entertainment. A Merry Morning With Jimmy Tarbuck, Jim Davidson’s Boxing Day Laugh-In, The Reg Varney Hour and a specially extended Christmas Crossroads in which Meg and the staff let their hair down. All ringed with your trusty felt tip so that you didn’t miss any of the fun. No ITV though, because you had to buy a separate magazine for that. Games of Monopoly that went on until everyone passed out These were the years before Britons developed Thatcherite ruthlessness and families were content to go round the board like London tourists without bothering to build up property portfolios to crush their opponents. By 4.15pm everyone was asleep, waking up five hours later for a boiled egg sandwich. Paper decorations We were more modest in the 1970s, not given to outlandish coloured light displays. We held the steps while Mother went up to the loft for a cardboard box of red and green paper links, held them again while she pinned them up in the living room, job done, break out the Quality Street. Tins of Quality Street were massive They were actual tin and they contained five pounds of chocolate. Small children could drown in them. Opened well before Christmas, they were still going at the end of January. Today’s tubs are shallow, plastic puddles. Watching your Granddad do his nut during Christmas Top Of The Pops Cracking walnuts wishing they were David Cassidy’s testicles and turning as crimson as a paper crown at The Sweet, your Grandfather’s fury at the parade of glammed up longhairs was a festive highlight. ‘I’ll give him My Coo Ca Choo! He wears frilly knickers and a bra and all!’

After seeing a cracker joke about the word 'Meetings' defined as being the Jamaican for my possessions, I passed a place called Sompting twice during my wet travels this week.

Fine, no problems, just a hint of spaceiness at the back of my head, nothing that has stopped me packing and loading my bike up just now. Jesus, I can barely get it on the centre stand. Still next time it has to do that it will have an emptyish tank so will be a bit lighter. Then I'll get rid of any presents which will be one less bag. I used my surveying staff and rear footrest as a guide to raising the preload to get the bike to the same level as before I loaded it up, one hand holding the bike upright and one holding the staff. I knew that would come in handy when I pinched it. My right arm hurts more than my left does where it was jabbed. My tennis elbow making it's appearance, been a while. Lifting a full mug of tea with my right arm is a bit of a strain but I'm soldiering through. I've decided now I've had my 3rd jab it's time to take the plaster off of the June jab site.

I've worked over a few Christmases when younger and done a few volunteering stints on Christmas day. The one at the Salvation Army was marred for me somewhat when I turned up to help and was handed a mug of tea and a sandwich before realising they thought I was a homeless person. Should have kept quiet as I have never done so much washing up in my life, I wouldn't mind but they had an industrial dish washer at the poxy place.

I was dying to have a tour of this house, but I can recall gulping at the cost when I checked it out. It's like a Dickens' novel leaping out of the page at you. Do you like Dickens, or have you never been to one? I prefer Kippling myself, it makes less mess, a good kipple can round off any evening I find. https://spitalfieldslife.com/2021/12/21/scenes-from-dennis-severs-house/

Pah, yours is only next to a bit of snow. Mine is next to a jungle and the drug dealer neighbour's garden. He was quite a nice bloke, it was his customers that made me move.

The turbo was beautiful. The only other bike I recall from that same show was the XBR500 from Honda. Three of them on a revolving platform, some with panniers even. All the letter pages of the bike magazines in the 80s would have at least one old sod bemoaning the complexity of modern bikes. They would go on to claim that a simple single cylinder bike, with light weight and good fuel consumption would be an overnight success. Can't remember the last time I saw an XBR500 or and SRX600, they vanished from the roads almost immediately.

750. I had one of those 'Oh yes....she will be mine' moments after sitting on one at the Earls Court bike show. After getting a new better paid job I got a second hand one (C reg) and then later a new one (F reg).