yen_powell

You drove away a whole generation!

He has a youtube account, as well https://www.youtube.com/c/sarkybstard/videos

I gather he has moved to Scotland and given up bikes now, cars and motorhomes is the only vehicles he has I believe.

Worth a trawl through his page photos, very nostaligia inducing, not just rallies, other stuff as well. He got about, from Shetland Isles all the way down to Portsmouth.

The fighting Moroccans continued Because Normsboy had dobbed me in to the old bill, I was given notice that I was going to be interviewed and to keep myself available on the days they would be at our office. Now if it was a tv drama, they would walk casually alongside me asking pointed questions as I carried on working, with me occasionally shouting at a road worker to sort himself out or else and with only half my attention on the interview. In real life they take you to a quiet room, get out large witness statement notebooks and pens and write down everything you say, then they make you sign and date it all afterwards. This is how you start your career as a Supergrass. I think they also made enquiries about my holiday plans for the next few months. As they led me through my story, they would occasionally ask for more detail on certain points. One of these was the first knife I had seen. I asked if I could just sketch it rather than describe it. This was agreed and I knocked out a quick piece of artwork in their notebooks. The police woman was most impressed and said that I should get a job involving drawing. This led me to believe that she hadn't been paying attention when asking me my occupation at the start of the interview. Eventually I was let out and the next person called in. The person brought in to be interviewed after me was a lady called Fiona. Fiona was famous for two things, well three things, but two of them were a matching pair and had been allowed to hang free since some time in the 60s and showed no intention of giving in to gravity or age. The third thing she was famous for was being in an almost permanent state of drink induced happiness. A few months later we heard that there was to be a trial and quite a few of us were to be called as witnesses for the prosecution. Well it was a day out, even if it was in Southwark Crown Court. The two opposing Moroccan families, henceforth known as Family 1 and Family 2, had chosen different paths to justice. Family 1 had decided to all plead guilty, so we weren't called to their trial and most were sentenced to various terms of imprisonment. Family 2 however, about 6 or 7 of them, had all pleaded not guilty, so it was the full trial by jury jobby, with a barrister for each of them against one and an assistant barrister for the prosecution. The wig bill alone must have been huge. My friend who had been subpoenaed was still determined not to go and stayed at work on the day of our trial appearance. Nothing came of that and she heard no more about it. The rest of us, about 10 people all told, set off on the London underground to get to the mysterious south part of London. Only the other side of Tower Bridge, but an alien land to most east Londoners. Fiona and her two friends quivered along with us, she was always happy, and weaved occasionally as we negotiated various trains and escalators to get to the court.

I don't know if anyone else follows 'Fall Off Phil' on Facebook (he is on another bike site as well), he posts all of his motorcycle rally photos and was a regular sight wherever I went. His rally pictures (and some videos) start about 1980 and the bike ones stop about 2015. It's fascinating to see not only the bikes change, but the clothes, the tents, the food choices, the beer types. What doesn't really change is the people. It's young people in the 80s and old people after the millennium. i.e it's the same people going, not much new blood. I have yet to see myself in a single picture, although I do find other people I know who I was there with. I have only made one comment on FB and no one followed it up. It was a picture of a rally in the 80s and out of 4 people three were posted as RIP. All I said was, That sounds like a rough rally! but I think my comment was 'too soon'. Phil Drackley is his real name. He's bound to be one of Pete's friends actually.

When I was young I couldn't work out why Hitler was on top of the pops. hang on voting for a strike on a zoom meeting.

For a couple of pensioners they have still got it.

Didn't realise that's where bungee jumping started! As for the second video, made my balls shrink just watching it when he was walking on top of those supports.

I had to collect my son from a wedding reception in Bristol to take him camping. No idea which bit I was in, but it was some sort of hotel and I could see the famous suspension bridge very close by which everyone said I should drive over as it was the best way to get to Devon. So I managed to get onto the thing. No sod had bothered to tell me you had to pay to cross it and did I have the right money, did I buggery. Me and my young son trying to find the right change amongst the darkest recesses of my car and camping gear with a queue behind me. I was also very surprised at how narrow the bridge is when you are actually on it. edit. Did a youtube search to remind myself what it was like.

I bought one of his DVDs a while back, Mondo Sahara, the theme tune is very catchy.

Oh to be young again My girlfriend and I were walking up the yard behind her parents' house one dark evening, probably checking the chickens/ducks were locked up after a fox attack previously, her mum and dad would have been in the house. We saw a caravan as were were walking up the yard, looked at each other and opened the door and went inside. I think her dad had just bought it for selling on. A few key items of clothing were off, but then we must have moved off centre because it suddenly tipped up a fair bit, one end hitting the ground with a tump. No jacks down, just resting on the two proper wheels and the jockey wheel. Ruins the moment when you are trying to find clothes you put down in total pitch darkness before her parents come to investigate.

That Africa Twin is still cleaner than mine ever were despite all its hard work.

I haven't heard of that, but it's entirely possible. Most of the houses were built as part of the giant council estate. I think it's an anniversary soon. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Becontree Looked up about bomb damage and found this reference, this is only a small area, you can walk across it an hour, they got off very lightly, barring the suit of course. During the Second World War, there was a total of 426 fatal casualities, and 1178 seriously injured people, while 1297 properties had to be demolished and a further 12743 properties were badly damaged across Barking and Dagenham.

This is a story told to me by my late Mum about my Dad. Both my Mum and dad lived in the same road as children, Goresbrook Avenue in Dagenham, not far from the large Ford factory. Apparently when my dad was little, say 3 or 4, his much older brother was due to get married. It was late in the war so rationing was going on and a second hand suit had been purchased and was being lovingly repaired, ironed and prepared in the front room. My Grandad had cycled off early in the morning to the newsagent at The Heathway to get his Sunday paper. As he was pedalling back there was a large explosion that blew him off his bicycle, possibly a V1 or V2 nearby on the green. Unhurt he got back on and pedalled back home only to find the houses, including his, all missing their windows and doors. My Nan and my Dad were both still in bed when my Grandad left so he was in a panic that they had been hurt by the flying glass. When he jumped off his pushbike to run into the house he couldn't get up the stairs as the front door was wedged half way up and jammed at an angle there. He was calling out as he wrestled with the door to get past it before finally running into the back bedroom where my Dad should have been. He wasn't there so he went into the front bedroom and found my Nan and Dad in bed with glass all around them, but unhurt. There was a piece of metal buried in the wall just above the headboard. My Nan used to tell my Mum that my Dad had saved her life because he had come into the room complaining of belly ache whilst she was sitting up in bed with her head where the metal fragment would have hit. She had let him into the bed and they had both laid down in the hope he would go back to sleep not long before the explosion. My grandad was relieved until he checked out the rest of the house ands found the suit for the wedding had gone. He was convinced a neighbour had been in and stolen it whilst he was upstairs sorting everything out and clearing up glass so my Nan and Dad could get out of bed without slicing their feet up. The suit's location was revealed when the first fire of of Autumn was lit and smoke filled the room choking everyone. The pressure from the blast had sucked it up the chimney. Goresbrook Road today, the green (and the Gore stream) it faces is on the right.

Keith-Roy, the man I knocked out despite missing his face with my fist. As I said, one of life's c*nts. My bike club was camping at a place called Wormshill in Kent, this wanker had been plaguing me all day, especially as he got drunker. We were playing football, well the others were, I can't even kick it straight, and he thought it was hilarious to keep charging into my side and sending me flying a few times. The last but final time he caught me with an elbow on the ribs which hurt a bit so I said to him if he did it again I would do him a mischief. Trouble is, I am rubbish at anything like that. He took it as a challenge and barged at me before I'd even finished walking away so I swung my fist at the lovely target of his face and bloody missed, catching him across the throat with my forearm.. He fell over anyway and knocked himself out for about a minute. Only one person actually saw it, they were charging about after the ball, Keith (the priest), he said nothing. Everyone else thought he had just collapsed. I ran and got my camera and got a picture as they were checking him out. Unfortunately he woke up and crawled about a bit looking for his glasses and then sat at the side for a while. He lives in the wilds of Wales now....you're welcome to him. The picture is a photograph of a photograph on a pin board in the garage, hence the blue pin and the sliver of Alsation pup at the bottom (Leibe).

I've been out for the day to Peterborough, calm down.

Well, I wasn't going to put it in, but he seemed to know me in the picture and looks a happy sort.

Me and Strange Dave on the right just after finishing our first Cambrian Rally, me on a borrowed Honda CRM 250. Borrowed an hour before the start because I broke my DR. Strange Dave crashed into the back of me when I suddenly stopped after realising I was off the marked track and in a live firing area and we both went flying. I told him to turn and ride back, then I made sure to follow at a safe distance and only where he had already ridden. Three northern bikers who came and rescued me and Colin (Lazy Eye) when we were in a Glossup pub with fights breaking out every 10 minutes. The man on the left walked over and asked if we were here for the Great Northern Bike Show in Manchester. he then said we could come to his corner, we'd be safe there as they 'took' it last week. They met us the next morning and led us all the way to the show.

Randoms Me in Ireland demonstrating how quiet the roads are. Me on Pendine Sands, attempting to break the land speed record, which is apparently what people do there.

Me on the left next to Keith, the man who later became (and still is) a priest. Also the man who started the fight with three blokes on the train that got me a broken nose and him a broken jaw. I loved those jeans of mine. Snow was not forecast when we set out for the rally we are at. Same rally. Keith on the left. Martin on the right sitting on his gas board blue GS750. He is also the bloke I was helping yesterday to extract a TS250 from the collapsed shed. Kevin (Wombat) on the left. Martin on the GS and behind him a bloke called Keith-Roy (a proper proper cunt). I have a picture of Keith-Roy unconscious on my garage wall right now, my only successful knock out. No skill, I missed his head when trying to punch him in the face, which jarred my shoulder joint badly, BUTt my forearm went across his throat and he fell over backwards and knocked himself out. Keith and Wombat next to my CX

The man who taught me to ride a motorbike on the left, Kevin (Wombat) with his recently bought Honda Silverwing. The bloke standing like a gonk to the right is Colin (lazy eye) the man who was in the T.A. later and persuaded me to have my bottom violated by the doctor. Also the bloke who had all his flat emptied by a vengeful wife. Colin (Lazy eye) again when we went paintballing. I believe that is actually Vandal from the scrap yard in the overalls behind him, he came along a few times.

My old girlfriend's dad in the left, the man with the racist name N***er. The man who shat his trousers and tried to walk home from Maldon in new shoes. The only picture I have of him and not a very good one either. He is standing next to a bloke who always seemed to be in trouble with the police but they could never pin anything on him. In the end he did 6 months in Pentonville for continually driving on a ban. My 1st GPz750 sitting next to N***er's dog kennel where his two Alsations lived. Had to get it there by wobbling through a gravel drive that never ever got compacted. The poxy gravel drive in front of his bungalow, his yard and garages were behind it. Next door to the right was a mobile crane yard. The bedroom window on the right was my girlfriends and one morning whilst everyone was still asleep a dopy crane driver managed to cause his driverless mobile crane to roll through the concrete fence. he managed to get in the cab and kill the engine just before it demolished the corner of the house. The grass was very torn up with deep ruts afterwards.

Found some old photos, not very good but all I have. Scrap yard pictures My boss Vandal on his spectroscope (aka Little Frank). The man who bought the sex toy then went off sick with a severed tendon. Vandal (Little Frank) annoyed that I am taking a picture when I should be working. Some bloke I took a picture of down by the river side end of the yard. No idea who he is at all Tony the yard foreman on my favourite forklift.

Used to play this with the window open when my next door neighbour's under 16 daughter was out in the garden with her drug dealer boyfriend. He was actually no trouble, it was the people who came to see him that made me move in the end.