yen_powell

Yup. He had one of those multi-bike policies for years, with a 750 limit so he replaced it with a jelly mould GSX750 for a while, then they discontinued the policies so being no longer being limited by engine size he went for a V-Max, then BMW 1150GS, then a series of get to work bikes, XT660, was one I recall. He now has my old Versys for touring/camping and one of those Honda 500s (the half a Jazz engine sort) for going to work.

My mate has a GS750 rusting in his dad's front garden. But it was lovely back in the 80s, he'd bored out the engine to 850, fitted a lengthened swing arm and put some wheels from another Suzuki on it to give better tyre choices. It had big wide handlebars and an Eddie Lawson style seat. He painted it white with 2 tones of blue stripes on the tank, gas board colours we called it when taking the piss. I so wanted to ride that bike, but he wouldn't even let me sit on it. Then the engine went bad after a few years so a second hand 750 unit was fitted. Then he repainted it in garish dayglo colours and put ape hangers on it. It started winning rat bike prizes at rallies. The only picture I have of it back then has most of it out of view. This is Martin and his girlfriend in approx 1985, he's sitting on the GS, my other mate's Honda Silverwing (500) is behind them. His dad is nearing the end of his life at the moment and they have introduced a controlled parking zone in his street. Suddenly the tiny drive needed to be cleared so the carers could park without getting a ticket. It took some effort but it moved eventually after sitting under a cover since about 1992.

I went on holiday with them to Minorca. He lay on a sun lounger all day for a week with no sun screen and turned black. He also hardly drank at all, making me realise he wasn't an alcoholic, he only drank when with his old friends. Away from them it was just coffee through the day and maybe a single lager of an evening. My next story will be about him, the French fleet and my most embarrassing moment ever.

So, all eyes turned to N, who seemed quite sober for a man out on the piss all day. He said he just had to have a quick shower before speaking to us and legged it back to the bathroom. We waited impatiently and he finally came back out, sat down in his bath robe and proceeded to tell us his tale of woe. So, he was drinking away in some pub that has its toilets in a block outside in the car park. He's super pissed and having a lovely time with his mates on a blisteringly hot day. Then he decided he needed to have a dump, he really really needed to have a dump and he's headed off to the carpark in somewhat of a hurry. He's almost made it...... but at the last minute he has trouble undoing his trousers and suddenly his weekend has taken a downward turn. He's shat his trousers. Being a bit woozy and the worse for wear he decides it would be a good idea to take his trousers off, throw his underpants away and wash the trousers under the hand basin tap. He's just doing this when he hears someone coming, so he rushes back into the cubicle and locks the door. Then a long stream of blokes are coming in and out and he's stuck in this cubicle with his shitty trousers and no pants. He decides to try using the water in the cistern to give them another rinse. He realises he now just has wet shitty trousers. Too ashamed to go back into the pub he puts the wet trousers back on, ties his jumper round his waist to hide the back of them and decides to walk home without telling anyone where he is going. Now it is about 30 miles home, he's wearing new shoes, but the drink says he can do it (Google says that is about 9 hours to walk 30 miles). He reckons he had walked about 5 miles when a car pulled alongside him and the man and child mentioned earlier are in the car. They ask if he is okay. Not wanting to say what happened he tells them that his car has broken down and he is walking home to Hainault. The man offers to drive him back to his fictional car and see if he can get it going. N panics and says no, there's no point the engine has blown up. N then ask where they are heading. 'Romford', comes the reply. This is only a short distance from Hainault. N says if they can drop him there he will give them a tenner and he can get home from there. They agree. N climbs carefully into the back seat of the car in his trousers of shame and quickly winds down the window. As they pull into the Romford area, N says if they can take him all the way home he will give them £20. No problem says the man and takes him all the way home. By now N says the car is a bit hummy, but he's hoping the man thinks it is his kid and not him. Now! Back in Maldon there is a man hunt going on. The pub has been searched, the toilet block has been searched, nothing there but a pair of shitty pants in the bin. Next, men are checking all the caravans, then it is ditches and other places N might have fallen over in. Finally they realise they are going to have to ring his family and tell them he is missing. But when they ring, instead of a fretful wife they get the missing N himself who tells them he just got bored so decided he would hitch hike home, he would see them down the pub on Monday night!!

In the late 80s early 90s I went out with a girl for about 5 years who's dad was called N*gger. It took me a long time to find out what his real name was as everyone called him that including his wife. The story I was told was that he was from a family that had lived on Nanny Goat Common before it was turned into Europe's largest council house estate. I got the impression that the family had only transferred to a little cottage there after many years living in horse drawn caravans. His mother had so many children over a long period that when he was born, his brother who was home on leave from the army during the second world war looked down at this small brown baby and gave him the nickname that everyone knew him by. Now my girlfriend's dad, who shall henceforth be referred to as N, worked for himself, a one man band skip hire company. When I knew him he had bought a small bungalow in Hainault forest with enough room to have a vehicle drive in and a vehicle drive out, a yard behind for his lorry and some garages that he would rent out and behind that a bit of grazing land where he had a small double stable, two cows, two horses and a collection of chickens and ducks. 2 large female alsations lived in a brick built kennel by the side of the house, 2 small jack russells lived in the the house. N liked a drink, he was very good at drinking. He would go out 6 nights a week and then on the seventh day (Sunday) he would go out lunch time and drink till early evening. He would get very drunk, but in a funny way, never aggressive, and quite a few times me and my girlfriend would collect him from the pub on our way home. If it was me who had to go in and get him, I learnt early on not to shout his name across a Romford pub full of black males, oh no, it was tip toe across and ask him quietly to come along home. No matter how blotto he got, he would be up early next morning for work, full of life and annoying energy. He was a small skinny man so I don't know how he did it. Anyway, one weekend I was sitting in their house with my girlfriend and her mum watching a bit of telly. N was away with his drinking friends at their caravans near Maldon for the weekend, he'd only been gone for about 24 hours. Suddenly the side door opened and in walked N, he muttered a quick hello, then walked straight past us and disappeared into the bath room. Then a stranger, a large man, walked in through the door behind him with a small child trailing him. N's wife stared at him, not quite sure what was going on. N did not have a car, he had been taken to Maldon by his friends so how he had got home was a mystery and no one knew who this strange man was. The man then asked if it was okay to use the phone, he got a confused yes and then rang someone up to tell them he was going to be a bit late. N reappeared, this time he is only wearing a bath robe, his skinny legs sticking out the bottom. He handed the man a £20 note and the man and the child left. Rest of the story after my zoom meeting.

I've told this many times, but for the few who haven't heard it:- I'm laid up in a 4 bed bay of a hospital ward. From the next bay of 4 beds I can hear a man with a really beautiful speaking voice suddenly pipe up with a question. Man, "Hello, hello, is anybody there, hello, can anyone tell me where I am?" Nurse, "Hello John, don't panic. You're in hospital." Man, "Oh, I see. thank you. What's happened to me? Nurse, " You've had a stroke and you were brought in unconscious." Man, "Oh dear, I see, do my family know?" Nurse, "Yes, don't worry, your wife has been informed and she's been in to see you and knows you're okay." Man, "Oh Thank you nurse." 20 minutes go by of silence from him....then. Man, "Hello, hello, is anybody there, hello, can anyone tell me where I am?" Nurse, "Hello John, don't panic. You're in hospital." And so on, he just went round in this continuous loop for a day or so. Then near the end of my stay I hear him again, this time he's more himself. Nurse, "What are you doing John?" Man, "I'm rolling a cigarette nurse." Nurse, "You can't smoke in here, it's a hospital." Man, "But I'm not smoking I'm just rolling a cigarette." Nurse, "If you're doing that, then you're obviously going to smoke it aren't you." Man, " Well I've got a pair of slippers under my bed, but I'm not going for a fucking walk am I......"

You cheeky bastard, I still am young! 39. Everyone else on the ward was born in 1922. I know this because they ask every patient their date of birth about 20 times a day to make sure you are who you say you are and not someone with the same name in the wrong bed. After a week I could tell you when everyone's birthday was. One old bloke (83 if he was born in 22 at that time) had collapsed a mile or so from home on a rural footpath and had managed to drag himself home to get help. Ooh, story from the ward for my other thread. I'll just pop over there.

5 or 6 weeks in 2005 is the longest I haven't ridden a bike since I started in 1983. After I had my stroke the doctor was required by law to inform me that I was not allowed to drive for a minimum of one month and after that my GP had to give me the okay or the DVLA would get involved and that could take ages. I went to see my GP on the 30th day (walked across town) and went all out to give the impression that I was a superb specimen of health, balance and intelligence. This was not easy as I have always had trouble doing any balancing feats and can never remember anything when questioned. Anyway, whilst stating the date and naming the current prime minister, I was standing on one leg with my eyes shut, then touching my nose with my index finger without looking and finally squeezing the doctor's hand till the bones crunched. After all that she said she wasn't sure if she had the authority to give me the okay and perhaps she should refer me to the DVLA. I frantically waved my NHS leaflet at her and pointed out the wording. In the end she said she would instead speak to the specialist at the hospital I was treated in. That took her another week or so!! Still got that leaflet safe as it also says I don't have to inform any insurance company about the stroke if the DVLA were not involved.

Those Triffids always shit me up, you were lucky it didn't lunge.

Now I've found they are back together.

Are you saying it's not a looker? For about 18 months I was riding down to Plymouth every weekend to see my girlfriend who was at the college there. The place did photography, film making, sound stuff etc. My nickname there was Grandad (because she was Gran, being older than the usual students, as was I). They were a nice bunch and I went with them a few times to see a band called The Retreat who were very good. A New Zealand lad had done some filming with them, made a few music videos and I asked him for a copy. He handed me a VHS tape and I took it all the way home only to find out it was 3 hours of nothing but panning shots of sheep on what looked like Dartmoor. Of course when I saw him the following weekend I told him that he'd given me his wanking tape by mistake. I did get the proper video. Fuckmine, checked out youtube and they are still going, below is them now and the same song in the pub in the 90s underneath when there was 42 of them and they were young.

Apparently if you can't see the tail you have to look at the front lip. if it's got a little crevice it's a sheep if it hasn't it is a goat. Who knew? So that is a sheep and therefore you are allowed to shag it.

I thought it was a goat!

I think he organised the trail riding and the Rusty Sprockets did the rally.

Four people ended up in hospital or injured from that event. I was ambulanced in to hospital for a stroke before I had even had a chance to hand out the rally tickets so never left Essex at all. My parents were given a list of addresses from my hospital bed and ran around town distributing them. I was the least injured out of the four by the end of the weekend! Jackie made it to the rally, then had a crash on the associated trail riding and broke a rib or two, spending all night in a welsh hospital. She was very upset at having her bra cut off she said afterwards. Strange Dave's brother Tony had a head on crash with another trail bike at speed on the same trail riding event, possibly by a Welsh nationalist making a point. This was captured on film and made me wince with the crunchiness of it all. He had bruises all over and a wrecked DR350. He was very upset about Jackie having her bra cut off as well. Martin rode his DR250 up a hill on the same trail riding event and had a tumble which did something to one of his knees and he was off work for a week afterwards. He wasn't that bothered about Jackie's bra, he's a bit self centred.

Flame freezing on your lighter. Brass monkeys crying.

These pictures made me go,' Ohhhhhhh'. I can't spell the exact noise.

That's the jobbie. I used to go to the 'other' one. Kent's Custom Show. The last time there I missed Debbie Harry on stage as I was dying of a fatal dose of ear ache?? I preferred it when they didn't have famous people playing music, I liked the rubbish bands they had in the years leading up to that. Suzi Quatro was good though.

My mate xxx, a fellow council worker, had the hots for a particular girl and in a drunken moment invited her to come with him to the bike show run by the Hells' Angels at some drag race place in the midlands, can't remember what it was called. Sir Fallsalot will know, I'm sure he has been. Now xxx had a habit of misunderstanding females when they said yes to his invitations and this had caused a few problems at various events, including a drunk Irish girlfriend of his trying to attack another girl at 2am as she slept in her tent and him breaking up with said girlfriend by text as she flew home because he was too scared to do it in person after she went for him with a whisky bottle in a pub. But that's a whole other story. Anyway, he's got the hots for some girl, he has got drunk one night down the village pub and invited her to this HA show, she has said what a good idea, he has bought the tickets. He is plumping up the seat of his GSXR1100 and zipping two sleeping bags together ready for a weekend of passion. Then it turns out that what she actually meant was she would be going with her boyfriend he didn't know about and her friend was also coming and could xxx give her a lift on his bike and put her up in his tent. Xxx is a bit of a shallow person and his exact words to me were that he didn't like to stare but he had never seen such an odd looking girl as the friend he was supposed to take. A healthy strapping girl with a large, even huge head of red frizzy hair was roughly how he described her (no offence Pete). Basically, there was no way he was taking her, but on the other hand he still harboured hopes of success with the girl he did like so was in a panic about how to get out of it and still keep on her good side. In a moment of inspiration he asked me to go to this rally on the back of his bike and share his tent so he could tell the flame haired maiden that he could not take her after all as it was my lifelong dream to go. I said no way in hell was I doing either, I had suffered both of those fates before!! Now he was/is notoriously tight, he has been known to glue on a set of heated grips given to him by a fellow rider for the Elephant Rally in Germany (pay me when you get back they thought he'd agreed to) and he carefully removed them and handed them back to the original owner after getting home. So imagine my shock when he asked if it was the cost stopping me, because he would happily give me his spare ticket for free. I said no again. He kept asking me every time he saw me, this went on for weeks. Then I found out that Chuck Berry was playing at this rally. I remember being very tempted to go, the chance to see one of the original rock and rollers, I mean, he couldn't have many years left could he? But then I thought long and hard and decided it would be funnier to wind xxx up about spending the weekend with the ginger siren. Come the weekend of doom and I couldn't resist ringing him up on his mobile on Friday night. I may have made some comments about checking his sleeping bag for red curly hairs when he got back, but no, my fun was ruined. His actual words were, "Very funny, well as it happens, I have had a bit of luck. Her friend has been in a serious car accident and couldn't go after all." He is a charmer isn't he. So I switched to my second line of piss taking, asking how he was getting on with his quest for romance with the girl he did fancy and did her huge boyfriend put any sort of damper on that. Turns out they had both decided not to go after all, he was there on his own (relatively speaking). Oh yeah, Chuck Berry was ill and didn't play I hear, so I wouldn't have seen him anyway!

I'm always hitting my head on stuff. Scaffolding, MIND YOUR HEAD signs, my own handlebars when I stand up under the bike, low hanging lights etc. I usually have a lump or two on the noggin, plus shin and elbow bruises from other acts of clumsiness I have forgotten. When I was a teenager and got run over I put my head through the car windscreen, didn't even cut it. The doctor who checked me over at hospital asked to see the crash helmet I was wearing so he could see how damaged it was. When I said I didn't have a motorbike he re-checked my x-rays and felt my head all over again before he let me go.

In between TEAMS meetings with consultants. The thickness can be magnificent if you get a goodun.

Just had a bout of rain here that Noah would have thought twice about going out in.