I may be biased, but I found this amusing...

A recent scientific study found that women find different male faces attractive depending on where they are in their menstrual cycle.

For example, when a woman is ovulating, she will prefer a man with rugged, masculine features.

However, when she is menstruating, she prefers a man doused in petrol and set on fire, with scissors stuck in his eye and a cricket stump shoved up his backside.

Best laid plans and all that...

It's been a strange couple of weeks - I set off to darkest Derby to visit a man who said he could fix my hands (my old doctor in Paris who I last visited has now retired), travelling first class on British rail (advance ticket £40, bargain!). I booked a hotel, return journey and 10 days off work to recover, only for said Doctor to tell me he couldn't do anything, and that I needed surgery, and he could recommend a place 10 miles from home. So I got the next train home, didn't fancy the delights of Derby on a wet Wednesday.

So while I was trying to decide whether to go back to work or take advantage of a little holiday, LF turned up on the doorstep...one thing lead to another and a couple of days later found the two of us flying to Portugal for a short break. Now I probably should have thought this through beforehand, but to embark on a 10 day holiday with a women you've broken-up with twice in the last 6 months isn't the best of ideas. This truth dawned on me on the first day while walking around Lisbon. Old town with narrow cobbled streets full of smells and sounds - is this romantic (European idea) or just another old town that needs pulling down and replacing with new skyscrapers (South American mind-set)? It went downhill from there. We hired a car and went to Sintra - lovely old castle or pile of rocks? Drove down to the Algarve - quaint fishermans villages with sandy beaches or ....? I'm sure you've got the picture. We did find a lovely hotel up in the mountains with a Spa where they gave a fantastic room, breakfast included and free massage for the princely sum of 40 Euros, but even this wasn't enough to stop the moaning. So I booked another flight and came home early, back to work to the suprise of all my work colleagues. Ah well, another experience to add to the filing cabinet of life. Portugal was nice though, I'll probably go back there (alone), hopefully on the Triumph if Sandy ever finishes it.

Lisbon view

Moorish castle

Trams move so slow the graffiti artists are in heaven

Police vehicles

Problem with pigeons?

Sintra castle

Transport options

Beach

Not bad for 40 Euros

I finally ventured out

The Triumph is still in deepest Wales having it's internals fiddled with. I've been locked-up in Diente towers in a fit of depression for months. Finally decided to get out - went to the London Bike show. Some retail therapy helped cheer me up; bought a ridiculously-expensive Belstaff jacket and a new pair of boots, oogled the rear ends of bikes and ladies (as you can see from the photos below). I also met a man while I was buying a book "Tortillas to Totems" by Sam Manicom - the man turned out to be Sam Manicom, which suprised me no end. What a nice chap; we had a chat and he signed my copy of his book. I had to confess that I'd been to a lot of the same places as him in North and South America, but by Jeep, which made me sound like a real wuss. I also tried-out my new camera Sony NEX-5N (prompted by Bobskoot buying that same model) but as you can see it made no difference whatsoever to the quality of the photos - guess I'm just a rubbish photographer.



 

This was comfy, but man its ugly!

Shapely rear end

Nice to be back.

Cheeky

Lovely Autumn

If this is global warming, bring it on. I’m being flippant, of course, but after years of being bombarded with statistics but little evidence, we’ve finally had the warmest autumn ever. End of November and we still haven’t had a frost here in London; the skies have been blue and sunny and the temperature still manages to get into the mid-teens (centigrade) every day. Perfect biking weather or it would have been for me if I hadn’t already sent the Triumph off to deepest Wales for the engine modifications I mentioned in the last post. The garage has also suggested a sixth-gear modification, which evidently is quite easy on the Thunderbird, “just slip a sixth gear cog in, change the selector fork and it’s done” said Sandy, so I’m going for it. He’s also going to re-paint my mudguards; I was going to buy some shortened fibreglass ones and get them painted, but they probably wouldn’t have matched the tank......you can see where this is going, can’t you? Might as well get the front forks stripped and re-polished as they were looking a bit weathered, and I suppose I may as well get the seat recovered with some extra padding......

So I’ve found myself enjoying the warmest autumn ever without a bike. Over in Richmond Park, the deer are pretty confused by it all. Their mating season is usually September to mid-October, but the warm weather has encouraged them to keep going; the stags have pretty much shagged themselves to a standstill, they’re to be seen during the daytime lying around with their antlers resting on the ground, looking absolutely knackered. You can walk up close to them without their normal reaction of jumping up and running away; they just sort of look you in the eye, sigh and put their heads back down to sleep. Amazing! Plus we’ve also still got leaves on the trees, so we’re treated to some fine autumn colours instead of the usual bare-branched views of November. Can’t wait to see what Spring will be like, especially as the bike should be done by end of January – which is probably when Spring will start.

Plan B

Triumph update – bike didn’t sell on eBay, so implementation of Plan B has commenced - I’ve booked her in for engine overhaul and upgrade for more power, plus more shiny bits ordered.
I also realise that for a motorbike blog, there’s an awful amount of me moaning about ironing shirts, so I just thought I’d mention – growing up as a teenager in London in the early ‘60’s I adopted the latest fashion style as worn by ‘Mods’, that of the button-down collar shirt. At that time these shirts were only obtainable from Brooks Brothers at enormous expense, or cheaper rip-offs from Ben Sherman. Yes, I was that fashionable teenager in the swinging sixties. Fast forward on 40 years, and this sad old bastard is STILL wearing button-down collar shirts from Brooks Brothers at enormous expense. And you just can’t wear a button-down shirt that’s creased; I don’t know why, that’s just the rules. Of course, having been divorced a couple of times I’m actually a dab hand at ironing, but being of a certain generation I expect to be waited on hand-and-foot by my woman (yes you can blame my Mum for that).
So I promise never to mention the subject again. And I apologise in advance for any offence to the fairer sex.

Here we go again...

It’s been pretty quiet of late here in Diente Towers; I tried commuting to my new job using the Triumph, but what with the crowded roads in central London and Westminster councils’ apparent policy on motorcycling being not to provide parking bays I’ve ended-up using the tube every day, so the bike is now only used for weekend ride-outs. Then LF turned-up on the doorstep a couple of weeks ago, saying she’d like to have another try at living with a miserable old git, so I’ve been busy entertaining her at weekends, building up the brownie points in anticipation of our next bust-up. On the positive side, I have now got loads of freshly ironed shirts!


All this has forced me to re-evaluate my relationship with the Triumph; plan A has already been put into action – she’s up for sale on e-bay. If sold, I’m going to buy a newer, lighter, more powerful bike for journeys with pillion (LF insists she wants to share my hobby – huh). Plan B, if the Triumph doesn’t sell, is to modify her for more power and braking, and use her for pillion journeys. Watch this space.

A tale of two quandries

The first quandry I faced yesterday - join one of the bikers' protest rides against proposed EU legislation, or go to a classic car and bike show/autojumble in deepest Essex at the picturesque village of Battlesbridge. The show won, although I did have second thoughts as I was filling up the Triumph at a petrol station on the M25 motorway when a Harley-rider came over and spoke to me about the protest ride. The thing is...I'm not convinced that riding slowly along motorways in a large group causing congestion is the way to persuade the EU not to bring in anti-biking laws. It is a perfect way to piss-off all the motorists whose goodwill I depend on when riding my bike....

Anyway, a couple of hours ride got me to Battlesbridge, and I have to say it was an excellent event. A huge field full of autojumble stalls; classic bikes, classic cars and a few hot-rods too (Essex has a large number of American car fans); hot dog stands; beer tents; fat tatooed Essex birds; a live band, my dear there was so much to see and do!

Nice cafe racer

Very impressive

One for Bobskoot

Trident looked like my Thunderbird except for the siamesed exhaust

Best of both worlds?

Love the burger-eating biker

One for Affer

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Eventually I got jaded by it all and set off back home. Unfortunately, the Sunday afternoon car drivers were clogging up all the nice twisty roads, crawling along bumper to bumper so I ended up back on the M25 motorway which was a fairly unpleasant experience; turned off down the A1 through North London to join a grid-locked North Circular road, fought my way across west London and arrived home hot and exhausted.

The second quandry I faced today. I started my new job in central London, travelled there on the tube, had a normal sort of first day, got on the tube to come home, and it was packed. Sandwiched-in between a fat smelly bloke and a couple of  schoolkids shouting at the tops of their voices, as I looked around in desperation for a seat I spotted a couple of empty seats at the other end of the carriage. Not stopping to reflect on how this almost-impossible state of affairs could exist, I fought my way along the carriage and claimed one of the empty seats, As I sat down, triumphant, I realised that someone had thrown up on the floor. It smelt worse than the fat bloke I'd been trapped against, but...and here's the quandry...if I could put up with it I could sit all the way to my station, 25 mins journey away.