Sunday, 24 April 2011

Mother nature plays a scene

We all went for a walk to the pub on Friday, and I managed a pint of lager before needing to rush to the loo every five minutes. But having the lads with us meant that we had to leave and wander homewards, with in five minutes of reaching the door, I was bursting once again and had to rush ahead to race up the steps by the old church and home.

At the top of the steps I encountered a little Black and white pussy cat that was acting most strange. Have you ever seen a cat look guilty? Well this one did and then I saw why. A fledgling Starling, not even enough semi-formed feathers to even attempt flight, but with the claws and jaws of a cat clamped tight around, it barely had a chance of life. I stepped in and tried to part the cat and bird, which when you are nearly six foot tall and wearing Doctor Marten Boots is easier than you would imagine. I can honestly say that it did not require the placing of the toe of my boot against the anus of the cat, but it was close.

With the little bundle now safely held in my hands, I rushed off home with Carol and the lads in tow. Once inside we assessed the damage and placed the little bird in a box, I fully expected it to be dead by morning.

Little Jack
Only Little Jack Starling did not die in the night and the next day he was subdued but alive. So we went shopping and bought him some food, which he proceeded to wolf down like a starved orphan!

Little Jack, just before breaking my heart

Hoping for a recovery and maybe a little Garden guest, we made sure that he had a safe place away from the cats and where he could develop his flight feathers. In other words we built an aviary for the little pest.

On the morning of day three, he was starting to look a bit fragile and he died in my hands. We buried him in the garden under the bush and yes, I did cry. The biggest worry with finding a wild animal that has been hurt by a cat is how serious the injuries are. On a Easter Bank Holiday, an open vets surgery is not very common and ours was closed.  Our little Starling died from an internal injury caused by a cat bite.

Yet our story does not end there today, there were things afoot and Carol and I wanted to celebrate our three year anniversary in a special way, so we bought an owl!

Little Alby is a Barn Owl and a cheeky little chappie. At the moment he is a bundle of snow white down and Claws! Well, I say he, but have you every tried to tell the sex of a barn owl, it is rather hard,

Anyway, meet Alby, our latest house guest.

Get too close and I will have you! Grrrrrrr...

Sunday, 10 April 2011

It's a crazy Rosie Update!

Yes folks, we have been hard at it once again in an mad effort to get the bikes up and running for the summer and we have so much work to do.

The first bit of good news is that Rosie runs! Carol turned the key, hit the starter and the engine refused the catch, the full petrol can sat just out of eye shot, but for some reason the GTR engine would not fire. We tried for ages and the petrol can, freshly filled that morning still sat untouched in the gloom of the garage, while we scratched our heads. Then the light came on.

So after we had transfered the fuel from the can into Rosie's Tank, she coughed and spluttered in to life. She ran and in doing so shot most of her exhaust baffles out onto the concrete behind her. Oh dear, bang goes the idea quite literally of getting the exhausts repaired. Thankfully, E-Bay came to our rescue once again. A new system will be winging it's way to us very soon.

So the pictures of what we have been up to. Well it is a case of taking everything off and reconditioning the lot. Let the strippers commence...

Sylvie, Carol, Rosie and Agnes

That was hard work, but it is now off!

Look at what Sylvie spat out!

Exhaust envy

The Stripper has been here!

Starting to look less rusty as the rust falls off!
So taken off so far is the Radiator and fan, exhaust system and the plastics, almost ready to start on the really hard stuff like the centre stand and fork legs. Then we can start painting and putting back together.
I used to love motorbikes, now I have dirty black nails and sore hands, I think it is time I gave this up as a bad joke!

Today is national Day of the Arse Hole!

Today I shall proclaim to be the “Day of the Arse Hole”, this is why.

My day started in probably the most lovely way, I was snuggled up in bed with my darling wifey Carol and my cat Jasper was snuggled up into me, a perfectly blissful way to start a day if you ask me.

However, I needed to pop out on the bike to get some supplies and pop into the chemist to collect a new nasal spray to combat my dust allergy. Outside it was glorious, the Day Star was bright in the sky, there was not a cloud to be seen. I live at the sea side…

The roads were chock-a-block with traffic, bleached idiots wandered the pavements slowly turning red in the heat, the pavements are swarming with the proles, enjoying the first days of summer. This very time last year, our streets were covered in ice, how the summer continues from here I have no idea!

Once I had safely negotiated the clogged roads and made it to the super market I bought my supplies and headed over to the pharmacy to get my nose spray. From here it got progressively more difficult. I asked for a generic allergy nasal spray, similar to Beckinase. Because I happened to mention that one by brand they refused to sell me the other type, despite it being four pounds cheaper and almost identical. An argument ensued and came about because the woman serving behind the counter at the ASDA Pharmacy did not understand what Generic meant! As I argued, a large Boned (read obese, fat, chubby or grotesque!) woman pushed me, declaring that given that the woman was serving that bloke, meaning me, she wanted to be served too!

I left in disgust… only to find that some Fuck Nugget had pushed a trolley into Sylvie, putting a small scratch on the fairing and another on the clutch cover. At this point I boiled over and shouted to the trolley boy, demanding his immediate attention. I asked him if he had seen anything, but he was not able to say anything of use, a very angry, rather intimidating biker woman dressed in black biker gear and brandishing a trolley of shopping is a scary sight it seems!

The lad lead me to the security station on ASDA where I spoke to the chap behind the counter, only to be told that the security cameras in ASDA Weston Super Mare are blinded by the sun in Summer and are unable to see that side of the car park, so do remember that should any of you wish to practice breaking into cars and removing radios!

I steamed out of ASDA and packed my shopping into my seat pack and set off to Boots in Worle for my nasal spray. The roads were starting to flow and my pace picked up to almost touching the speed limit and I was starting to enjoy my day again. Yet for every moment of joy there is a moment when a pillock in a car likes to get in the way. While trying to change lanes, my indicators flashing, a git in a car decided that he did not want me in front of him. Well tough luck matey, a blip of the throttle and I was three cars ahead and managed to squeeze in there, before turning into the roundabout for Boots.

Coming off the smaller roundabout, and banked over to enter the car park, a young woman decided to stop dead in front of me. Fortunately I was not going fast, but the bike was leaned over, never a good angle to try braking hard. She had stopped because she had spotted another parked car and she was looking at it. She then drove past it and stopped again behind another parked car. Strangely there were plenty of spaces all around her!

I parked up and wandered into Boots and got my spray, my sneezes were now getting bloody, but that is the downside of a dist allergy. From there it was a simple ride back home, well it should be, but with the Day Star burning so brightly, idiots flock to the coast to wade in the faecal Coliforms, radiation and chemical waste that is the Bristol Channel.

Firstly as I passed by McDonalds, a large bus watched the car in front of me pass by, before pulling out right in front of me! Damn glad that Sylvie’s brakes work so well. The speed limit along there is forty Miles per hour and I was cruising at thirty five. I managed to get past the bus and was then on the open road again, I let out a loud sigh, the road was perfect, the tarmac Sylvie’s tyres were working together like they were for a GP race. Even at Forty, she feels like a poised and delicate hooligan. I love riding my bike.

I turned onto the Toll road, heading back home and up ahead was a large Landrover moving slowly along the road. I pulled over to let him pass and as he did, the Gentleman driving nodded and waved thanks. I started to pull away and had just got my foot back onto the peg when a lad in a green car hurtled around the corner on my side of the road and nearly collided with me and Sylvie. He braked hard and swung over towards to slow moving Landrover that was a few meters behind me. How he did not hit it, I just don’t know. That speed in narrow country lanes is idiocy!

Approaching the Toll road proper, another lad in a pale green car was driving “safely”. He was in a thirty limit driving at seventeen miles per hour and then as I approached him from the rear, he slowed down to fifteen and then stopped to give way to a car in the distance. The approaching car had to speed up to make the gap with out making every one wait for ages, but slid through, our young lad then pulled away and began to trundle onto the Toll road. The speed limit here is twenty five milers per hour, because the road can be treacherous with steep cliffs that people can drive off and die when they hit the bottom or the sea. Driving down here at less than fifteen miles per hour is taking it a little too seriously. Sylvie jumped past as soon as it was safe for us to go and we enjoyed the glorious countryside.

Finally on the home straight, less than two hundred meters from home, a Guy driving a large Range Rover pulls out in front of me, while not even looking. I know this road well and I know that it is rutted and potholed, so I was going steady, but still enough that I could get home with out getting off and pushing! I hooted my horn and the guy looked right at me, giving me the gentle wave of “oops, sorry didn’t see you mate!”.

I parked Sylvie and dismounted, the Range Rover, slid passed and I got another wave.

Today is a day when I should have stayed at home, tucked up in my bed with my darling wife and my lovely cat. Wont be making that mistake again…