Revival

For me being bikeless in London can be quite frustrating. Especially when you can just make out the sight and sound of riders storming through the traffic in Kensington Gardens on the way to the same place as we're headed: The Royal College of Art for the Revival show. Purely by chance, and not entirely by good chance, we found ourselves in London the same week as the show. Enduring the Underground for as long as we could we jumped ship and chose to amble through the park so I could smoke a leisurely cigar. We dropped out of the park at the Albert Memorial to see a few bikes negotiating the streets around the Albert Hall to find the mews entrance to the college. My cigar was just reaching it's sweet spot as we arrived so we had plenty of time to look at bikes and chat to friends before going inside to dig the art.

The exhibition itself was put on by Mensfile Magazines Nick Clements. Alongside his original photos were examples of his clothing brand The Curator. I love Mensfile; great photographic articles featuring fantastic revivalist clothing centred around cars, bikes, bicycles and cricket (?). It's my favourite non motorcycle based publication and fortunately for me, now that i find myself greatly reduced in income, comes out only twice a year so I can't torment myself with all the cool stuff I now can't afford.

Just as we were leaving we met an awfully nice fellow who introduced himself simply as Paul. It hit me like a frying pan in the face this morning that Paul is none other than Paul D'Orleans aka The Vintagent, a man whose work I read avidly... nice to meet you Paul.

Ace

My sister, Cres, Dixie, Chris, Nick and friend peel out of the Ace after a fun afternoon sat drinking pop watching bikes come and go in the blistering sunshine. What could be better? Well, I could have been on a bike following them to their next stop. You can't have it all. Nice to catch up with Mark as well.

Gary

Meet Gary.
He made me jealous.
Storming down the motorway in the glorious sunshine packed for a weekend away. He looked like he was grinning as we yo-yo'd each other for about 50 miles- although he could have been squinting. I'm looking forward to slinging a bedroll on the 45 and doing some mileage of the more sedate vintage variety.

Nuts

I like the thick and uncooperative ink of a black ballpoint pen as it picks one of many lines from a heavy pencil sketch on a piece of paper that has grown grubby from being overworked. Sometimes erasing the crazy cobwebs of pencil reveals a gem, sometimes it doesn't. Whatever the out-come it furthers the process, refines it, shows you paths you want to develop and ones you don't. This is how i've designed my tattoos; tattoos that might not be particularly cool for the current scene but they were powerful images at the time, enough to put them into my skin. They mean as much now as they did when they were first drawn and that was the point in the first place. This isn't going to be a tattoo but it might eventually be a sticker if I don't take too long about it and miss the sticker fad.

Tea?

... erm... just milk please.