Success

There is not a single cloud in the sky which is the exact opposite of my head right now after yet another full capacity audience at the gig last night. Bouyed by our success I had an extra beer or two at the unofficial after show party- great idea considering all the stuff I should be doing today. So seeing as how its still technically the morning it's probably not such a great idea to fire up a burro (von francos word for a stogie) this early and to be honest I'm struggling with it a bit. I should be firing up a bike and heading out somewhere but instead I decide to press on with a variation of my original plan... today I'd walk up to the van by the back way through fields, under the motorway and finally to the college and the see if she'll fire up to get to the garage for an mot. Early indications are that she should pass even in the ramshackle state she is in.
The van said "yes" immediately when in fact she meant "no". She started on the button and sounded really healthy but two feet forwards in first gear made me aware the brakes were bound almost solid. The first thing I did on getting to the mot garage was head straight off. I thought a little back road blast would shake a rock loose and sure enough by a couple of miles she was rolling free as a stone and got up to a mighty 60mph. I got back home to try fix the indicator warning lamp only to find, after a stogie induced whitey forced me to lie down for 10 minutes, she had no electrics at all. 20 minutes later I found and fixed the fuse. By now I was running out of time and still hadn't fixed the indicator lamp so I thought I'd throw myself at the mercy of the fellas at the garage and dump the van there as is. Just as I set off I ran out of petrol. I nipped to see the guys, explained my predicament, borrowed a gas can, filled the van and then flattened the battery trying to start. I was about to have a sense of humour failure when I remembered the crank handle... Old shit always seems to work best and I got there just as the shutters were coming down. The lads at my local garage are now my heroes not least because they gave me an mot

Getting my loaf on...

... for the lads (wwnww), see you Sunday- and bring your own damn fish.

Bread-o

Such a thing of beauty coming out of the oven has prompted me to post another bread-based blog offering.

I am developing quite a specific set of requirements in the bread-making process... Relative density in time and space; how very Dr Who.

Density- mixing the sour-dough starter with flour into a dough with just enough water so it's not too sloppy and wet and not too dry and tight. The dough can then be kneaded til it is firm and springy.

Time and space- leaving the springy dough for just the right amount of time so that it proves to a nice tight dome in the baking tray. Too small a tray will make the loaf very dense, too large will make it flat so selecting the right tray for the dough quantity is vital. Too much time will let the dough over-proove and go sludgy.

Once these factors are within tolerance you then have to get the temperature and baking time right. I normally set the oven at about 200 and go play on the Internet until I get the faintest whiff of cooking. Tapping the bottom of the loaf should give a pleasing thud or it could do with another few minutes. Burning is never a good smell so avoid that.

All of this is done by feel as I'm not the sort of cook that likes to measure or time anything.

Beardo

Gaze upon my beard and tremble.

Indian Racer

Old Indian racer snapped at the Old Indians Never Die rally in Scotland 2009. It came all the way from Italy to take part. The rally should have been called- for us at least- "Only 1 in 3 Harleys Make It Home".

The Blues

Looks like some melancholy bluesy jazz but I was in fact slappling the hell out of it with the Rock and Roll band. We're now on to our sixth drummer in about three years and this one is more sturdy than the previous ones so hopefully we'll get a head of steam up and do a few gigs.

This picture was one of a set that was taken by Johnny testing his new works camera out. Tres Noir.

Monday

Monday was the best of bad days as friends and family joined to send Johnny off. We gathered a motley crew of bikes and rods at a staging point ahead of time to be sure we met the corsage but, by the time the corsage appeared from around the corner, the heat off the 45s engine was starting to bake the back of my thigh. The police outriders blocked traffic to let everyone waiting on bikes to join and we set off on our respectful 50 mile an hour procession, a speed that let the cold take hold of my bones. The reality ate away at me that this was the final ride out with a friend. I was thankful for the wind whistling behind my KDs making my eyes stream in a proper manly fashion. We picked up more bikes as we got closer to the crematorium and, as I later found out, the 300 strong crowd fell silent on hearing the distant rumble of the honour guard. Most of them will never know the feeling of riding in a pack but I think they were a bit awed by our arrival.

The humanist ceremony centered on the man and his life rather than a religion he himself did not subscribe to. I faltered and wobbled through words I previously wrote here as a blog entry. It was hard to do but I was glad I did it. We listened to music he listened to and then filed out. The ride home was more the speed we used to ride together as I chased a hotrod part way back to the wake; the part that he was stuck behind traffic that is.

The wake was busy and up-beat with biking friends from England and Europe meeting family, colleagues and school friends to share happy tales of a man that was obviously much loved. I made a play list of music he listened to and played it loud enough so that it wasn't totally lost in the background. And then we drank and talked, talked and drank, drank and talked a little more. It felt good, it felt healthy. When the wake finished we went for a drink and a talk followed by an Indian and then we went down the local for a bit of a talk over a drink- or was it the other way round.

To a man everyone agreed that if there was such a thing as a good funeral this had been it.