I realised mid way through Sunday that my black bitch is nearly 9 years old. I’ve had her for over 6 years, the longest time I’ve ever owned a bike that long.
The black bitch is my 7th bike and the best so far by far, despite owning a glorious Ducati 900ss a decade ago, but times moves on. Triumph have been making better and better Speed Triples since they gave birth to mine and the 2007 version is their best yet. Even when it’s stood still it actually looks terrifying, when you sit on the bitch it pulls your shoulders out and raises your arse up high maximising an aggressive posture which is all the more conducive to riding. I can only imagine what it must be like to ride…
Shortly mine is up for its 25,000 service. This isn’t cheap but if I want to retain the bikes value it’s imperative. I was thinking about this and I reasoned that if a nice man at Triumph made me an offer, a part exchange sort of offer, what would I do? I can’t really afford a new bike but I can re-mortgage the flat to release a bit of capital without compromising too much future development, I’ve no dependants, I’m wholly irresponsible, why not, I pondered. Unfortunately this has hit the OCD part of my barnet to the point I’m finding it hard to focus on anything else.
Yesterday after getting lost in deepest darkest sarf landan on the BB, I met James’ son, virtually 4 days old and barely a foot long. My niece was a little overdone, she was relatively large when she arrived, this little fellow is the size a new born should be, he’s all pink and smooth like rhubarb, his tiny face looks perpetually stunned, shock at being out of his dark warm home for the past 9 months.
James is a natural dad; already he’s flinging his son in and out of nappies, babygrows, into the arms of its mother and his friends. James’ missus gave birth by caesarean and is still moving fairly slowly. This wasn’t a lifestyle option, like my sister, this was medical necessity. She seems as awestruck as her son; she’s taken very well to breast-feeding but is finding the whole experience beautifully alarming. She has him laid on her chest and remarks regularly with a certain degree of surprise, ‘he’s so cute!’ Despite all the newness and unfamiliarity of the seemingly instant arrival of a third person into their family, it’s as if he’s always been there. Life, it really is fucking weird.
When I got back home it was dusk, I prepared dinner and Myfwt arrived at 8 exhausted from a long days work. She was all worried about her 6-month assessment due on Thursday, her boss had decided to take her out for lunch and in her mind she’d figured this would be a gentle way to introduce to her an impending dismissal, despite the fact she works hard, is bringing a lot of contracts into the firm and is popular and well liked by her colleagues. Women, their brains is all wired funny. Obviously I laid her fears to rest by plying her with food and drink, hey presto! It worked, until this morning that is when a rather sullen hungover Myfwt trudged off as paranoid as ever. Women, I mean what can you do? Can’t live with them, can’t inject them horse tranquilliser, crazy.
I decided to take another day off. I just feel like it, it’s raining outside and I’m still letting the past few days drip feed into my psyche. After this I’m going to have some more tea, eat a kipper with toast and then I’m going to do some more writing.
Later I may have a bloody great wank, really, I owe it to myself.