Since I turned 27...

Since I turned 27 I have...

Met the mother of my children.
Fell in love.
Became a father.
Scrimped, saved, and scavenged the hedgerows to feed and warm my family.
Travelled around playing double bass in a band.
Recorded albums.
Written songs.
Made some friends.
Lost some friends.
Built some cars.
Raced a car I built.
Appeared on television.
Performed live at festivals and on the radio.
Lost the mother of my children.
Cried.
Worked out that laying in the bath with cheap gin fixes nothing.
Been in therapy and on tranquillisers.
Rediscovered friendships that will last for all time.
Discovered that I can love again.
Laughed.
Changed from father to embarrassing dad.
Made chutney and copious quantities of cider.

Remained humble; thankful for everything good that life cares to share with me.

Inevitable news

Success. Excess. Senseless. Lifeless. Pointless.
Another tarnished silver spoon rebel without a clue.

Dew between the toes.

And it's an early, early morning flit across the back yard grass to raid the greenhouse for just turned red tomatoes, and a healthy clump of basil leaves. Bare foot and dew between the toes. Them peppers, them's next; for the feel fine lunchtime dine.
Been to the Fat Cat Tap with Them Harvey Boys for a fight the noise battle. We unplugged and won. Too pooped to climb the one to eleven steps, bed beckons but the sofa's nearer...

Let it rain.

Brilliant weekend.
Gig, village fete, gig, steam rally.

Rain. Glimmer. Torrential rain. Evening sun. Rain, shine, rain.
French beans, peas, broad beans.
Beetroot for roasting with honey.
Digging my potatoes in a thunderstorm.
Friends for tea, blackberry whisky, sofa sleeping.

Perfect weekend. No gaps.

Nostalgia Nationals 2011

I'm a charlatan.
Drive my '24T Modified around pretty much as I built it, bar a stock 24 stud flathead replacing the tired 21 stud and a 3.54 axle change. Twenty years of glacial progress.

I'm at the Nostalgia Nationals surrounded by people tinkering. Checking. Adjusting. Changing something. Looking for a way to gain some precious tenths. With time to kill, the charlatan takes off the screen, silencers and mechanical fan belt. Three tenths difference that may have been the late afternoon air, a better dogleg first to second change, or just luck. Not even an oil light to keep the ammeter company - the dashboard tells me nothing.

We're here to remember Tony Cardy. Fellow member of the East Coast Sidewinders. Twenty five entries in the Flathead Meltdown to celebrate the passing of man who whittled and filed his way down through those precious seconds until he ultimately put his '27T modified way down into the 12's. Pump fuel through two carbs, fragile three speed, banjo axle, wire wheels and crossplies. And driven there and back.

Tony sweated the details. Who knows exactly what tricks he performed inside the engine, but weight was his obvious enemy. Every component skimmed, shaved, drilled and subjected to the hole saw in a bid to cheat gravity. Every superfluous part that wasn't required for that quarter mile trip, removed. Screen, headlights, radiator on a pile in the pits. Belt and zippo lighter too...

Quiet and cantankerous. Wicked humour and nervously serious. Our straightline featherweight. We celebrate your dedication and brilliance in making anchors fly.
Think it's time procrastination ceased and this charlatan started stressing the iron.