Work is being weird. I got my contract, a few days later Tesco’s bought us out, so we were scared of being replaced by Eddie Stobarts drivers. Then last week, less than 3 months into my 3 days a week, 6 month temp-to-perm contract, they asked would I be interested in a full time contract.
Even if it all goes tits up when the merger finally shakes out, at least I’ll have a year (say) of full time and a better contract when the axe falls.
To clarify, I’ve not been offered a full time job, just asked would I be interested as there as some coming up. Even if I’m at the front of the queue for one of the jobs I might not want it,it could be nights or something. I want a full time contract but not that badly. I can get 5/6 day weeks on days as it is.
We (I say ‘we’, I mean me) had a spending spree which we are now paying off. I painted the bedrooms and made a right mess of the carpets. They were the cheapest we could find when we moved in which was 11 years ago so I wasn’t that arsed. Until I priced the replacement. £180 for underlay, £750 for carpet, then a Dyson as our generic hoover was crap, £220 for the car MOT and repairs, a few other outlays, suddenly shitloads of debt. All of that seemed to happen at once, but I wasn’t bothered as I’d landed my super job, then Tesco’s, now it’s a flat out race to pay it all off, just in case.
One bit of debt I’ve added was totally the right thing to do. I was obsessing about the soprano sax as it’s small and portable, then I got the smaller alto case and it made the alto a better proposition. But that cheapo, own brand sax I had was inconsistent. It kept squawking on the A note. I could play A, move up and down a few notes, come back to A and it wouldn’t play. I tried a stiffer reed, a different ligature, (the device that holds the reed to the mouthpiece) loads of different embouchure positions, still patchy. Bad workman and all that, but it wasn’t happening on the tenor. I read some more about Gear4Music and the reviews were not kind. “box shifters, not a music store” in other words they just ordered it in from China and shipped it out to the customer. No checks, set up, etc. Pig in a poke.
I started looking around and found a 10 month plan on a new Yamaha alto. It’s a learner model but the reviews say it’s so good they are wondering why people would spend twice as much for the intermediate. The thing was, I was getting frustrated with my cheapo and not playing it. If I got the Yamaha I knew the problem was all me being crap. Wendy encouraged me, so I got it.
I was selling the cheapo on ebay but I wanted to hang on to it to try a side by side comparison, to see it it really was worth the extra.
The Yamaha arrived and blew perfect straight out of the box. The sound is, well, incomparable. I didn’t even bother to blow my cheapo, it wasn’t even a question. The sound is so good I’m thinking of getting a Yamaha tenor, when everything else is paid off, to compare it to my beloved Bauhaus (then sell the inferior one.)
Which is not to say I’ve suddenly stopped being crap. It’s just I’m crap on a way better instrument now.
The weather is warming up so I’m going to strip the paint off my replacement W650 engine (dropping the back-breakingly heavy bastard out of the frame. Again.) and repaint it. Clean everything up, polish it to with in an inch of it’s life then get it sold. That will put us firmly back in credit again.
Talking of motorcycles, you know I pointed out the Triumph Speed Triple as an example of a godawful ugly, watercooled, lump of an engine? Guess what? I’m thinking of getting one. They are the original class of “hooligan bike”, naked, powerful, purposeful. They go like stink, mostly on one wheel, handle and stop. If you change your criteria from how it looks to how much fun it is, it’s a shoe-in. And, as they’ve been out for ages, you can pick and choose a good one for a quarter of the price of the Triumph Thruxton.
Anyway just a quick catch up as it’s my day off. Getting another 6 day week in.
PS, editing the day after, just remembered Storm Bastard Doris. It hit the North West today. I was riding in to work, lashing down rain, blowing a gale, 80, banked over into the wind, when I hit a puddle/ lake the whole width of the lane. I’d been riding through the rain all the way in so I didn’t worry, then the front end started juddering and skipping! On a bike you can handle any amount of rear end locking up and sliding out, not a problem, if the front goes the first thing you know about it being in shitloads of pain. It probably only lasted a second or two but that is an eternity when you are in the fast lane, 6 foot from the crash barriers. Crash barriers are posts to hold up a car level metal barrier. Or, for a sliding biker, lethal posts planted every few feet.
Needles to say, I shit bricks. Sod all I could do about it, just cling on and wait. Somehow I stayed upright. So that was me wide awake by the time I got to work. As they say, what doesn’t kill you just delays the inevitable.
Well, it was all going so well.
I’d got over my bollock dropping of a few weeks ago. In point of fact, technically, I may not have missed a rota-ed shift. They got my shifts mixed up so thought I was working Saturday, Monday, Tuesday, so the Sunday was officially, mistakenly, my rest day.
That’s by the by, not a word said about it, move on.
So last week I got it sussed. 6 shifts, 65 hours, 2 weekend days (+20%), 11 hours 45 sixth shift (time and three quarters!) laughing all the way to the bank!
Happy, happy Bucky.
Then, on my sixth shift the news came through the company had been bought out. By a company that uses Stobarts for their logistics. Not just because they initially thought to have a third party logistics provider, but because they actually sacked off their unionised, well paid, driving division and brought in Stobarts.
Things like triple time for bank holidays, time and three quarters for sixth shift, overtime at +20%, working past 18.00 20%, midnight- 06.00 +25%, everything that raises our wages from ok, to bloody great, all gone if we get Stobarts.
To say nothing of being treated well, never pushed, stressed, and never being treated like shit.
Nothing any of us can do. We just have to wait to see what happens.
I’m not optimistic. They only have to look at Stobarts driver, 29k max, then us, 44K possible, and rub their hands.
Ho hum. I thought I’d landed my job for life.
So there goes the 50k retirement pad in Spain (even if Theresa the Appeaser doesn’t totally bollocks it up with Europe) and the 10K Triumph Thruxton. Not to mention the Morgan 4-4 I wanted for Wendy when she passes her test.
I mean, look at it:
If you’re popping to Sainsbury’s for a loaf of bread, that’s the general utility vehicle within which you want to travel.
Practical, unassuming, modest, cheap.
Absolutely none of those things.
The one pictured might have issues as it’s *only* £18k, usually at least £10k dearer.
Talking of which, no sign of a rush to buy that, the doctors still haven’t even filled in her medical form from the DVLA. Bastards.
The Spanish lessons went tits up as well. Introduction to holiday Spanish, I was thinking, “Hello my name is Buck. One beer, please. Do you have the number of the British Embassy? Please don’t press charges.”
That sort of thing. The first lesson was just that. Well, the “hello, my name is” bit. The second lesson he gave us a list of Spanish sentences we’d never seen before two lists of words and wanted us to fill in the blanks. It wasn’t until the next morning I worked out the first list of words were pronouns and the second list were conjugations of the verb. (“Is”, I think.)
It wasn’t just me being thick, Wendy was baffled. Other people were saying “Sorry, I don’t understand any of this. Can you start again?”
It was godawful. I think it’s his first attempt at teaching Spanish. He’s a Spanish historian by day. He’s Spanish, he teaches history. I don’t know who’s.
Anyway, the home work was translating lists of food words and organising them into a menu. It was dry, pointless shite. I wanted conversational Spanish.
On the subject of learning, my sax is picking up. I get in at least half an hour most days. I’ve got past the embarrassment of playing it in the yard. I park as far away as I can from the other trucks, then sod ‘em. The alto is still a hefty lump in my bag. I’ve got a 65 litre rucksack, (from my arse to my head) and it fills that. The sax, my satnav and a flat A4 folder are all that fit in the main compartment. I’ve got to squeeze waterproofs, painkillers, glasses, sunglasses, tools, electrical leads, etc into the side pockets. Less than ideal.
I was looking at a soprano sax after I saw a video on youtube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vBl5S6CvOs
I had a cheapo Chinese soprano before but it was dog-whistle high and squeaky. Lots of obsessive reading later, I’ve found out sopranos are dear for a reason. They are absolute buggers to get right. Everything has to be perfect or the sound is hideous. Apparently you can get away with minor imperfections on alto and tenor.
The Bauhaus bronze soprano is considered bargain basement and borderline of what is acceptable.
That’s the same bronze as my Bauhaus tenor. Which I love dearly. They say it gives it a more rounded, less shrill sound.
Lots more obsessive reading and window shopping later I came across another thing saying the embouchure (how you hold your gob around the reed and mouthpiece) is specialised to the soprano and you shouldn’t get one unless it’s going to be your main instrument.
I was in a quandary. I wanted small and fairly decent sounding, but it seems weird spending more on the workaday, means-to-an-end sax than on my main instrument.
Wendy had the good idea of renting. See if it’s workable.
After many fruitless searches I gave up on renting a Bauhaus, you either buy it or don’t play it. The only site I could find offering a halfway decent soprano was UKsaxhire.co.uk.
I started a conversation by email with Richard, the guy who runs it.
Me: I want a curved (small and portable) soprano sax.
Richard: “I am happy to rent you [curved soprano] sax but with the exception of [3k sax] they all sound horrible. If it’s just the size/ weight I have shaped alto cases for £25”
Me: Your sales pitch needs polish.
After much too-ing and fro-ing, I went with his original suggestion and got the shaped alto case. The thing is, a straight alto is almost the same size box as my alto, and I way prefer the alto’s sound. The case arrived today and it has made a difference to size. I was sceptical, but it has. And the ‘cheapo’, ex rental, case is *loads* better than mine! I had to stuff a dishcloth into the top of the bell to stop it from rattling around in mine, this one fits like a glove. Obviously if it’s rattling it could be damaging the keys.
I’ll give it a go but if it’s still too much I’ve told him to brace himself for me renting a curved soprano.
One tune I’ve learned the first bit of is Madness, One Step Beyond. I thought it sounded really good. Turns out he was a sax newbie himself so it’s really easy. Bonus.
I really want to aspire to playing this, but there is no sheet music, nobody has been brave enough to transcribe it, and I’ll never, ever, be good enough. First for “cant-help-but-rock-out” exuberance, second for perfect, sublime, excellence.
If you’re interested in that sort of thing, Wendy pointed out that the drummer (especially on the first one) is some sort of genius as well.
Final thing is the pain and clicking in my fingers in the cold. The very thing that had set my mind to Spanish retirement. Wendy said, and I confirmed online that some arthritis conditions can be lessened or the deterioration slowed, if caught early enough. In a classic example of hope in the face of experience I went to the doctors. I’ve not been for about 10 years (except for compulsory driving medicals and the medical form for the parachute jump) because there’s no point. They never do anything for me. Tell a lie, I went for a sick note so I could carry on wearing my wide fitting safety boots.
Anyway, I went. The doctor looked at me and said it’s probably wear and tear now I’m old. Super. If it’s arthritis he could prescribe some painkillers.
I’m not in that much pain, the idea is that I want to avoid being in that much pain.
To be fair, they ruled out some things. They sent me for an Xray, all fine, then did a full blood analysis, not rheumatism.
The doctor today said “The results are all fine. Well done.”
I replied “Go me.”
So, seems I’m actually fine. I wish someone would tell my fingers that.
First things first, seems my new job has strict policies on social media, such as tweeting or blogging using their name. So I won’t. Which is a shame because it is the best job with the best company, but rules are rules.
Last week I did two days of induction and started work. As I said I’m starting on a 6 month, temp- to- perm, 3 day a week contract. They said that if I wanted more work I could request it in the overtime book, first come, first served, but usually always get a shift. I did my induction 2 days,but it was too late to request the following day. I booked the rest of the week and this week (around my rota-ed Sat/Sun/Mon) and got work on every day. 6 straight shifts. Then I legally had to take 2 days off.
So that has answered that question. Yes, I can make my hours up. Also they do overtime rate for anything over 45 hours a week, 1.75 rate for a sixth shift, up to treble time for a bank holiday, match your pension contributions up to 5% of earnings, company share scheme that makes a profit but guarantees your investment in case of share drop…Honestly, this is a golden goose that just keeps laying.
Plus all the standard stuff that I have been lacking on agency/ self employed such as sick pay, union, holiday pay (HOLIDAY PAY! I remember that!)
And, outside of the pay and benefits, the job itself is great. Supportive, helpful, not pressured. I love it. After some of the jobs I’ve done…I’m never leaving.
My first day was a bit epic. I levered a post into position on my trailer, thought it had locked in place, took my hand away, then it sprang open and smacked me in the face.
It was only a scratch, but as you can see it bled a lot. I got a plaster and I was fine. I had to fill in an accident form when I got back “Time with company?” 3 days! Lol.
In other news, I’ve sacked off the flute. It was a portable means to an end. To whit, to learn the sax. But I just couldn’t get up enough enthusiasm to force myself to play it. I’ve bought a cheap, new, alto sax (a bit smaller and higher pitched than my tenor and just about fits in my work bag.)
I wanted to get the same brand as my tenor (Bauhaus). I struck lucky with that, I bought it by chance just before they became a respected brand and put the price up. But I’ve read good reviews about the alto, so I gave it a shot. I love it. Nice sound, very easy to blow.
By the way, it’s supposed to look like that, it’s “vintage”. *hard stare to camera*
I’ve been lugging it to work and playing it on my breaks. Sod’s law I’ve not been forced to sit around for hours since I started taking it, but even if I just play it for half an hour or so every day, it’s got to be for the good.
I’ve also been returning to running. I was going to wait for the new year, but I decided to focus my chi and get stuck in. Running, sax, etc.
This time I’m being sensible. They say if you’re returning from a 6 week or more break start with 4.30 walk, 30 second run, x6. Then 4.00/ 1.00, 3.30/ 1.30 etc. It absolutely sucks arse, but it’s supposed to get you back into running without injury. 3 weeks of 3 runs, then allowed to do 35 minutes run 3 times. Then increase by 10% a week. If I get an injury after this I’m tracking the training plan author down. So bad. And humiliating.
I’d just crested the hump, got to 3 minutes running, 2 minutes walking, when I’ve been struck down in my prime by the lurgy. Man lurgy, so far worse than standard.
On my day off.
Which is nice.
I woke up in the night feeling like shit. Super.
So no run.
A week or two later…
I gave the run/ walk thing two weeks then sacked it off and did the 45 minute run. I’m supposed to be be taking it really easy and not pushing the pace as I up it by no more than 10% long run, 10% overall weekly distance. I may have been pushing the pace. And I upped it by 20%. I tried patience, it took too long.
Then I got a warning pain. Bugger. So rested up for a few days with ibuprofen and compression bandage. I’ll get there.
Work is great. Except I dropped a huge bollock.
I’m on a 3 day contract, 6 months, temp-to-perm. I just have to ask and usually I can get whatever extra days work I want. I was putting lots down, then when I came to review the previous week’s work, I realised although I’d had three days off, none of them were consecutive. The law states I must have a 45 hour break one week, but can reduce to a 24 hour the next. I’d had Wednesday off that week so thought I was clear through until Tuesday, Saturday afternoon I realised I wasn’t legal for Sunday!
My shifts are Saturday, Sunday, Monday so I had to ring in and duck a shift. Shit. That’s never happened to me before, damned sure it will never happen again, but trust me, the first month of probation and I do that.
Work were really good about it, I just worked Tuesday instead.
In other exciting news (to me) I have been window shopping for a new bike. I thought I’d picked a winner. Honda are doing (probably) the last air cooled (so, pretty) finned engine before the EU regulations consign them to history. As of now, (January ‘17) EU4 is a legal requirement. It has reduced emissions by 94%, which is obviously a good thing. But by 2020 EU5 kicks in and air cooled will be no more.
So Honda have looked to their laurels and recreated the CB750 (The Bike For Which They Invented The Word “Superbike”, The Death Of British Bikes, etc) but as a modern retro. It’s now 1100cc and not at all sporty. But oh so pretty.
The critics are saying it is overpriced, overweight, underspeced and underpowered. I was just loving it’s look and the thought of chugging around on a bike good for 100,000 miles.
It was compromise though. I went off the W650 because of it’s lack of performance compared to my CB750. Here I’d be paying top dollar for another pretty but sluggish beast.
Then I came across the fact that Triumph have upgraded the Thruxton. It’s now a 1200cc, liquid cooled, weapon. My previous objections to the water cooled Triumph’s was the engine was ugly. Goddamn ugly. If you are buying a naked retro it’s for the looks. Triumph (who obviously read my blog and value my opinion) have upped their game.
Here is the Triumph Speed Triple.
Amidst the overall ugliness, particularly observe the engine. Smooth and ugly.With a huge radiator.
Compare that to Triumph’s Thruxton R:
Yes, it’s water cooled and fuel injected, but look at the engine fins! Marvel at the fake carbs! Look quite hard to notice the radiator, completely fail to spot the water reservoir!
And they’ve not stinted on performance. Fancy upside down forks, high tech rear shocks, monster brakes and 97hp!
My W650 is 50hp, the CB750 is 73hp. This beast is 97hp! In a retro twin!
All of the reviews are a-gush with praise. Google some of them, the youtube vids are a hoot.
This one is worth a watch for the riding technique alone. https://youtu.be/jdq_cZN8nbE
In no way reminiscent of anyone I know. *cough*
Some mad Asian geezer testing it out against a sports tourer, 1400cc, plastic rocket.
Basically this is the bike for me. It’s a cafe racer so it looks gorgeous. It has a sports pretention set up with top spec forks, shocks, and brakes so it handles properly. It has 97hp, a 0-60 of 3.2 seconds, a standing quarter mile of 12.5 seconds, 115mph. Which is 0-banned in about 10 seconds. That’s enough grunt for me.
It’s just lovely. Also, as an aside but still sadly a consideration, I won’t have arseholes saying “Is that a Kwak in disguise?” It is exactly what it says on the tin, a modern Triumph retro.
Here’s a snippet from one review to give you a flavour of the praise:
“Its most impressive engineering feat is that it has made nostalgia a reality. This is a love letter to British superbike history, the burbling parallel twin bursting with character, the communicative handling, and the responsive brakes, without the leaks, creaks, and kickstarts of old.
This is not a trip back in time, but to a parallel dimension where the Bonneville never became retro, but became the standard.”
Now I just need to crash save. These buggers only came out in 2016 so there are no cheap old ones. That is going to be my summer bike, as soon as salt goes down it’s back on the CB750.
That’s the plan. Now to make the shitloads of money. The W650 is going as soon as the fair weather bikers come out of hibernation, that should put 3 or 4K towards it.
The other thing is *drum roll* we’ve just done our first Spanish lesson!
Woo-hoo! Bloody terrifying when the tutor got us trying to do the “Hello my name is.. what’s your name? How are you? See you later” bollocks. Embarrassingly bad, but that’s how everyone starts. Getting over the fear of making a total arse of yourself is half the battle, I suppose.
Last time out I was ranting about that fake Harley from China. I got as far as trying to input the bank details for the cash transfer before I got cold feet. The address they gave me wasn’t the bank address. So I looked on Google Earth at the factory address (as much as you can in China) no signs. Then I did a search of the company, no reviews, no comments. nothing. Finally looked into the site through which they were advertising, “SCAM! AVOID!”
They sent me pictures of bikes in crates and such, but all of the above was just enough to make me err on the side of caution. It was a wonderful thing they were offering, and cleverly packaged, and just vague enough to let your lust for the bike override your common sense. It’s possible they are actually making knock off Harleys and I’m missing out on my dream ride, but I’m not risking it.
Also I was suffering with the W650 rebuild. I rebuilt it, got it running, went for a spin, but one cylinder wasn’t firing right. That should have been an immediate warning sign in retrospect, but there are so many simple things it could also have been. I was ruling them out one by one when CRACK! What?
Stripped the engine down again, seems the timing was slightly out. One of the valve heads had snapped off, buggering the cylinder head (£800) the piston and rings (£200) and the valve itself.
Then a professional rebuild as Wendy would not take kindly to me killing another one…. Shitloads.
In the end I found a second hand engine, swapped them over and Bob’s your uncle.
In the meantime though I was thinking about what someone had said at work, why are you paying all this to refurb your bike? Why don’t you just get a cheap hack to run through winter?
I saw someone advertising a 1992 Honda CB750 for £950 or offers. Thought, what the hey, offered £850. Guy took it!
Nipped down to Cardiff on the train and rode it back. As you can see it’s no looker, but after a few days, and adjusting my riding style to proper inline 4, I love it so much I’m keeping it and selling the W650!
The exhaust was a botch up job, not really for that bike, and way too noisy so I got a new one.
Then the rear shocks (top picture, with the piggy back cylinder) started leaking. Badly.
So I got the shocks above. Dirt cheap off th’ebay. There was a reason for that. They are utterly shit. Either kicked you out of the saddle over every bump or so soft you weaved in corners. Bought a proper pair. They look the same as the ones above but without the black cowl. The difference is startling. Or rather the startling stopped happening. It just goes, and corners, and stops. Anything else is too much excitement.
The front brakes need bleeding and I’ve bought some lower handlebars, but basically that’s it. It’s just a fun, reliable, cheap beast. Goes like shit off a stick but only good for about 125mph, so not too crazy.
I got a gig at Maritime in Trafford Park, Manchester. Bloody long shifts, 11 hours was an early dart. Plus it was a 06.00 start so I had to get up at 04.45. Then an hour’s commute per day. That was the worst bit. To get home down the M62 from Manchester, in rush hour, was suicidal. I was riding along at speeds of up to *cough* 70mph through slow and stationary traffic, in the rain and dark and I got to thinking “if anyone moves I die.”
And it bothered me.
50 years old, is the answer to the question: “When do you stop being a reckless dickhead and start being fearful?”
I nearly slowed down.
That was one of those things where you are just delaying the inevitable. I was going to die, it was just when.
Anyway, I sacked it off and went back to thrice damned Herpes. It’s a shite job but it pays well (until January when they cut the rates again) it’s 1.8 miles from my front door, and at least there is work in January, the Maritime one was only until xmas. Then good luck finding a new agency job until April.
My plan was, sod it, I’ll stick it out at Herpes and keep my eyes open for my dream job. I bookmarked their jobs page and signed up for email alerts. Back at Herpes two weeks when I got an email alert!. I applied immediately. The thing is I’ve applied 3 times before while I was working there and not heard a peep. Imagine my joy on Thursday when they rang me up and arranged an interview for Wednesday! Woo-hoo!
It’s only a 3 day contract to start, on 6 months temp to perm, but I’ve talked to drivers there who are on the same gig and they say there’s no shortage of extra shifts. Anyway, whatever they offer me, it would be a foot in the door and I’m taking it. There are 5 jobs on offer. And they’ve called me for interview. I’m scared to get my hopes up, but I want this so bad.
The other thing happening of excitement to me, and no-one else, is boots!
I have been making do with Rigger boots, sort of leather, steel toecap, wellies. The idea being that they are tall enough to keep my feet dry under my waterproof trousers on the way to work, then something I can wear at work without having to carry a change of footwear. It’s never been an ideal solution, they get soaked if it’s really raining and because I have to get a size up to avoid the toecaps crushing my feet, they slop about. Now they have broken down so they stayed wet for a week. I went looking for work boots and saw they had goretex lined boots nowadays. Your feet can sweat and breathe but liquid water can’t penetrate. So I looked online.
Look at these bad boys!
Well, bad boy, but you get the idea. Gorextex lined, so totally waterproof, wide (I can get my actual size), composite toecap which is lighter, warmer and stronger than steel, and German, making them good for invading Poland, should Trump so decide.
While I was looking I also saw the British army now does goretex, cold weather boots. In three different width sizes! No more foot agony! I bought a pair, which means for the first time in a decade I can have boots that are my size. Twice.
But what the very hell? In my day soldiering was about the unnecessary suffering. Warm, dry, comfortable boots? That’s molly coddling. The squaddies of today will be so comfy they won’t even want to die.
Yoof of today. *tuts*
Here’s a quick twitter roundup. It’s not as much fun lately as everyone is bogged down in politics and the rise of fascism. But here you go:
Nippy this morning. Colder than Tory compassion. Car’s as white as a UKIP poster.
"Just accept it, you lost, now get over it" said the person waving a confederate flag
Notice in works canteen "nothing is impossible. The word itself says ‘I’m possible’." And now I must kill again.
That’s me 3 for 3. Decency and common sense means they won’t vote for pig-shagger Dave, Brexit, Trump. I’m like mystic fucking Meg.
More American cultural appropriation. All fun and games until the black Labrador gets a burning cross in its kennel.
Kennedy: forgive your enemy but never forget their name Lincoln: leave nothing for tomorrow which can be done today Donald J. Trump @realDonaldTrump I have never seen a thin person drinking Diet Coke.
Collins named ‘Brexit’ their word of the year. If they had any chutzpah, they’d make its entry solely this… Brexit (noun): Brexit
UK completely unprepared for snow for 10,438th winter running
[during a huddle in a crucial ice hockey match] ME: Ok listen up guys [all the other players look at me] ME: Is….is anyone else cold?
The Tories just quietly privatised an NHS organisation employing 90,000 people
Last night, I went to a gig where a man sang an earnest song about his girlfriend’s gap year in Ethiopia, and now I hate all music.
America right now:
Calls to get tougher on benefit abuse as Mum on state handouts gets £369m to do up her house.
For anyone interested, The Queen’s commercial property portfolio (worth £12b) generated £304.1m profit in 2015/16.
Britain just passed ‘the most extreme surveillance law ever’
Theresa May’s plan for the UK seems to be about expanding access to mass surveillance while limiting access to marmite.
That’s right, Hucknall – I sent every one of Kate’s Simply Red CDs to the charity shop. Every. Last. One.
We Rate Dogs had:
This is Yogi. He’s 98% floof. Snuggable af. 12/10
I shall call him squishy and he shall be mine, and he shall be my squishy. 13/10
We normally don’t rate marshmallows but this one appears to be flawlessly toasted so I’ll make an exception. 10/10
Meet Baloo. He’s expecting a fast ground ball, hence the wide stance. Prepared af. 11/10 nothing runs like a pupper
Twitter. All the wrongs you can write.
Herbal Essences perhaps??…
Any update on Farage’s million bigot march? For the sake of patriotism they should hold it on cliffs of Dover. Then march towards France.
The Twitter experience perfectly encapsulated in two tweets
The animals gather to hear GOD’s word: THE 7 DEADLY SINS ARE GREED LUST PRIDE lions: "shit" ENVY WRATH SLOTH sloths: "What the actual fuck?"
IMPRESS people with your vocabulary by describing stuff and things well.
STRESSED OUT? Why not try flashing the vees and swearing at people?
NASA. No need to look for water on other planets, there’s fucking loads right here on Earth.
After Article 50 triggered
Theresa May promises Nissan undisclosed sweetener to keep their North East car plant in the UK:
What do we wante? Vikinge Hamsters! Whanne do we wante them? WE SHALL FILL OWER CHEEKE POUCHES WYTH GOLD AND GLORYE!
I couldn’t post before so I’ll just add rather than start afresh.
I forgot to mention the floor. My click together plank flooring experience to date was a 5’ x 3’ section at the bottom of the stairs. And that took me ages. Wendy wanted a replacement for the grotty lino in the kitchen. She had seen some tiles, about a fecking grand’s worth of tiles! I was less than enthused but what the hey, I buy bikes, she never buys anything. Then she saw the same distressed looking effect on those plank things at B&Q, £279 for kitchen, bog, and adjoining bit.
Then I had to pull the doors off to plane them. I felt like a proper grown up by the time I’d finished. Being a grown up sucks arse.
The worst thing is, I think it’s minging. It just looks dirty. As much of a pain in the arse as it was to fit, if Wendy decided she wanted a nice floor I wouldn’t be arsed ripping this one up.
First off, my dream job at the Co-Op.
It turned into a nightmare.
The hours are great, the money was great, they treated you great, but all the stores were on the very edge of what is physically possible. Previously my satnav would say “turn left” and I’d look into a tiny back street, lined with cars, and think “jog on” and find the proper way into my drop. At the Co-Op that is the proper way. I had to go down a street stopping and folding car wing mirrors in all the way down as it was the only way I could fit. I was a nervous wreck. It got too much and I quit. *sigh*
That was on a Saturday, I signed up with an agency for a postal driver job on the Monday. They looked at my history, Stobarts, would you work there again? Absolutely not. Next? Meh. Bookers?
I joined 3 agencies earlier in the year trying to get back in there. Not a sniff. That is the best job I’ve had, but I’d kind of given up on it, as I thought they must have stopped using agency. Here it was, serendipitously being offered! I said I’d love to go back. Said I was available from Wednesday. They ‘phoned me that night, saying they had a shift at Bookers Tuesday, did I want it? For Bookers, yes. That was that. 5 days for the last 3 weeks. They also do Herpes, so I’m thinking I may have dropped in perfect here. If there are days when Bookers don’t need me I can do a shift at Herpes. This means I can afford to wait it out until they finally give in and take me on. Then it’s megabucks. £40+K. For a piss easy job, no pressure, no deadlines, great attitude towards driver error. My first or second shift back there they sent me to Birkenhead. It’s tight as buggery. You have to drive into the yard, right up to the wall, spin it around on full lock (which kicks the back end out and a few drivers have taken out the fence it’s so tight) then go back out and blindside in around a corner. After the Co-Op it was a walk in the park. But in screwing it tight around one of the leads from the truck to the trailer must have snagged and it ripped out. I ‘phoned it in. They called me a dick, had a replacement sent out, not a word said when I got back. No forms to fill in, no investigation. Shit happens, don’t do it again. Now I take my lines off before I go into the yard. Sorted. The only thing with this job, as with every other driving job (not Co-Op) is you don’t know your start or finish times day to day.
I’m still battling with the bike. I rebuilt the engine (nearly bust my back humping the damned thing back in the frame) and refitted everything. A job made a lot worse by my prevaricating over starting it because I was scared of the job. I got it all back together, reinstalled all the electrics and turned it over. It turned fine but didn’t start. I checked for fuel, (yes) sparks, (yes) right spark plug lead to right spark plug (for timing, yes) bugger. Had to be the timing was out. I took the cylinder head back off (all in-frame from now on, YAY!) and turned it over. Valves not moving. It was that thrice damned bevel drive. I was scared of that before I started, never having dealt with one before. After a bit of examination it turns out the shaft that drives the bevel (that operates the cam shaft) had fallen down. This is down to a circlip. While refitting I tried to put it on a wider part than that for which it was intended and prized it open too far. I was already aware of this and ordered the part as soon as I buggered it. I’ve been waiting for it to be sent from Germany, who, it transpires, had to order it from Japan. As soon as that arrives I strip the top of the engine, fit it in the right place, with the timing set again, and job should be a good ‘un.
I hope so, because whilst window shopping for a cheap winter bike (told a guy at work about my woes trying to tart up the engine after winter corrosion and he asked what I was doing riding a nice bike in winter, why didn’t I get a £500 winter bike?) I’ve stumbled across a Chinese website. They are selling clone motorbikes. They get a popular model of bike. tear it down to it’s nuts and bolts and slavishly copy every last detail. Then they set up a production line of Chinese made, *very* cheap clone bikes.
They are doing Harley clones. The Heritage Softail Classic is £16+K from Harley. The clone is £2,480, brand new, in a crate, shipped all the way from China.
I want it so bad I can taste it. This could be perfect for me. Even the fakeness could be a positive. It looks like too much of a lump to get down between the houses to our garden and a real Harley would be stolen before I’d got my leathers off if I left it on the front. I’m going to get a laminated sign saying “This is a fake, Chinese copy, £2,480 brand new off (website) so don’t bother nicking it, it’s not worth shit” , or words to that effect.
My plan was to add it to my my collection but Wendy, perhaps not unreasonably (bloody unreasonably!) says as I can only ride one bike at a time, and we are still in debt, I have to sell my bike to buy it.
This means I have to finish this rebuild, polish it all up and flog it. Double quick time.
The other big news is I’ve finally got my parachute course done.
I finished work stupid o’clock Saturday morning, had 4 hours kip, then up and drove to the Lake District (right next to Morecombe bay). I was there from 08.30 until about 16.30 doing the course and finding out all the interesting ways I could die. The main thing we learned on the course was that it’s a waiting game. For students the wind speed has to be 15mph or lower with ground visibility (no clouds below 3,500 feet) and such. In short, we weren’t going to jump yesterday. So I had to do another 160 mile round trip today. I was sat there waiting from 09.15 until about 14.00 then they called us out. We went up, I was last man out. They got the first 3 out then more cloud came in so they aborted. Landed. Gutted.
About 16.00 we had another go. I was quietly confident that I could do it. I’ve faced death quite a bit and don’t let it deter me. Then it got to my turn. You’re sat on the floor, facing a roller door which the instructor pulls open when the plane is in position. You look out and it suddenly gets very real. Then the instructor says “FEET OUT!” and you slide into the doorway, a hand on the door frame behind you, one on the lip of the opening upon which you are sat, one buttock hanging over the edge.. Which is really frightening because you think you are just going to keep going and fall off. Then he says “GO!” and taps your shoulder and you have to push yourself off, into the void.
As I say, I’ve faced death quite a bit. Riding through two overtaking lorries at 120mph, sitting listening to bullets going off in the fire in front of me, crashing every bike I’ve had, going to war, etc etc. I’m not trying to say I’m heroic, “stupid” would work equally well, I’m just saying fear and possible death don’t stop me from doing things. With that in mind, sliding up to the aircraft edge and pushing myself out, I was fucking terrified.
I surprised myself with the level of fear. I was wondering, as I sat waiting for him to open the door for my turn, whether I could do it. I was so scared I thought I was going to bottle it.
I didn’t. But all my drills went to shit. Leap out, star shape, head back, count “ONE THOUSAND, TWO THOUSAND, THREE THOUSAND, ONE THOUSAND, TWO THOUSAND, THREE THOUSAND, CHECK CANOPY!”
I pushed off, then next thing I was being snatched back by the static line to my ‘chute and then my ‘chute opening. When shit started making sense again I was back on the ball. Checked my chute, did the drills, steered it in nicely. But for that 1 or 2 seconds I totally lost it.
Absolutely terrifying experience.
If the weather is nice I’ll have another go next Sunday, see if I can get it right!
You are not allowed to take a cam up with you so no pics, but it was a hell of an experience.
Right, bed. I’m bollocksed. 20 mile run tomorrow.
I’ve properly started my new job now. I had 7 days of training first. I had a 2 hours driving assessment to start with. Then I started the training 7 days. I was supposed to do a day’s classroom, a day out with a driver (just watching) a day’s classroom then a whole day out actually doing the job with an assessor watching me. That was the big stress day. Then a day out with another driver watching me, then two days out with another new starter, to watch each other.
I was in an artic the whole time, and I’m quickly getting used to the manual gearbox so it wasn’t too bad. I was worried on my assessment day but I passed. The next day, when I thought I could relax there mustn’t have been any spare drivers ‘cos they sent me out with another assessor! D’oh!
I got through that, did my two days (one driving, one observing) with the other new driver and started my shifts on Thursday. I had an easy start, an artic with an auto gearbox, full size trailer and one drop. Bread and butter to me. Dropped it off, back with 2½ hours to spare, sat in the canteen until home time!
The second day was when it got a bit worse. They gave me a rigid. Only a dinky little 18 tonner but buggered if I could remember how to drive one. Any fool can drive one forwards, but I’ve completely forgotten what room you need to turn one around, and I was bollocksed as soon as I had to reverse. I’ve five years of experience with artics. For that you pull over near to where you want to reverse into, then screw the cab around which pivots the trailer over the back wheels, get it pointing in the right direction then straighten up. I was lining the truck up in the wrong place to start, expecting it to turn when it wouldn’t, and turning the wheel the wrong way be reflex. It was a nightmare.
On Sunday they sent me out in a 26 tonne rigid. These are bastards for two reasons; the rear wheels are a good 6-8 feet in from the end of the box, so they have a vicious swing, and they have a semi-auto clutch. You rev it and let the clutch out and it cuts your revs and slowly lets the clutch engage. I stalled it the first time. It’s a nightmare, especially on hill starts as you can’t over rev to put some power into it.
Anyway, I was coping with the overswing and I was getting on top of the fecking stupid clutch, but the reverse was still a nightmare. The main trouble with this job, is Co-Op shops are little convenience stores, parked in the middle of housing estates and such. So virtually every drop is an absolute nightmare to get to.
Here’s one in Manchester:
As you can see there is enough room for the car. But trucks are wider, and that’s travelling in a straight line. If you want to turn you need swing. I couldn’t get back out of that one, I had to follow it into the housing estate to find a place to get back to the main road. I had to keep stopping and tucking car wing mirrors in as it was that tight.
Back to Sunday, 26 tonner, took me to this poxy little shop in a poxy little village, I had to drive through a sign saying “Unsuitable for HGV’s” to get there. The shop was in the middle of the main, tiny, street running through the village. This meant I had to pull across both lanes and force everyone to stop and wait for me to reverse it into the side street by the shop. So, lots of impatient drivers queuing both ways, tiny road, lots of foot traffic. No pressure then. I set it up all wrong, if it had been an artic it was perfect and I’d have been in in seconds. Shunting back and forth, arse end going all the wrong way, I ended up mounting the pavement (not a prob, just gave me more room to swing) but I was having to concentrate on not hitting pedestrians. *bang!* What?
There was an overhead sign hanging out over the pavement. I was staring at the pedestrians didn’t even see it. *Was* hanging overhead. Not any more.
Fourth solo shift and I’d had a crash. I assumed they’d sack me off. My first week of a 12 week probation. I got back to the office, they went through the RTA forms. I was honest and said I was struggling like a bastard with rigids. They said they’d put this down to a training issue. Either get me some mentoring or put me on small rigids until I got back up to speed. I’m hoping for the former. I have no confidence at the minute. I am driving miles whenever I need to turn around because I have no idea what space a rigid needs. Surprisingly an artic with a 45 foot trailer is nimble as buggery in the turning department. They can turn in their own length, so a wide two lane road is often enough to spin them round. Rigids have the turning circle of an oil tanker ship. It’s all about 3 point turns and such. Easy when you know how, I don’t even think of it in the car, but when you have no idea what size you need or how it’s going to turn, it’s nerve wracking. I’m constantly scared witless I’m going to get stuck and won’t be able to get out.
My one consolation is, if you zoom into that image above, there’s a bin lorry down the end. That is their day job, driving down those streets, amidst those cars, day in, day out. It’s do-able, it’s just I don’t know how.
To summarise, the job is as good as all the good bits suggested. You have a fixed start time, you can stick to your home time, if they try and give you a second job that takes you 5 minutes over your 10 hours you just refuse, nothing said. Today is my first of three off, which I *know* for damned sure are my days off, no last minute ‘phone calls telling me to get in. There is no pressure on the job, you are given your jobs for the day, your keys, and basically left to it. No-one calling you up and screaming at you for not being at your next drop, and there is an hour’s, paid, dinner break.
The downside is: rigids, poxy little, hard to get to, drops, a bit of a faff wrestling cages around. And having to tail lift all the stock down, and empties back up is *so* slow.
Oh, also they are Safe System Of Work mad. Not that that is a problem, I quite like that they have a system whereby no cages can fall off the tail lift, or roll free when you are off the truck, but it is slow. This is part of the adjustment process though. You are not going home for 10 hours, no matter how quickly you get the job done, so just plod on safely.
If they are as good as their word, and I’m not sacked and get some help, this could be a decent job. 90% of what I don’t like about it is simply that I can’t drive rigids. If I can get over that, this job could be brilliant. I passed my class 2 (rigid) test, so I must have been OK with the bastards once.
At the moment I’m taking it as it comes. If they help me out and I get comfortable and confident with rigids this could be an excellent job, if they reconsider and sack me I’ll get an artic job and never look back.
Right, off to Halfords to get some paint. The next two days I want to get my bike back together.
Pig-shagger Dave has done it. Years back I said, with chilling prescience, of the EU referendum: “It’ll never happen. Thick people would vote out. They’ll never allow it.” So wrong.
Along came Dave. I think he set the EU ref as a trap for the next government, never thinking it would be his. Others have said it was an attempt to woo back all the racist votes leaking to UKIP. Either way it was supposed to be a sop, a token. We were never supposed to leave.
Well done Dave, you have finally ensured the history books don’t list “shagging a dead pig’s head”, as your most notorious deed.
The Tories and the right wing press have been drip feeding the lies for years. Foreigners on benefits are taking your jobs, (a good trick to start with) they are all Muslim terrorist paedo rapists.
No wonder Johnny Knee-jerk abandoned all reason and voted out of fear.
Fucking good job.
They were promised £350 million a week of EU money would go into hospitals instead. That immigration would be stopped. That the ‘experts’, every fucking single one of them, were EU stooges paid to promote Project Fear.
Someone summed it up nicely on Twitter:
It’s 11.15 AM and so far…
1, Nigel Farage starts the morning by retracting the £350 million per week to the NHS claim.
2, Daniel Hannan the retract the claim that leaving the EU will reduce immigration
3, £100 billion already wiped off the pensions, ISAs etc, invested in the FTSE.
4, The pound suffers the largest currency depreciation of any currency ever.
5, The Prime Minister resigns without mapping out a plan for implementing the results of the referendum.
The pound is now worth less than the Euro. Devalued by 11%. The UK is now no longer the fifth richest country in the world. Project Fear was wildly optimistic.
Worse than all of this, it’s given a mandate to the far right. The neo-nazi Britain First (DON’T SHARE THEIR SHITE ON FACEBOOK!) murdered a young woman MP who was for remain. UKIP/ Britain First/ Brexiters think they’ve won the argument. They won the EU ref, the trouble is, we were voting to stay in the EU, they were voting for “send them back”.
Already reports of Muslims being harassed and people shouting “send them back!”
We have sacked Cameron and brought in an even further right wing government, backed by neo-nazis.
Also, this signals the end of the Union. All the Scottish voted to stay in. And the Irish. This leaves England calling for action neither of them want, voted for, or will support. The split seems inevitable now.
My final straw, at which I’m desperately clutching, is this is not a binding decision. Parliament has to approve it, and Boris didn’t want out either. He spoke at length about it in the past. Now he has cleared Cameron out of office hopefully he will find an excuse to call a second referendum. All the fuckwits who have now seen the reality of brexit will vote remain and we’ll all live happily ever after.
If not, then it’s untrammelled tories. Goodbye worker’s rights, maternity leaving, Working Time Directive, Human Rights. And Britain First mobilised on the streets, hunting down Poles and the dark skinned.
This could be Hitler, the early years. Bit of a rum cove, but sure it’ll be alright.
It won’t be.
I’ll make my stand with the foreigners. *This* will be your ‘rivers of blood’. I can’t stand by and do nothing.
I honestly thought this was such a biggie that even if they rigged the vote, they wouldn’t allow us to leave.
I have fooled myself for a long time that I had no fucks to give. In the face of neo-nazism I find, to my surprise, I’m made of fucks.
Sorry, had to get it off my chest.
Just remember my favourite bit from an Alan Moore comic, Rorschach explaining how he became Rorschach to the shrink. He’d found a house of a kidnapper who’d murdered a little girl. Handcuffed him then set the house on fire.
“Stood in street. Watched it burn. Imagined limbless felt torsos inside; breasts blackening; bellies smouldering, bursting into flame one by one.
Watched for an hour.
Nobody got out.
Stood in firelight, sweltering, blood stain on chest like map of violent new continent.
Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in night.
Looked at sky through smoke, heavy with human fat and god was not there. The cold suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone.
Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later.
Born from oblivion, bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion.
There is nothing else.
Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long.
No meaning save what we choose to impose.
This rudderless world in not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It in not god who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs.
Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turnings it’s illusions to ice, shattering them.
Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world.
Finally, 7 years after getting my licenses, I’ve got a real job!
It’s working for Wincanton for the Co-op at Lea Green, St Helens.
It’s further away than Hermes, but still only 20 minutes in rush hour in a car. Being St Helens it’s the right way down the M62 of a morning. Manchester bound is bollocksed from Warrington every day.
I have been looking for a real job for ages but what there are always have drawbacks. Nights, tramping, or Stobarts. £84.50 a shift for Stobarts. Not even an hourly rate. So if you do a 15 hour day you’re on £5.70 p/h. I don’t know how they can even advertise that, it’s below minimum wage, the piss-taking bastards.
Then I saw this job advertised for the Co-op. 4x 10 hr shifts. Interesting straight away. £12.93 p/h (I’m on a basic of £12.50 now but that’s as a limited company, no holiday pay, sick pay, have to pay my own accountant, never know what hours I’m getting from one week to the next.) I’ll get 21 days holiday (paid at 12.5 hrs per day, more for being on holiday than working!) which on a 4 day week is just over 5 weeks holiday a year. There is the option to work fifth or sixth shifts if I ask for it.
The downside is the shift pattern is Thursday to Sunday (not really arsed, so long as I’ve got fixed days off) it’s manual gearbox trucks (sweating on an hour and a half assessment today, not driven one in years) but you soon get used to that, and it’s poxy little stores to which you deliver. So, very tricky reversing. Just take my time and check everything twice.
Bank holidays are paid at double time and a day in lieu. Even if you don’t work them. So bank holiday Monday, my next shift (Thursday) would count as a bank holiday. Plus there’s £100 a quarter attendance bonus (hardly ever off since I stopped drinking) and best of all, it’s fixed shifts with a fixed start time of 08.30! Unheard of in lorry driving jobs. I asked if that was a guideline start time. Nope, 08.30 is my shift. Thursday to Sunday.
I start my (7 day!) paid, induction on the 27th. 12 weeks probation period. I’ll not know until I do the job, but the assessor was saying it’s really relaxed atmosphere, no cab ‘phones, no hassling you over delays or whatever. He said you get about a 7 hour or so run, spend the rest of the time in the canteen.
I’m still trying to take it in. You know when something seems too good to be true and you’re waiting to see the catch?
In less glorious news the bike renovation has turned into a nightmare. As you might expect. I stripped it down apart from one bolt that got jammed half out. Wouldn’t tighten or loosen. In the end a mechanic chum on twitter said saw the bolt head off, lift the cylinders off, then attack the bolt at the base. Did so, still couldn’t move the bolt. Tried heating with a blow torch to free it, got some special oil, battered the hell out of it with an impact driver (converts hammer blow into jarring twisting motions) not a bloody sausage. In the end I tried drilling it out. If I drilled the middle of it out I could use a reverse thread screw (from my tap and die set) to screw the weakened bolt out. Drill bits wouldn’t touch the toughened steel of the bolt. I tracked down some super tough cobalt drill bit. I had a cracking hole going on, weakened the bolt to buggery. Then the drill bit snapped in the bolt. So now it’s a toughened steel bolt jam packed with a super toughened drill bit. Super.
My last hope is an engineering works recommended by a mechanic at work. He said they can weld a bolt head to the stump and screw it out like that. He said it’s a 10 minute job, probably about £20. He said.
I’ve already agreed to work tomorrow and Sunday at Herpes, so I’ve text them telling them that is all I’m doing. I’ll ring up on Monday and see if I can arrange to take my engine in next week.
All this for a paint job.
Was it worth it?
A 1000% no.
But to end on a positive, think of what I can do with this job! Three planned days off! I can train, start a martial art (again!), sleep, the possibilities are endless. Even if I find the willpower to work a regular five days, having days that are absolutely my own, no ‘phone call telling me to come in in an hour! And the guy was saying that their peak, as a convenience store, is over the summer, people bobbing in for stuff, Xmas doesn’t really affect volume. So no 70 hour weeks!
Fingers crossed this job is all it seems.
This is the start of my week off. I’m going to blog my attempts at bike restoration. The engine has had two winters of English rain and salt and is starting to look tatty.
First the other things that have been occurring.
I’ve just found out that Igloo, the primary agency for Hermes drivers, has lost the contract. As of the 3rd of July they are off site. This means all of us who are Limited Company drivers have to register with a new agency, Extra Personnel. Change is always a gamble. At the moment I’ve got my own truck (a 64 plate DAF) when they remember to save it for me, I’m getting regular work and at a decent start time. A sort of 08.00- 11.00 window. Mostly about 09.30.
I’m going to have to see if this new lot will stick with it. I’m not doing nights for a start.
My flute head finally arrived back, it is splendid. Should prevent my allergic reaction. Seems to blow free-er as well. Bonus.
I’ve gone back to calligraphy as well. Copperplate, which is *so* hard, and Gothic Blackletter which is hard but in a different way.
Copperplate is weird as you have to do ovals, at a 40 degree slant with hairlines up and squash the nib to make fat lines down. As you can see from my first attempts, bloody solid.
Early attempt at Blackletter.
What else? Ooh, finally sorted a bit of my garden into a a permanent feature that I like. I moved my acer last winter, carrying a back breaking amount of dirt in the roots, to try to minimise the stress and sulking. Seems to have worked.
I’m not so sure about everything else, especially the box hedge running alongside it, but the box circle with the acer sitting atop it is spot on. Now just got to wait for it to fill in. I’ve found a bit of box blight since the picture, when I was trimming it. Monty Don says you can grow through it just by giving a weekly feed of seaweed compost.
I’ve got a new T-shirt.
Today I went out to get a speaker for my ‘phone for the long hours I’m going to be spending in the shed. I put the washing on before I went out, came back to this:
Totally wasn’t expecting that.
I was caught up in an altercation on my run on Sunday, between some cyclists and a herd, 20 at least, of dog walkers. It made me think of martial arts again. And Lettie, my niece, was asking about weight loss martial arts. I’m thinking of doing Muay Thai (kickboxing). It’s not pretty but it is practical. The main selling point is that the traditional grading is by fighting people of other clubs. It’s like traditional boxing in so much as there’s a huge emphasis on fitness and lots of time in the ring, actually fighting. That is the one thing you don’t really get in other martial arts, a sense of real world confidence. You can spar and such, but you don’t know how well that would translate. I’ve been watching videos from the clubs, it’s boxing gloves and shin pads, but knocking the crap out of each other. And I know of one girl who’s husband beat her up, she did kickboxing and knocked seven bells out of him when he tried it again.
Wendy nearly died of eye-roll when I said. She thinks I’m determined to join every martial arts club in the world.
So, to the point, this week is about my bike. Taking my ‘getting there’ bike and tidying up the wear and tear.
Of course, Valhalla Bound is looking nice, but worn. I want to return the engine to this:
Yesterday, after an early dart, I cleared everything out of the shed and brushed it out, chucked down our old rug, and, after much sweating and heaving, popped the bike in. Today I followed the instructions. Tank off, seat off, exhausts off, side panels, air box, carbs, brake lever, foot peg, all the electrics, breather pipes, gear lever, clutch cable, sensor cables, final drive sprocket and chain, alternator, engine mounting bolts and engine brackets.
Then just lift the rear of the engine and pull it out to the right.
I was heaving with all my might and couldn’t budge it. I was getting worried. I couldn’t lift it enough to even replace the brackets and such. Couldn’t get it out, scared I couldn’t even get it back in.
I got my car jack under the engine (with a bit of wood between it and the engine, obvs) and jacked it up. It lifted a bit but not enough. Now I was really panicking. I tried three or four times in different places. As I was jacking the engine up it was lifting the frame with it.
I thought it must be caught on something, so I dropped it again, and had a mooch around. There was another bolt running through the back of the engine through the frame. Bastard. No mention of that in the workshop manual. I popped that out and, although it was still heavy as a bastard, managed to get the engine out.
Oh god, oh god! What have I done?
I started to wash off the oil and mud and crap but my plastic scratchy thing soon got clogged and I was just spreading it. I have some stuff that’s supposed to clean it up right nice. I’m letting it dry overnight then crack on tomorrow.
While I was working I heard a thud on the roof. A baby bird had run out of fly.
It spent 20 minutes getting it’s breath back then flew off.
Well, I’m committed now. Got to get the job done.
More as it happens.