I remember when....

I popped over to see some friends and in their front garden I saw this. It might not appear much to some, just an old bike, but to me I was looking at an old friend, one I had loved with a passion and enjoyed many a happy hour with travelling around London and the UK.

I've always liked Kwaks and we bought this when we were members of the Triumph Owners Club.

Yes, I know it sounds strange, but we did have a Triumph, a Tiger Cub, which spent more time having the points re-adjusted, the electrics fiddled with or the carbs clearing than it did running.

I remember one run we went on...all of us were in our leathers, proudly riding the Triumph badge on our backs.

As usual, we ended up at the back of the line. We were the slowest, the smallest and the newest members so we had little kudos in the club.

At the back we did our best to keep up but it wasn't long before we started to fall behind and our speed began to, how should I say, deteriorate?

Yep, the carbs again!

Pete got out the repair toolkit we carried everywhere when we were on this classic and I took up my usual position, bum on pavement, feet in gutter, sitting by bike which was, by now, on a side stand (centre stand had fallen off in the road somewhere a while back and we never found it! The original side stand had rotted off).

My bag, laughingly called a hand bag, was a small rucksack containing cleaning equipment for the carburetor, spare parts for the engine, rags, puncture kit and a spare inner tube. Oh yes, some cash for when we broke down (there was an inevitability about this I must admit. He called it an adventure), a comb and a packet of fags!!

Lighting up, I watched as once more the carburetor came off at the side of the road, it was cleaned out and re-assembled. The petrol stinking rags went back in my handbag, the points were adjusted once more with the possibility they might co-operate and I continued to sit there as Pete kicked the bike over.

I was never convinced at this point. Nope. This Tiger Cub had to go!

I think it was a matter of days after the latest breakdown and our missing of yet another bike meet, I went into Boyer-Branson in Plumstead and basically said, what have you got? I can't even remember if Pete was with me, probably not. When I make up my mind it happens instantly.

So, he showed me several, Suzuki....Yamaha....Triumph. Nope.

Then he showed me a GPZ550 which had just come in. It was less than two years old, had little mileage and was going for a reasonable price.

We haggled, I pushed, I got quite a bit off with the understanding we would be back for two sets of waterproofs (expensive but windproof and tear proof too), new lids (Aria, naturally) and of course gloves....he would throw those in free wouldn't he?!?

I did remind him I had lots of biking mates and would be back with them. He smiled, he knew a sweetener now could mean a bigger deal later (it did. I ended up buying four more bikes from him over a ten month period as my mates upgraded and I increased my credit rating).

Taking Pete into Boyers the next day, or weekend most probably, he smiled when he saw what I'd bought. We sorted out the final paperwork and I drove home in the mini whilst he, in his new crash helmet and gear, rode home.

He was almost crying with joy when he got back.

So was I!

I could have my handbag back, once the oil stains and petrol smell dissipated and we could go to the club and keep up!!

We went everywhere on that bike, and Pete dispatched around London and the home counties on it. It was perfect and suited our needs for many years.

These days I like Mondays

Watered the lower part of the garden, repositioned the fig tree and completed two loads of washing; have a coffee and and apple, sitting in the shade.

It's a beautiful day.

Monday mornings were never the nicest day of the week. 

Returning from two days away from school and the classroom was always a wrench and the knowledge the students felt the same and would respond with churlish comments never made the prospect any easier.

I'd stagger into the staffroom at about 7am and grab a strong coffee. Some people had arrived and would grunt their recognition but conversation was sparse.

Coffee drunk and excuses finally gone, I'd make my way up to my classroom, unlock, and get the lessons organised ready so as to be 'on the ball' when the angels walked in. 

- Register? Check. 

- Exercise books all marked? Check

- Text books/ practical work organised? Check

- Pens, pencils, rulers and rubbers in pots on desks? Check. (You'd never believe I taught 12 to 18 year olds! Rarely brought their own pens)

- Sorted ready for Head's meeting at 8.30am? Check......heavens is that the time.....

The day began and passed. I would gain a mess in the classroom which I would need to clear up before Tuesday, books to mark and lesson plans to review, a markbook to annotate and extra work to be created. Lessons to prepare for the next day from lesson plans already drawn up then work in my classroom until 6pm when I was told to leave. Teaching block would be locked at 6pm sharp.

Home to finish what I'd failed to do during the day and then catch a bit of mindless TV and bed. Urgh!

I truly hated Mondays. 

Now? 

I've drunk my coffee, eaten my apple and am contemplating the repotting of my orchids. The sun is shining and the washing is drying beautifully on the line.

It's really quiet in the garden save the tree surgeons dealing with a large oak. Other than that, the occasional plane, the bees chasing nectar and pollen and a faint hammering as another house extension is completed.

......and breathe. Retiring was a scary experience to begin with. Not having a workplace to go to, to work in, prepare for, to almost kill myself for, but now, well, I know people say this but it's TRUE, I HAVEN'T TIME TO WORK, 

IM FAR TOO BUSY 

Open for transfer

Sitting by the town lock, I watch people from the Environmental Agency clearing the debris build up in the main lock. Using a grappling hook and a long pole, they lift out what people have thrown in; a bicycle, Sainsbury trolley, spikes from the building site, cans, aerosols and McDonald's rubbish. With the sluice gate open enough to let out the undertow of water but closed enough to allow the scrapers to hold the garbage upstream, they bring up their finds.

A paddle boarder lifts his board and walks it through to continue upstream whilst a couple lift their canoe through a separate bay to continue down.

How I want to join them; to see the Medway from the middle of the river rather than the bank.

I watch and the men have caught something, slowly pulling it up from its watery grave......intrigued I wait.......its almost like fly fishing only the prey is not alive. They retreat to the van for more tools. Slowly it comes up, a fence post; unused but as they said, enough to interfere with the sluice gates.

Time for me to depart. I'm hungry and in need of lunch.....blimey, no wonder, it's gone 2pm!

Yep, and another makes three

https://www.3elephantsandacheeseburger.blogspot.com/

Leave me alone for five minutes......

Well, I have been toying with this for some time but I felt I was ready to create this third and final Blog to go alongside the other two. Like many a magpie, I enjoy many things and gather them in my brain.

This is more an unconscious download, what some would call unconscious streaming; a collection of writings from the 1990s to today.

If you are interested in this sort of thing, and intrigued by what makes an old bird like me tick, then give it an explore.