Been a long time

So much has happened since my last post!

I bought a lovely new motorbike; a Kawasaki Z1000SX, slightly customised, but brand new. I even got to choose my registration number from a list. It was a joy to ride, so smooth, so fast, but unfortunately it was to be the beginning of the end of my motorcycling days.

It was barely run in when I managed to spin off and cause myself a few injuries, including multiple facial fractures and permanent ligament damage to my right hand. To be honest, none of this has changed my life, but the distress it caused those around me, and in particular, my wife, persuaded me that I should not be putting myself at risk any longer, after all, I was nearly 63 and healing takes so much longer as you get older. So that’s it, no longer a biker.

My first motorbike, when I was just 17 years old was a Kawasaki and my last was a Kawasaki. I rode several others in the years in between, probably the most fun on the Yamahas, the smooth underrated comfortable Honda took me to another level, but the one that ended it all was my favourite. I have some lovely memories. What more can one ask!

The accident was nearly a year ago, but just recently a workmate reported losing grip as he drove over the same piece of road. He suggested that maybe, as lorries turned here many times a day, there was diesel on the road on that fateful night. Finally I can make some sense of it, as for most of the last year I couldn’t work out what was different about that night on a stretch that I had travelled hundreds of times. Closure is a good thing.

Teetotal

Now in my sixties I don’t drink, don’t smoke and don’t do drugs, but truth is I have dabbled with all the above in years gone by. In my youth it all seemed grown up and anti-establishment. I was a rebel without a clue. Experimenting with drugs was a brief phase, which probably came about as the result of mixing with others whom I considered to be “cool” at the time (actually more likely “hip”, or “groovy” back then).

Smoking was something that started when I was about fifteen, because everyone else was doing it, or so it seemed to me. Cigarettes were still considered glamorous, even though the health risks were known about. I used to listen to Radio Luxembourg on my Grundig portable radio, which was hidden under the pillow so that I could hear as I dropped off to sleep, and between records I would hear the Peter Stuyvesant adverts. All the magazines were full with Dunhill, Rothmans, Benson and Hedges, Embassy, Players, or maybe exotic French cigarettes such as Gitanes. How could any impressionable youngster resist with so much choice available? The tobacco companies had me in their clutches for fifteen years before I finally managed to quit.

Alcohol, or more specifically beer, was the one I never thought I would give up. I started drinking at around the same time I started smoking, at first quart bottles of Gaymers Old English, Bulmers Woodpecker, or Strongbow were my tipple of choice. These would be consumed in the multi-storey car parks whilst bunking off school. As I grew a little older and was able to get served in one of the local pubs I progressed to beer, always preferring bitter (albeit the gassy ones that were being pushed by the major breweries). A pint of Keg, or a light and Keg was the perfect accompaniment to a game of darts, dominoes, or cribbage. The resurgence of the smaller breweries pushed me towards traditional ales as the years went by. Everything in my life seemed to revolve around beer. Holiday accommodation would be chosen according to the proximity of the local pub. Every day after work I would either head for the pub, or pour a beer to be consumed at home. All my friends were drinkers and I would never consider drinking soft drinks at any social event. Driving was out of the question every evening, as I would always have been over the limit, the truth is there must have been many mornings when I would have failed a breathalyser.

Four years ago was a disastrous year. My wife broke her back and a couple of months later I had gallstones and pancreatitis. These two events were turning points for us both with regards to alcohol. I was admitted to hospital, offered alcohol counselling and advised that I should try to cut back on my consumption. Subsequent research suggested that I should in actual fact give my body at least six months off to give my internal organs a chance to recover. Meanwhile my wife was on slow release morphine among other drugs in an effort to keep on top of the constant pain that she still feels today. Alcohol and morphine together is not recommended, dangerous in fact. Circumstances had conspired to force a change in our lifestyles. I made a decision to stop drinking completely, to become teetotal. I gave away my stock of beer to a grateful workmate, but I don’t think I really actually believed that I wouldn’t ever drink again. Today we are both teetotal, we both miss the demon drink, but have a better life without it. A life that I could never have envisaged whilst I still drank.

Earlier this week a delivery man rang the doorbell. When I answered I was met with a sack barrow fully laden with cases of ale, exactly the type that I used to shop for. It turned out that he should have been a couple of doors away. I still miss the flavour and it felt a bit odd to think that at an earlier stage in my life the address would have been mine. I shan’t drink again.

This is one of the greatest achievements in my life.

Only the strong survive

We have four cats, three of whom spend a lot of time in the garden throughout the summer months. In recent weeks this has attracted visits from neighbouring cats, one of whom, Ginger, has become a regular visitor. Our oldest cat simply ignores it, his days of fighting are long gone. The second oldest is a real scaredy cat, who runs away from everything and everyone, but the third and youngest is the feisty one who won’t tolerate space invaders.
I came in late last night from work and Ginger was in the garden as I headed for the door. Once inside as I was removing my work stuff, cats all around as usual, I noticed Ginger looking through the cat flap. I hid around the corner and watched as a paw came through followed by Ginger. Suddenly our youngest cat noticed and flew across the kitchen at a hundred miles an hour. Ginger went out backwards (no time to turn round) and our cat crashed into the door and boxed her paws against either side of the flap letting out an eerie sound, a cross between a growl and a whine. This cat is definitely asserting her dominance.
This morning she looks as though she might be considering taking on next door’s dog. I’m sure she will soon be knocked down a peg or two if she keeps this up.

Like a bird

What a weekend! As a special treat I had a flight on a 1946 De Havilland Rapide. If you’ve ever flown on a passenger aeroplane you should know that this is a very different experience. This is a 9 seater (including the pilot) bi-plane, constructed around a timber frame and when you are in the air you feel the wind buffeting you like a kite. Every change of direction involves quite a dramatic lean to the side, but whilst you are at the lower side of a lean the view is spectacular. I wasn’t aware of how loud it was until I tried to speak with a fellow passenger and realised that I couldn’t hear my own voice. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience and am told that my face, as I exited the plane, reflected this.

Getting older

When I was young this would have been easy. Now my brain takes so much longer to work things out, but I’ll get there in the end with grit and determination.