What to do on a Sunday

Well it’s Sunday again. So far the day has been spent doing all the little bits which need to be done. I won’t call them “chores” because that indicates drudgery, and once you start thinking of things as a drudge, you’ve had it – they get put off and you start dreading doing them. Washing the bike for one. Today I tried something new; after it had been washed I used Pledge to polish it. Apparently it helps to keep the bike clean, and if it rains the raindrops simply bead on the windshield and run off. Will see how it does. I don’t wash the bike every week; only if it has been raining or if it’s winter – it’s amazing how corrosive road salt can be if you don’t wash it off. The good thing about washing the bike is that you get early warnings about loose bolts, fork tube pitting, brake wear and that sort of thing. The only thing I struggle with is cleaning the wheels; my hands are too big to get into all the little nooks and crannies which Honda engineers saw fit to incorporate into the design! I do all my own servicing (except for adjusting the valves which I get my local dealer to do). I also check the bike over ready for the week’s commuting. Apparently only 18% of Brits check their tyre pressures weekly.

I’ve also started the bread; I have been making my own bread for years. (I cheat a bit, I have a Kenwood breadmaker). But it does taste better than shop-bought bread, and I know what’s in it! The other problem with shop-bought ready-cut bread is that the slices are never the correct width! Even the thick slices aren’t quite thick enough. So I made myself a bread slicer – just a breadboard which has wooden strips attached to each side. Each strip is exactly the right thickness and functions as a guide for the breadknife.

I make my own beer too; I quite like strong beer and by brewing your own you can get the strength just right!

Later on I’ve got the ironing to do – work shirts for the week ahead. I do my own ironing; my wife refuses to touch my shirts which is ok as I don’t mind it really. After all I was in the army for two years and ironing is just one of the things they teach you!

Apart from that there’s always other things which need to be done; maintaining the house (we’ve got a leaky roof at the moment and the repairs would cost £2400 – I’ll fix it myself thank you very much! – I just need a rain-free weekend. Then I’ve got a Land Rover to rebuild… I’m actually looking forward to the day I can retire – at least then I’ll have time to do things!

I was actually putting off creating a blog. I thought it should be like a book, with a storyline which flows. But then I realized if I waited until I had a coherent storyline it would be yet another thing which never gets done! I named it Seriesowner because I used to own a Series 3 Land Rover.

So, a bit about myself:
My mother was in the WAAFS during the war. Their family lived in London (she was born in Glenelg Road in Brixton). Her father had size 5 feet and was a chubby, cheery little man. He was a shopkeeper who amused the family by tapdancing. He decided because of the danger posed to London by the Luftwaffe, to move the family to Lowestoft in Suffolk. My uncle turned 18 and joined the RAF as an apprentice. One weekend my mother had applied for leave to visit home, but was refused because a raid was coming over. After her shift finished, she went home, only to find that a German bomb had landed on her house, killing her mother, father and brother. She had quite a few penfriends during this time, one of whom was my father. He grew up in Lowestoft as part of a family of 13, having three sisters and seven brothers. Being the second eldest, he was looking after his younger siblings. He lost his front teeth when he was a teenager; he was drinking from a bottle of pop when somebody hit the end of the bottle. He turned out to be the black sheep of the family because he decided to leave England and go overseas to join the Palestine Police. This was before the Second World War broke out. When the war ended, he came back to England and asked my mother to marry him (“Well, why not, you don’t have anybody else!” were apparently the words of his proposal!)

My sister was born in 1946, in Lowestoft, followed a year later by my brother. Finding it difficult to make a living in post-war England, my father decided to leave for Africa. He had a farm in Kenya for a few years, keeping mainly livestock. My mother always tells of the cow they called Daisy who used to put her head through the kitchen window and lick the soap! They had a few dogs, one of whom was called Mush; he fathered many generations of puppies in Kitale. On one occasion, the chickens started going missing. My father sat up one night with the shotgun, and hearing something in the chicken run, shone his torch and fired. It was an eagle owl. The next day he took the body to the local museum; it was the biggest eagle owl yet found in Kenya – the stuffed carcass is apparently still on display there.

Trouble then started up with a local group known as the Mau Mau. One of my parents’ friends had a brand new shiny car, and his houseboy always took very good care of it; he was always outside polishing it. One day the chap asked him why, to which the reply was “well, when the Mau Mau take over, this will be my car”. “What about me then?” the chap asked. “Oh, you’ll be dead, Bwana” was the serious reply.

Another couple of acquaintances had a native cook who was very capable of cooking… mince. After several visits to their house, my father remarked that he was a bit tired of being fed mince for dinner, so concocted a plan. The next time they were invited to dinner, he went to the local butcher and bought several pieces of expensive sirloin steak. Giving these to the hosts, he said “this time, I’ve brought dinner!” The hostess took the meat through to the kitchen and gave it to the cook to prepare. After several pre-prandial drinks, everybody sat down to dinner and the cook brought the meal through. Lifting the lid of the salver, he revealed his effort for the evening… mince!

Things did not go very well with the farm and my father eventually sold it. The family moved to Uganda where my father obtained a job with the local government. My brother and sister stayed at boarding school in Kenya – my brother attending the Prince of Wales school at the same time as Roger Whittaker. I was born in Mbale.

As befitted the women of those days, my mother did not drive. One day she found that she needed something from the local town, and as my father was away at work, she decided to take the Land Rover into town herself. This was achieved successfully, although at a slow careful rate. She ended up taking driving lessons there. The examiner was extremely stringent, even telling her to stop on an incline, getting out, and putting a box of matches just behind the rear wheel. Another test was reversing into a driveway on a culvert over an open drain. Needless to say, she passed her test. The next time she was to drive a car was after my father had died in 1990.

One holiday was taken on the coast at Mombasa, where my father collected quite a few colourful shells. These were brought all the way home on the train, in a small suitcase. Because the weather was fairly hot, a strange smell started to spread throughout the compartment. This was noticed by the steward who gave my parents some very strange looks! When the shells eventually arrived home, advice was given by a neighbour to bury them near an anthill so that the shells would be left nice and clean. This was duly done. The next day, the entire ant population vacated the premises! The shells were never cleaned, and as far as I know are still buried there!

Just finished my weekly call to my mother – she lives 6000 miles away so I don’t see her very often. During the conversation we talked about the time we lived in East Africa. She mentioned that when they lived in Fort Portal, Uganda, (this was before I was born) she used to go down to the garden gate in the mornings to wait for the postman. This was in the early ’60s. A nice young man was staying in the PWD (public works department) house opposite. At the time he was a warrant officer in the KAR (King’s African Rifles).

They had many conversations together; he spoke excellent English. He was a fairly good boxer and had aspirations of becoming an army officer.

You never can tell with some people. He did indeed go on to become an army officer.

And then President of Uganda.

His name was Idi Amin.

I’ve just come across the following from a sporadic diary entry last year. I work in IT, and one of our users requested a new Nokia phone to replace her Blackberry. She shall remain nameless:

Just took ******** ***** her new Nokia.

“Ah, good, I really hate the Blackberry. I just don’t like it at all. It’s useless.”

“Oh, er, why?” I asked.

“Because when it’s switched off you can’t make phone calls.”

“!”

“And when it’s switched on it keeps getting emails.”

Me: “Ah. Yes. Hmm. I see. OK.”
(leaves office, shaking head)

Update… They didn’t have any 160/70 tyres in stock, but were able to put a professional plug in the tyre, so I’m good for another week or so whilst they order in a new Avon.

Hmm, Avon have a new tyre out. The STorm. Will give that one a go.

I don’t think this blog will be updated that often; I suppose it’s a bit like keeping a diary. Some people religiously make daily entries, I write when I feel like it!

Having successfully (and actually unintentionally) converted a friend into becoming a biker, and sympathising over the time he got a puncture, it was finally my turn. (Actually I say sympathising. He tells a different story. You can read all about it here.)

Pootling along the M4 on my way home on a Friday evening (it was dark), I was just passing Junction 4 when I suddenly felt the steering go a bit odd. Almost like the handlebars were loose. Slowed down, moved into lane 1. Tugged left and right, up and down on the handlebars. Nope. All solid there.

Hmm, puncture? Can’t be the front tyre. Weaved gently left and right. The Pan seemed a bit sluggish. Rear tyre? Can’t be that. Last time I had a rear puncture I had to keep changing down and giving loads of power in order to keep moving. Oh wait, that was on the Yamaha. Better stop then. Damn, no hard shoulder anywhere. Keep going for a bit.

A mile or so later…

Ah, a hard shoulder. Fairly wide, let’s stop here and have a look. Stop bike. Side stand down.
Climb off. Forget to unplug headphones, gloves and airline. Helmet tugged back to the bike whilst body walking to the rear.

Return to centre of bike. Unplug headphones. Unplug gloves. Can’t get airline out.
Take gloves off. Disconnect wiring from gloves. Remove airline.

Right. Check front tyre. Nope, all fine there. Can’t be the back one though.
Oh yes it can. Damn, completely flat. Let’s feel it to see if there’s a nail. Oh wait, better put the bike on its centre stand first. Back to centre of bike. Lower centre stand.
The bike is suddenly very heavy.

Idea.

Remove torch from rear pannier, switch on and lay on road surface next to bike pointing rearwards. At least oncoming traffic will now see the bright LED’s and notice me.

Back to the rear wheel. Feel surface.
Burn hand on very hot tyre. It’s completely flat.
Carefully feel the tyre surface all over for the nail. No nail. Maybe it’s the valve.
Open rear pannier and get tyre pump. Unscrew dust cap, fit pump. Jump up and down on pump.
Ninety eight, ninety nine, damn my leg’s aching, One hundred. Check pressure. Up to 30 psi. Must have been the valve then.

Disconnect pump. Get torch from road surface, shine on tyre surface whilst rotating wheel. Ah. Not a nail. A shard of glass from someone’s headlight. Or maybe that should read ex-headlight. “Your headlight is deceased. It is no more. It is an ex-headlight”. Open other pannier. Remove toolkit, take out pliers. Remove shard. Pssssssssssss.
Shit.

Open front glove compartment and remove tyre repair kit.
Remove helmet.

Call my wife. “I may be a bit late, dear.”
“What?”
(Shouting) “I said I may be a bit late, I’ve got a puncture.”
“What?”
Stick finger in other ear. It seems to help. Make myself understood over the traffic noise.

Return to rear wheel. A friendly white van driver pulls up in front of me. “Need a hand mate?” Considered falling flat on my back from surprise but discarded this idea. Nevertheless grateful, I thank him but tell him I’m ok. He drives off. Whoever you were, thanks very much for stopping.

Plug the tyre. Forget how to remove the tool properly. The plug disappears through the hole. Bugger.

Insert another plug, this time correctly. Once again jump up and down on pump.

Ninety eight, ninety nine, damn my leg’s aching, one hundred. Check pressure. Ooh, 30 psi. Check patch. Seems ok. Jump up and down on pump again. 40 psi. Disconnect pump. No hiss. Excellent.
Pack up tools and close panniers.
Put on helmet and gloves.

Take bike off centre stand. Damn, forgot the torch.

Put bike on side stand. Collect torch. Can’t be bothered to put it back in the pannier. Drop it into my pocket. Ride off carefully.

Junction 6. Where was Junction 5? Never even saw it from concentrating too hard. Sod it, let’s relax a bit and stick some Jethro Tull on the stereo. “Aqualung my friend, don’t you start away uneasy. You poor old sod, you see, it’s only me.” (Plays air guitar in imagination).

Junction 7 approaching. Better check although everything still feels ok. Pull over on the hard shoulder, check rear tyre. Still air in that thar rubber. Ride off carefully again.

Junction 8/9…

Junction 10… Still feels ok.

Junction 11… Uh-oh. Bike feels “squirmy” again. Get to top of exit ramp traffic light (red). Lean over and check. Yep, tyre flat again. Sod it. Light turns green. In gear, pull away gently. Only a mile to go now. At 10 mph I carefully traversed some of the back roads, stopping once in a while. Nope, tyre hasn’t burst into flames yet.

Finally pulled in to driveway. Of course maneuvering a 300+ kg bike with a flat tyre is a no-no. Had to get my wife to help me push it in to the garage.
The plug seemed to have completely disappeared. Removed the rear wheel and will be off to the local bike tyre place tomorrow for a replacement. I expect if they have a tyre in this size it will probably be Bridgestone. Still, this Avon has 18052 miles on it so shouldn’t really complain.

Hey ho. Such is life.