I just picked my bike up from its 4,000 mile service this morning, having been riding around on a Honda CB500 courtesy bike for a day. This experience reminds me that my bike is the absolute tits. A serious bit of kit. Now to get the new tyres properly scrubbed in. Next track outing, Snetterton on 16 May.

F**k the Poh-lice, boyo

The rap is best read in a Welsh accent...

Back out on the bike again. Some good country lane stuff practicing the skills I was taught yesterday and a bit of a blast to blow the cobwebs out. Had the fastest speed I have seen yet out of the bike and it still felt like it had plenty more.

Went on a full day of advanced riding instruction around Berkshire, Hampshire and Wiltshire, with a couple of lads from the MCN Ninjas. The instructor was a former police motorcyclist and turned out to be a good bloke. The instruction was based upon Roadcraft and for the most part was concerned with road position and vision. Good stuff. After somewhat losing my enthusiasm for the bike after a couple of offs, I am starting to see how I might get back into it.

It ain't what you do, it's the Galloway that you do it

A while ago I mused on this site about what had happened to the George Galloway story. After the allegations that were made about a year ago and the expulsion from the Labour party, everything seemed to have gone quiet. I suggested that if the allegations were true, it warranted more than expulsion from the Labour party. On the other hand, if false, the allegations were disgraceful and the guy should be exonerated. Well, it seems it has started to run again. This time, there is an American angle. Mr Galloway denies all allegations. We will continue to watch with interest. Next step, Galloway sues the Sun for libel? (I think that he is already suing the Telegraph about the last lot of allegations).

This site rounds up the rest of the coverage of the UN Iraq oil–for–food programme ‘scandal’ in the papers.

So I went to my first ever yoga class last night. Not feeling too stiff today, but man have I got a lot of work to do if I’m going to get anywhere with this — the only way I can currently “bend over and touch the floor” requires my arse to be practically on the floor as well. As usual when I find myself in a “learning” situation, I had to fight the tendency to revert to being a school kid and make “amusing” sotto voce quips to the adjacent students. I should note that none of my friends and acquaintances who talked a big game in the pub about turning up for this actually showed on the day.

You may wish to read this piss funny (although somewhat off the pace) review of the egregious film, Sliding Doors.

Get your drinking Boots on

This is a funny article about new diet Coke cans. But a strange thing: the author’s description of where this new product will be sold, which is presumably intended to be over–the–top, sounds almost exactly like the Boots down the road from my office (except the nail polish is unlikely to be especially cheap):

“Tragically, the new lady Coke will be exclusive to Boots. That’s where this mythical thirsty shopping trip has taken the modern working woman of the Coke men’s imagining. She is a nervous wreck who spends her nine–minute lunch–break in the chemist’s, rushing round purchasing fat–free cottage cheese portions, cheap nail polish, headache pills and scented insoles”.

Man, it’s terrible in that Boots. I once spent a little too long in there at lunchtime and ended up getting PMT in sympathy.

Did anyone see that article in the Times in early April about how Caitlin Moran precipitated Kurt Cobain’s suicide with one of her articles ten years ago? I think they might have pulled it from the website (to avoid murder charges, I suppose), but I’ll stand corrected if anyone can find it. This site is the only reference I can find to it anywhere on the internet now, but it proves I didn’t imagine it.

Booze II

Meanwhile, the National Lottery is giving grants to Welshmen to “go out and get completely wrecked”. As if they didn’t do that already.

Booze

So the equivalent of three or four pints at one sitting means you are a socially functioning heavy drinker and have a problem that warrants treatment. It also renders you susceptible to loss of memory, reduced intelligence, poor balance and impaired mental agility. Not only that, if it’s beers you’re drinking, you’re susceptible to gout as well.

All this would be fine if booze wasn’t my only real friend. I mean, how does one live without booze? No more booze, ever? Inconceivable. Booze, booze, booze, lovely boozy, woozy, booze. That’s what I say. (Maybe it’s just the reduced intelligence talking).

If you don't know

This site is a good one:

“Dear Tesco Man/Tesco Woman
I bought some of your underwear, and it gave me a hard–on when all I wanted was a piss. I appreciate the gesture, but you can see, I hope, how this might sometimes be inconvenient”

Male dancer in being straight scandal

It’s funny being right sometimes. My girlfriend, a dancer, is currently preparing a dance duet between her and a male dancer. “It’s getting very physical”, she told me. “I’d feel a bit uncomfortable, if I didn’t know he was gay”. “My bollocks is he gay”, I replied. “Was it him who told you he was gay? Oh the CHOREOGRAPHER assured you he was gay… riiiight… Have you ever actually witnessed him in sexual congress with another man? …Just asking… All male dancers pretend to be gay; it’s just an excuse to slip in under the radar with a view to getting hold of hot dancer chicks. Male dancers are DOGS. Ever seen a gay dog? Think about it…”.

And guess what? “You know Mr Sneaky–bastard–not–really–gay–just–trying–to–get–into–hot–female–dancers’–pants (not his real name)? He told me today that he was actually bi, although as you know he split up with his boyfriend shortly before we started rehearsing”.

Yaaaaaaas. So why do you think he just told you he was “bi” then? Wouldn’t be to drop the hint that he’s single, available and actually likes chicks, would it? Put those times he grabbed your ass in the name of “art”, in a slightly different context, does it? In fact, has anyone actually met this mysterious “ex–boyfriend” of his? <obvious lie>But if you’re still comfortable with it, so am I, because I trust you.</obvious lie>

Ah, jealousy. This episode reminds me why I had to stop going out with that porn star, fit though she was…

We're lovin' it

I should draw your attention to this post on tumblage.com about a piece of crafty subliminal advertising.

Alamo

I just returned the car I hired for the bank holiday weekend to Alamo car rental, Kings Cross, Pentonville Road. What a total shambles. There were too many people returning cars at the same time, obviously due to the bank holiday. The staff weren’t getting the cars checked and off the forecourt quickly enough to allow the new arrivals onto the forecourt.

Because the rental place is set on a very busy two–lane (in each direction) red route, waiting to drive in was out of the question. Two traffic wardens were positioned at the entrance to the forecourt giving tickets/ having shouting matches with anyone who tried to stop to wait to pull in. No Alamo car rental staff were apparent, no information or instructions were being given and no one seemed to have a clue what was going on.

After half–a–dozen trips around the block, I managed to stuff the car into a small gap that had opened up. I was then left standing there for a while; once again, no information, stroppy, over–stressed staff with no time to think about the customer experience, or even the rules of common politeness. When I was allowed into the office to process the payments, it was the same thing; all the staff apparently busy, highly stressed, but somehow slow, inefficient and bordering on rude at the same time.

I appreciate that the morning after a bank holiday weekend is going to be a busy time, but this really needed sorting somehow — it was an utter, utter fiasco. Took the edge off what had otherwise been a decent experience — the car itself was fine and, not owning a car myself, it was nice to have one for the weekend.

Cadwell Park

Was out on track at Cadwell today. Tricky circuit. I was pretty rusty, not having been out on the bike much over the last few months. This is a circuit where the California Superbike School stuff I learned last year can really help — it’s so much about where you look in the turns. The faster you go, the more important it is; at speed, look the wrong way and you’ll probably crash, as I found out at the Gooseneck, when I got it wrong and had a major excursion off the track. Fortunately (not least because the bike was also my transport home), I managed to straighten it up and roll back onto the track through the mud without dropping it.

All good fun, but I was also reminded how slow I am in the grand scheme of things — there were some seriously quick boys out there, even in the so–called “novice” group. I suspect this was due to the fast and intermediate groups being fully booked. It’s early season and there were lots of trackbikes out — probably including a fair few racers getting a bit of practice. In fact, I heard that British Superbike racer Sean Emmett was out on a Ducati 998, just having a bit of fun, although I didn’t see him in the paddock.

So J–Lo’s mother has just won nearly 2.5million US in a casino [via two-twenty.net].

What is going on with the Champions League? £400 on betfair yesterday against AC Milan qualifying would have won you £10,000. Or putting it another way, people were prepared to risk a pound for the possibility, which they obviously considered to be a very high probability, of winning 4 pence. That is what you call an odds–on favourite. Just goes to show that there’s no such thing as a sure thing. (Or that all sport is now fixed by Malaysian betting syndicates).

Celebrity spot

Well I never, HRH Prince Charles is right outside my office window being filmed by a TV crew while a few uniformed coppers and royal protection squad type blokes look on.

Back in the day I used to like a flutter on the horses. But it all got a bit out of control so I decided to knock it on the head before I hurt myself. However, I thought I could still allow myself a little fun bet on the National.

I believe the expression is “Amberleigh House, you beauty”.

It still feels good to win, even when the decimal point in the stake is a couple of places to the left of where it got to in the bad/good old days. Also, instead of studying the form and the tips like I used to, I selected Amberleigh House because I saw an interview with Ginger McCain before the race and he seemed like such a genuinely nice old bloke, I thought, “I’ll put my tenner on his horse”.

UPDATE - a few clichés and a few hometruths: Before anyone goes getting excited, I should remind you kids about the dangers of gambling. Fact: I have already lost all the National winnings described above by allowing myself to be sucked back into the murky world of betfair.com. So before entering that crazy world, you should bear in mind that after all the highs, you’re really gonna feel all the lows. Every pound you win, you spend three times. Then you spend it again when you lose. Gambling tends to make you poor even when you win sometimes. It also makes you lose your sense of proportion and concept of the value of money and of work. Win more in a day than your weekly salary? Lose more than a month’s pay during a bad streak. I’ve been there and it can screw you up. My advice would be work hard at your job, try to better yourself, try to earn what you get and you might not see the big bucks, but you’re less likely to go nuts or go bankrupt. And that’s gotta be worth something.

I don’t think I have a problem with this. Yet. Quite. But I’m going to step away from it again, maybe a little wiser, but still with a bit of that crazy hope — or is it greed — that is what’ll finish you one day if you let it. But for now, I know I can walk away. See you at Aintree next year.

Woah; I just found out that the Simpsons are on strike.

Any of you seen any of those VH1 bands reunited shows? This is an amusing article about them.

Had dinner at Racine last night. Very good indeed, if you are in the market for a fairly pricey, fairly formal, poncy French restaurant. Which I was. So that was lucky then.