Firing Up In The Classic Manner.
I’m enamoured by most motorcycles I must profess,
There’s a plethora of eastern promises I’ve come to posses,
But I have lived long with one overriding regret,
That’s that I’ve never owned a classic Velocette.
But now, thanks to a late great Uncles largesse
I can turn my wife’s ‘no way’ to a reluctant ‘yes,’
Soon as I heard the word I sat down with smile set
And my fingers fairly danced as I hit the Internet.
Not for me a malleable mildly tuned inoffensive MSS,
No, I yearned for the fabled Thruxton, nothing less,
But I was to be seduced by a tarted up Vixen, and no debt,
She possessed the fine lines and promise of the true coquette.
In my garage she’s sat, submitting to my caress,
A twist of the throttle, her kick start I gently press,
A backfire, a belch of flame and my bellowing epithet
Sounded as the kick start hit my calf like a curette.
… My thanks to those Hall Green designers I duly express
For their crankily geared starter only slowed my progress,
If my mild criticisms cause those old buffers some upset
When it comes to your clutch, how crazy could you get?
The old dear’s propped up, oil dripping, in its own mess,
Her starting procedure and clutch adjustment- anyone’s guess,
My once bewitchin’ now forlorn Vixen leaves me in a cold sweat
But my long-standing limp IS making her impossible to forget.