Category Archives: Regret

Bitten by the riding bug again, for some reason. If you can’t dream, eh?

Firing Up In The Classic Manner.

The Promise.

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.

The Arrival.

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 Reality.

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.

© Obbverse.Com


Back to the land of the ice and snow, Where there’s sod all sun and the cold winds blow. (Apologies to Led Zeppelin and the Immigrant Song.)

Home And Away.

Oh, to be back in the sceptred isle on a sepulchral January day,
No, there’s no place like home the old folks unfailingly say,
The rain paints the streets a shade of an all too familiar grey,
Hmm, whatever possessed me to go rather than jolly well stay?

Now I’m thinking of MY home as I trudge through the spray,
Where the rain gently but rarely falls on the sun crazed clay,
That welcoming sun’s calling me back, and no more will I stray,
I’m going home, getting my old Spurs scarf and giving it away.

January, and the cold and inhospitable month brings yet another bitter blow.

Melancholy Mood.

We say farewell to Dolores and her life too short,
It seems even when life looks good it can end all too badly,

Who knows what adversity and perverse Demons she fought
Trying to keep herself together in a world that’s spinning madly?

Today I’ll sit, spin a CD and pray she found the peace she long sought
And listen as a pure unbroken voice lingers ethereally, eternally, sadly.

Aloha from beautiful Hawaii, its a quiet peaceful morning. So why would my cell be sending me a warning..?

38 Minutes Later.

‘Dear citizens of Hawaii, I’m appealing for calm,
The incoming missile alert has proved a false alarm,
There is no need to panic or evacuate the town,
We’ve downgraded from Code Red to Code Brown.’

Done With- Dunfermline leaving its memory on those lucky enough to enter, if not the flower of Scotland, at least Fifes wild and wonderful flower.

Dunfermline Athletic.

We arrived at our destination, an X slashed upon the map,
I expressly thanked the conductor and stepped across the gap,
We alighted with a spring on their step and a song in our heart,
Our highly anticipated walking tour of Dunfermline was set to start!

We stumbled on the home of Andrew Carnegie, my wifes mothers namesake,
Long rumoured to be ‘loosely’ related but I think, a mistake,
When I looked for a family resemblance I certainly caint see any,
And, in relation to his fabled riches, her family never saw a penny.

Who knows where rich ‘Uncle’ randy Andy sowed his seed?
For any poor bastards left behind he saw no care nor need.

Our ramblings found Dunfermline Abbey dispiritedly closed;
Gods servants in Dunfermline seem most meanly disposed,
This day not many of Gods faithful flock were out to be seen,
In fact any friendly faces looked far and few between.

But High Street was deligtfuly awash with cute vintage boutiques,
Everywhere you turn you’ll see quaint old curios and antiques,
HERE’S where Dunfermlines well-heeled dowagers come to shop till they drop,
Daily doing the run down from Sallys to Oxfam till the dear old clogs pop.

Its been a winding forking road my long lost Carnegie’s had to roam,
So isn’t it ironic she returns and finds charity begins at home?

We ambled on and up the bustling hustling High Street,
There’s where the young of the congregation choose to meet,
Sadly all the hoody-clad catatonic faced kids have to peruse
Is Total Sports diverse display of kick-ass trainers and running shoes.

As we stepped ’round ’em one interrupted both our conversation and stroll
Asking if we could spare a bob or two for a poor downtrodden soul?
Its to our discredit (and credit card) we could offer him no change
But walking away I took away the feeling of something passing strange.

The click-clack of our feet down Canmore Street rang hollow,
But it made no sense at all in turning back, if you follow…

At about outside the Alhambra Theatre we commenced power walking-
Only in Dunfermline could we three be seen as worth stalking-
By the hill nearing the station we hit a slippery slope,
Let’s say that’s the reason our trot turned into a lope.

Towards the sanctuary of the station we put in a final burst,
All three of us would be losers if we didn’t come in first,
Panting down the tunnel, pounding down the final straight
All knowing missing our train could, sadly, leave us late.

I’m glad my Doc put me in good heart at my last health check,
But I wish I’d kicked smoking, with ’em breathing down my neck.

I thank my wife, the Lord and Virgin Rail for our e-pass,
And the fact the conveyance we leapt aboard had safety glass,
I flashed my credentials at the stationmaster to the disgust of our following,
Getting our asses safely out of Dunfermline sure was a close run thing.

Further thoughts on majestic Dunfermline.

Done With, Thrice.

I came to comely Dunfermline to learn
The whys and where’s of my wife’s ancestral seat,
To see this ancient place veiled in mist and mystique,
To better understand where my better half’s kin sprang from.

All it took was a winter off-peak day return
To solve the story, to make the tale of their migration complete,
My good wife’s frank appraisal, leavened with a touch of cheek;
‘Dunfermline’s picture perfect, seen from the carriage, sat on your bum.’