I'm ready for my close-up, Mr Erskine

The Triumph with no name came out of hibernation today for a photo shoot. This is Steve Lockwood being photographed by James Erskine, for Steve's forthcoming album. She didn't actually start, but it turns out that was because the kill switch was off, not because she was sulking. As a reward she is plugged into the Optimate, because now I live in the boonies I have a garage with heat and power. For my reward I am plugged into a bottle of Dornfelder Spatburgunder, which was a housewarming present by the lovely Nikos Cosmos. Fortunately I only have to drink it, I don't have to pronounce it.

I had to quit my job this morning, so it is a good time to be working on an album launch. And to be drinking a bottle of good red wine donated by a friend.

Everything dies, and that's the truth...

These are my Ray-Bans. (Ahem. These were my Ray Bans). I bought them in Las Vegas in 1997. They are Men In Black Ray Bans as modelled by Will Smith. I had to buy them because I'd put down my cheapo Boots sunnies in a casino and forgot to pick them up again, and squinting in the sunshine is so unbecoming.

About a week after I'd bought them I put them on the seat of the Diversion while I was filling up, they fell off and chipped front-and-centre in my field of vision. Expensive lesson....but it's amazing how quickly you can learn to ignore what's staring you in the face (I think there may be a metaphor here).

As my riding sunglasses, they've done about 50,000 miles stuffed under a variety of lids. However, while I learnt to cope with sub-par transparancy - and it was good practice for learning to cope with bug strikes - I think the fact that the hinge has just crumbled to dust may be an insuperable obstacle.

In tribute to my sunglasses perhaps I should also get legless ;)

Splendid Isolation

I am still adjusting to living on my own. Today is my 12th day of being at home with only my failing lungs for company and I am not enjoying it. As well as work (today I was supposed to be meeting Local Transport Minister Norman Baker MP), I've had to cancel a 5-day holiday in Istanbul, an evening with Lee Mead, the Riders Are Voters mass lobby of Parliament, an evening with Geddy Lee, Dylan and James, and the RSC premiere of Tim Minchin's Matilda.

There are two possible conclusions here. The first is that I am trying to do too much. The second is that I keep myself busy because being bored is nearly as bad as being dead.

Today's tedium was much relived by a visit from the Midnight Mud Wrestler. He was nearly dead in May and I am very glad that his time is not yet up. Also, now that I can speak again, I can call people. This is nearly as good as meeting them for beers but not quite - CrossRoadsRider, this means you ;)

19 days to the NEC Show :)

Too much road will kill you...

I took Ruby out yesterday, which was possibly unwise after a week in bed on account of bronchitis, but I had a camper van to go and inspect (too small and not sexy enough...) and it was a mild enough, though damp, morning. I thought I would trust in modern pharmaceuticals and give it a go.

Next May I will have been riding for 15 years (longer than my marriage lasted!). You would have thought that there would be nothing special any more in that moment of cracking the throttle and rolling out onto the road. Maybe it was the week's lay-off, or maybe it's because the way the seats are arranged on Ruby means that if you hesitate too long she gives you an encouraging shove in the small of the back, but riding out on my very own extremely large motorcycle still makes my heart sing.

Of course, now I'm back in bed feeling as rough as I did last Monday. But I'm British, and this is the price I expect to pay for too much happiness.