As it is in my heart so shall it be under my arse.
Yes, I sacrificed the perfect black bull and the five perfect black rams and the ten perfect black cockrels and the forty million three hundred twenty seven thousand five hundred and forth seven perfect black ants on the Altar of High Finance and I got approved with the best finance rate (5.9% yo!) for my new
I am SO FREAKING STOKED right now that I could explode into little bloody gobbets of me all over the office but then I couldn't pick up my new
Yes, for the next eight or so days I'm going to be strong (hah) and patient (hah hah) and spend the time between now and next Saturday the 26th, the day I go to pick up my new
trying to sell the Strawberry Bitch II, known to me with much of love as Miranda, because when I bought her I quickly realised that unless I was terribly careful and kept a tight hold on my impulses I would soon be read my Miranda Rights by a very polite young police officer who would then stuff me in the back of his stinky car and whisk me away on a one-way trip to The Stony Lonesome.
Four years later I have earned only one speeding ticket, which was sort of a gyp because it was in a speed trap city that I didn't know about, and I've had (*knock wood*) no accidents of any sort, but my driving has become...well, let me put it this way. If you asked, say, Miguel Duhamel the factory Honda racer he'd probably say that I've become very comfortable and 'dialed in' with my bike, and that my skills as a racer were small but growing and that I was too old to make a living racing bikes. If you asked that polite young police officer (that'd be you, Jason, if you were polite...*lol*) about my driving then he'd probably say that I've exceeded the speed limit more times than Sir Stirling Moss, MBE and have done more foolish things on that bike than all of the Kennedys and their cars put together.
And yes, quite frankly I think I'm starting to get a little old for a sportbike, even a sport-touring bike. My wrists never fully got used to long rides with most of my upper body resting on them, and my back likes to complain after a while in the saddle, and a hard bump through a race-taut suspension drives nails into my spine, so I think that as much fun as I've had for the past three years it's time to say goodbye to my dear Miranda, let some younger body take over for me, and I'll retire gracefully into the Neo-Retro arms of a