MarkW

You seem to know an awful lot about this event... Not guilty, m'lord... This would have been the mid 1980s, and he was riding with a bunch of fifth formers on their scooters when he got pulled. This event alone (there were others) made him a legend in our school.

Not me, but a lad I was at school with: He drew attention to himself on his 125 not only because he was underage with no licence and no helmet, but also because he had made a disastrous DIY attempt at dying his hair green. One of those police-spec Vauxhall Senators drew up alongside and told him to pull over. He immediately got into a full racing crouch, gave it a massive fistful of throttle and tried to outrun it. When he was pulled over about 20 yards up the road the copper was laughing so hard he could barely stand up.

Given the hatred that has been unleashed on me on the other forum this might not be the wisest move, but what the hell: as my wife keeps telling me "You just have to stick your finger in the fan, don't you Mark?" I had always been under the impression that Cilla was a pretty decent sort, and although neither her singing nor her TV shows were my cup of tea she seemed perfectly inoffensive. But one of my friends was a senior cabin crew member with BA for years, and once told me that of all the celebrities she had flown with only two really stuck out. One was Kylie Minogue, who she said was very much smaller and even prettier in person than she looked on the telly, and who was a genuinely nice, down-to-earth person. The other was Cilla, who she said was utterly vile. She flew with her several times, and said she was nothing less than a demanding, condescending, haughty prima donna who treated everyone around her like dirt. I haven't been in touch with my friend for a few years, but if memory serves I think she said that BA banned her (or at least considered banning her) from their flights. Not sure about that one though, so could be wrong. Anyway, we've strayed off the original topic, which was wondering if Boris felt vindicated for his comments on Liverpudlians all those years ago

"You don't get anything for two in a bed."

Why not? "Let us say what we think, and be frank about it: death does not confer privileges."

I'm also on a bass-players forum, where I am currently being pilloried for suggesting that her god-awful caterwauling wasn't in fact the legendary northern soul they all seem to think it was. Just because she has died (which is a shame, don't get me wrong) I fail to see why we must collectively pretend that she didn't sound like a cat being fed through a mangle.

I'm just pleased nobody has disagreed that her singing sounded like a cat being strangled.

My point was that Boris Johnson was forced to make a snivelling and (probably) completely insincere apology to the people of Liverpool who were offended by his accusation that they had a tendency towards the very behaviour they demonstrated so distastefully on the radio earlier this week whenever one of their own dies. Consequently, and with the greatest respect, I don't think my point would have had quite the same relevance had I been talking about anyone other than a deceased Liverpudlian.

I thought Ken Bigley was a construction engineer rather than a soldier (not that it makes a jot of difference - his murder, as all murders, was a moral outrage). I'm also sensitive to the fact that whatever I may think of Cilla and the behaviour of her public, she was somebody's mother. But both these things are beside the point. What I heard on the radio the other night was a perfect illustration of the comments Boris Johnson made all those years ago, which is that there seems to be a certain section of the Liverpool demographic that is given to histrionic and undignified public wallowing in synthetic grief: the throbbing voice, the exaggeratedly choked-back tears, the explanatory "I'm sorry - I'm just so emotional" guff. It makes me want to puke. I have no greater or lesser connection with the people of my home town than I do with any of my other fellow humans, and I would be no more or less upset by the death of someone I'd never met from Stoke-on-Trent than I would someone I'd never met from anywhere else. But all this wailing and keening is tantamount to saying that it wouldn't be quite so bad if they had been from somewhere other than Liverpool - as though the mere fact of shared citizenship makes you feel the death of someone you didn't know any more acutely. It's nauseating guff.

One of our new staff members went down to Cornwall last week for the first fortnight's holiday she's had in years. Two days in the mother-in-law died and she had to come back!

Just over 10 years ago, Boris Johnson was sent to Liverpool on Operation Scouse Grovel to apologise to a load of histrionic and overemotional Liverpudlians who had been outraged by his suggestion that they had a tendency to be histrionic and overemotional. I wonder if Boris was listening to the radio yesterday evening as a constant stream of synthetic emotion was poured out by those who had just signed Cilla's book of condolence, all dutifully wailing and keening and fighting back the phoney tears over the death of a talentless and narcissistic 72 year-old with a singing voice that sounded like a cat being strangled. I think Michael Howard owes him an apology.

I know you'll all have been on the edge of your seats waiting to know what the problem was, and I was too busy being a rock star at the Yorkshire Show last week to update you. Turns out it was the carburettor, and it runs very nicely now!

Thanks guys. The fuel filter looked clean when I took it out, and joining the fuel line back together with a plastic connector didn't fix the problem. My next thought was some sort of carburettor issue, but the service history shows that it was stripped and cleaned less than two years ago. The bike has plenty of fuel, and the oil reservoir is almost full. I did get to see the problem as it happened: it fires up just fine and goes for a few minutes before stalling. I forgot to check the tank breather hose (duh!) but I'll have a look later. Thanks for your help!

Hi guys Just wondering if anyone could offer a bit of mechanical advice One of my neighbours just popped round to see if I could help with his scooter. It's a '59 plate TGB 202 Classic (whatever that is - I know nothing about scooters) and before he bought it a few days ago it had been sitting unused for 12 months. He fitted a new battery and filled the empty fuel tank, and it ran fine for a few days. It's now on its second tank of fuel, and has developed a problem. I've just been round to take a look, and it starts fine and can be revved without any problems. But as soon as he gives it any throttle on the open road it splutters and dies. My first thought was that he's possibly sucked a whole load of rust and sludgy crap out of the tank into the fuel filter, and that whilst enough fuel gets through at tick-over it's getting starved when it's under load. Does that sound like a possibility? Should be easy enough to check by disconnecting the fuel filter and seeing if it runs OK I guess. Other than that I'm not sure. What sort of things would cause it to run fine at idle but conk out on the road? Really grateful for any suggestions folks, not least because I fully intend to pass off your wisdom as my own expertise and make him think I'm a mechanical genius

The plans continue to move along... Does anyone have any views on the Moto Guzzi Stelvio 4V? I have the chance to pick one up at a great price, and everything I've read about it so far looks good. I'm not planning to circumnavigate the globe on it (well, not yet) but it will be getting a bit of light off-road use on my camping/fishing expeditions.

Sure was! I started in Calais yesterday morning, rode down to Paris for a meeting, and then all the way back to Harrogate with several diversions. 800 miles in all!

Interesting ride back from Paris yesterday. I got caught in all the nonsense at the Eurotunnel, and was stuck on the access road watching hoards of immigrants roaming between the traffic and trying the doors of every artic trailer. The delays were horrendous, although I did spend a very pleasant crossing in a carriage chock full of bikers. Unfortunately one of them had a bit of a mishap pulling into the petrol station in Folkestone when the rear suspension on his FJR completely collapsed, dragging the exhausts and centre stand along the tarmac. Lucky it didn't happen when he was tearing up the motorway in Calais! After giving him a hand I set off, with an ETA back in Harrogate of 1.30 am. On the other carriageway of the M20 the tailbacks down to the terminal were horrendous: two lines of nose-to-tail trucks from Folkestone back to Harrietsham, which according to Google maps is 27 miles. Poor buggers. I finally got home at 3 am after some genius had decided that closing the northbound A1M, M1 and the A14 all at the same time would be a good idea. After 4 hours sleep I'm now in a two-day government inspection of our lab, which is always pretty full on. And to cap it all, we're having to babysit a very tetchy three-year old in the office because he's got horrendous chickenpox.

Now that brings back memories! I rented a farmhouse just outside Bury St Edmunds for years, and we used to get birds falling down the chimney on a regular basis - we even came back from shopping once to find a robin perched on the telly! Usually we'd just open all the windows and let them find their own way out, but we once had a jackdaw who seemed disinclined to leave. What a pain in the arse that was! Then there was the stuff the cats brought in. On more than one occasion an unpleasant smell led us to the remains of a rodent gently decomposing in some obscure part of the house, and I came downstairs bleary-eyed one morning and stepped barefoot on an eviscerated mouse. Thank god they're now both too fat to fit through the cat flap...

It's the endless miles of temporary 50 mph on the motorways that annoy me. I wouldn't mind so much if there was ever any evidence of work actually taking place, but there isn't. The French have the better approach of just restricting the bit they're actually working on rather than 15 miles either side of it, which is what seems to happen here. I got done doing 61 mph on a 50 mph stretch of the M6 in the middle of the night last year. I didn't see the first average speed check camera, and by the time I saw the second one it was too late. I returned the NIP to say I'd do a speed awareness course, but they withdrew their offer after I 'failed to accept it'. In reality their offer letter never arrived, and trying to get the court to grasp this painfully simple fact was like trying to get a lobotomised peasant to understand quantum mechanics. In the end I just paid the fine and took the points rather than waste any more time on their impenetrable stupidity.

Nothing wakes me up faster and makes me move more quickly than the sound of the poorly child asleep next to me preparing to be sick on my head. The fact that my wife is now in the bathroom washing her hair shows that unfortunately her reflexes aren't quite as sharp...

So, the plan is slowly coming together. I have upgraded my tent to a more easily transportable model, upgraded my old stove to one that can run on unleaded, and bought a 6-piece travelling fly rod. All I need now is a decent mat to go under my sleeping bag, and an easily transportable chair. Suggestions on either most welcome! I don't have time to look into another bike yet, so the trusty old ZZR is being pressed into service as an all-terrain multi-purpose attack vehicle. In practice this means my trips in the foreseeable future are going to be restricted to people and places at the end of paved roads: the more adventurous stuff will have to wait. Still, the prospect of camping and fishing my way to far-flung European conferences is far more enticing than staying in sterile hotels with nothing to do!

Since my first European bike trip to a conference in Basel last October I’ve taken every opportunity to ride abroad instead of fly, and have racked up about 8,000 miles on the continent. I’m going back to Basel this October, but rather than just do the same thing again my mind is turning to other ideas. I still have my old 600 in the garage, which has been waiting for a suitable part-ex opportunity to present itself. I’m considering something along the lines of a second hand Triumph Tiger Explorer, to which I’ll strap a tent and a travelling fly rod. I have a friend in Hungary who lives in the middle of nowhere (and who also happens to be one of the world’s top fly-casting instructors) and another in the far-flung recesses of Denmark, neither of whom I have seen for ages. It’s a mere 2,000 mile detour to see them both, taking in Germany, Austria, Hungary, Slovakia, the Czech Republic and Denmark, none of which I’ve ever ridden through and a couple I’ve never visited. There should also be plenty of fabulous opportunities to cast a line on the way, some of which will be at spots off the beaten track. But whilst camping and outdoor stuff are second nature to me the only off-road biking I’ve done was up the gravel driveway of a mates house. I reckon a few sessions with the local off-road training school should take care of that. This is still all very early stage, but if anyone wants to chip in with advice or comments I’m always keen to hear them!

Sure! I'm on holiday next week so I'll have a bit of time to give it some thought. If you let me know what sort of stuff you like I'll see what I can come up with. You're not too far from Stoke, and when I go down there to see family I go through the Peak District: the road through Leek / Buxton / Glossop / Holmfirth / Wakefield is fantastic. Alternatively, a small detour allows you to enjoy the A537 from Macclesfield to Buxton, which is cracking on a bike. Let me see what else I can think of, and don't forget to call round for a brew when you're up here!

I'll be spending two days riding through Holland this week. Anyone want to hazard a guess which two?

I like that - very nice! The filter arrived a couple of days ago, but I haven't had chance to get out with it yet - hopefully next week if the weather improves. I did manage a midnight session at Brimham Rocks on Thursday though, where I spent a couple of hours in the pitch dark light-painting the rocks with a torch and some coloured strobes. This is one of my unedited efforts, just converted from RAW to JPEG in Lightroom. It was the first time I've done this kind of stuff, and with a bit more experimentation I reckon it could produce some cool results. I'll post some IR images as soon as I have some!