Don't worry, it's not a "..and I tipped a 90mph rolling stoppie into the corner whilst kicking off the cunts wing mirror and still didn't spill my drink.." post. I nipped into North London on the blade this afternoon to collect some framed photos. I wrapped up warm and coaxed a very cold and reluctant blade into life. It was fucking cold [spesh at 150+ on the A10] but I was having fun so I didn't care. On the way home I got to Sawbridgeworth to find an R1 with a Virgin paint job and smart stainless exhaust system close behind me. "What are you doing out at this time of year?" I thought. As I thought this he opened it up and went past me like a very loud electron on PCP. I was impressed at the sound the can made but couldn't let it go [cos I'm a kid] so I chased after him. I caught him at the level crossing between Sawbridgeworth and Hatfield Heath and waited behind him for the lights to change and the barrier to rise. As it did he squealed away with a puff of smoke and his rear wheel spat gravel at my lid. I kept close anticipating a tussle through the twisties.... He was fucking quick but only in a straight line. As soon as we reached a corner the brake light went on and the front dipped. I took him on the outside at the first big left hander and his lights vanished in my mirrors with in seconds. I waited in the centre of the village for him and eventually he appeared. The road was straight so he fucked off at Mach II as I turned into my drive. In conclusion. He must've borrowed it off a mate cos I'm not quick and secondly the blade soooo needs a service. It's like a Asthmatic rocket with no brakes :-/
