The joys of owning a vintage motorcycle

Was working in the home office when I heard the unmistakable rumble of a pretty big bike coming down the road. Looked out of the window to see this thing sail past looking very grand. Moments later I heard another unmistakeable sound - someone trying to kick start a bike that is having none of it (been there, got the T shirt).

It was of course the same bike. Don't know how it had gone from easyrider glory to duffer in the space of about 60 seconds, but as the title says, that's the joy of vintage motorcycle ownership. I've always fancied an original VW Beetle, but it is exactly this problem (reliability or lack of) that puts me off.

Rosina called from Oz today. She is having a great time and has already booked a trip to Sydney and is now talking about traveling the length of the country on the greyhound buses. Is she trying to bankrupt me? If not, she's doing a very good impression of someone who is.

People are struggling with her name for some strange reason so she has given up and now introduces herself as Rosie. Her mother is not happy as she hates the children's names being abbreviated. Myself, Matt, Rachy and Luke (can't really abbreviate that one) just don't understand what all the fuss is about :-) Besides, she has double standards. My name is Terry and she calls me Bob - figure that one out.

This is an Indian motorcycle and coincidentally, I'm Out for an Indian tonight. A new place based on Tim's recommendation. It better be good cos it's costing more than our regular (the Jay Raj) and is further away (I can walk to the Jay Raj). I hope he can stand the pressure of expectation that is resting on his (broad) shoulders.