I can usually build very complex imaginary constructions during those long watches of the night but last night was all about de-construction.
Guess what I was de-constucting?
|There, that's better.|
Once the engine was removed I was alarmed at the amount of damage it had inflicted on the down-tube which now looks as if it's been given several hefty thumps with a lump hammer.
I've changed my mind about this bicycle so many times I can't remember if I like it or not.
On the evidence of the ride along the prom to the pier I think I'm in a 'liking' phase at the moment and shall change my allegiance from the Motorized (sic)Bicycle Forum to the RatRod Forum which deals with all things hastily-cobbled-together-bicycle.
Riding it is a gentle 'hello sky, hello birds, hello sea' pleasure.
It's not fast, it still can't be ridden 'look, no hands' but that's not what's required on a sunny day in Bognor Regis.
A side issue of this deconstruction/re-imagining is what to do with the 5 litres of 2 stroke mix I now have in a plastic container (N.B. not a 'jerry' can).
I won't be asking any politician for advice though.
I've just remembered something from a long time ago!
I'd be about 10 years old, helping out in my father's garage.
We were decanting 5 gallons of petrol from a proper jerry-can into the underground petrol storage tank via a large funnel.
A customer stood watching us.
He asked my father if he didn't consider this practice somewhat dangerous.
'No' said my father removing the cigarette from his mouth and extinguishing it in a small puddle of petrol that had spilt on the garage floor.
His point being that it's the vapour that's (in)flammable not the liquid.
By the way the customer walked (and the smell) as he left I think he'd just shit his pants.
Oh, how we laughed in those far off days.