We have a new bed. Have I mentioned that we have a new bed?
No?
Well we do. It’s a bed. And it’s new.
What started out as a conversation (and indeed a decision) to replace the mattress very quickly turned into a ‘throw the bed away and get a new one’.
And then the conversation rapidly became ‘what size shall we go for?’
And then fond memories of the beds we have slept in, in several hotels, played with our heartstrings and suddenly we found that we had bought a Superking-sized bed.
Which, from a standard double, is a heck of a jump.
Actually it’s a heck of a jump up into the new bed, frankly.
We went for a firm mattress with a topper (not a hat) and as a direct result of new bed, new mattress, new topper, new bed-linen, new pillows (yes, we went all the way), but as a direct result of all these things, the quality of my sleep has dramatically improved.
Seven hours a night is common, where once three or four hours was the norm.
Eight hours is regularly achieved.
And this weekend I noticed up my first nine hour doze. If a doze can actually be nine hours of Zzzzzzzzzzzz.
Do we get tired of the ‘same old thing’ (even if that ‘same old thing’ is what used to take our breath away and give us butterflies in our excited little tummies)?
And when I say ‘in our excited little tummies (except I just typed ‘timmies and I have no idea what an excited little timmy might be, other than a hyperactive five-year old child)…
Where was I?
Oh yes, and when I say ‘in our excited little tummies’ I’m sortov speaking for humankind, because I’m not a ruminant.
Obvs.
Anyway.
Back to the topic of thinking of being unfaithful.
I consider myself to be a true and loyal person.
For example, my current motorbike is a Kawasaki ZX10R, and my previous motorbike was a Kawasaki ZX9R.
The motorbike before that was a Triumph Daytona 955i, and the motorbike before that was a Triumph Daytona 955i.
So I think you can see the pattern here and possibly get an insight into my brand loyalty.
I loved the Daytonas. Their 1,000cc triple engines made a delicious sound. They were fast, responsive (and never, ever sluggish or brutish), and very nimble machines.
And oh, so comfortable. So comfortable in fact that I rode one from the UK, around Spain, and home again.
But Triumph, in their not very infinite wisdom, dropped out of the 1,000cc Sportsbike market. Idiots.
With the 955i getting long in the tooth, and falling behind in the world of biketech, my only choice was between dropping down to a 675cc Daytona or switching brands.
Although not really underpowered, the 675cc Daytona isn’t the same high-performance workhorse that its 1,000cc cousins were. The switch to another brand was the only real option.
I loved the ZX9R so much I put 18,000 miles on it in 18 months; that’s a lot of miles for a motorbike.
And when she too started showing signs of ageing, the upgrade to the shiny and brand new ZX10R was another easy decision.
I love(d) the ZX10R.
Part hoodlum, part thug, part perfect dinner-party host, packed with all of the latest computing, and a wonderfully responsive bike. She knows/knew what I want to do (and reacts to that impulse) before I even know what I want to do!
I’ve had her from brand-spanking new, I’ve looked after her meticulously and in the coming Spring she will be exactly three years old.
I wouldn’t change her for the world.
So why is it, in this quite weeks (when the weather is so bad that getting out on any kind of a motorbike is next to impossible) that I’ve been considering unfaithful thoughts?
Why have I been looking at the 2019 Yamaha YZF-R1 and thinking about trying one out?
2019 Yamaha YZF-R1
Update: I took the ZX10R out for a little run around the village this afternoon. I think I’m keeping her
I had to burn the TLD where I was running the prototype; it was a target for every Russian spambot that has ever been invented.
Clever tech, those Russian spambots; self-registering as users, even though I had switched that functionality off.
I can’t figure out how the ‘bots achieved that level of ability. It’s obviously down to some kind of a database hack, but how did they keep overriding an administrative permission base?
In the possibly never-ending quest to find me even more imaginative gifts, I was recently given this to wear around my neck:
Bose Bluetooth Earbuds
They are a pair of Bose noise-cancelling in-ear Bluetooth earbud listening thingys (as they are called by the technical community).
And they are dangerously fantastic.
They are fantastic because the audio quality is quite possibly the best in-ear and over-ear experience I have ever had.
They are dangerously so because the noise-cancelling function (I’m still not sure how that works) actually blanked out the sound of the 1,000cc motorbike that I was standing next to, the first time I tried them.
Actually blanked out the sound of the engine.
Entirely.
An adjustment to the noise-cancelling switch-thingy soon sorted that out.
I was also given a cunning little plug-in thingy that turned my iPod Classic into a Bluetooth-enabled thingy, so I could pair it with the Bose noise-cancelling in-ear Bluetooth earbud listening thingys.
Yay!
Very unfortunately, and less than a week later, my iPod Classic stopped working.
Not due, I must add quickly, to anything to do with the Bose noise-cancelling in-ear Bluetooth earbud listening thingys.
And also not due to the cunning little plug-in thingy in my iPod.
I’m fairly sure (but awaiting for a detailed investigator’s report) that the iPod stopped working due to the rapid attempt at interacting with some concrete in the filling station.
Boo!
Anyway, this means that I have to dig out an old iPod Classic that is lurking at the back of the electric cupboard (it’s like a normal cupboard, but made of actual electric) and use that instead.
Mind you, they are all ‘old’ iPod Classics now that Apple have stopped making the best device they ever made, in favour of a bunch of much less-good devices.
But I am unbelievably grateful for the Bluetoothiness (and therefore cable-free) listening experience that the Bose noise-cancelling in-ear Bluetooth earbud listening thingys have brought into my life.
And equally unbelievably grateful to Sam for providing them.
I’ve had a bit of an unintended rest from this blogging lark and although I missed it I also missed it.
Yes, you right that read.
See what I did there?
But anyway.
Having decided that there was a me-shaped hole (whole?) in t’internet, I have likewise decided to fix it.
And now I’m back.
From outer space.
I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face
I should have changed that stupid lock, I should have made you leave your key
If I’d known for just one second you’d be back to bother me
Go on now, go, walk out the door. Just turn around now
‘Cause you’re not welcome anymore
Weren’t you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye? Do you think I’d crumble?
Did you think I’d lay down and die?
Oh no, not I, I will survive. Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I’ll stay alive.
Erm.
Sorry about that.
It happens sometimes.
A word or sometimes a phrase can just trigger a lyric and off I go, into the mystical, musical world of futures past.
I don’t know how it happened.
It all took place so quick
But all I can do is hand it to you
And your latest trick
Now it’s past last call for alcohol
Past recall has been here and gone
The landlord finally paid us all
The satin jazzmen have put away their horns
And we’re standing outside of this wonderland
Looking so bereaved and so bereft
Like a Bowery bum when he finally understands
The bottle’s empty and there’s nothing left
Early Saturday we took a train down to that London.
We arrived in St Pancras International where a small selection of ordinary punters amazed and astounded us as they sat at the public pianos and showed what they could do.
My favourite was the young guy who played a variation of the first movement of Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells.
Then we took a tube to Hyde Park Corner where we joined up with a big bunch of like-minded people on what was a lovely sunny afternoon.
We stood about for a bit. Then moved onto some parkland where we sat down and I most definitely did not fall asleep,
After a while that was an age and also not an age, we (eventually) walked from the foot of Park Lane to Whitehall.
When we’d finished with all that we walked to Covent Garden where, amongst the trendy eateries and hipster drinkeries we found a proper pub.
A pint of cider shandy, half a pint of cider, a small dry white wine, and a diet coke which cost the wallet-robbing amount of…
£20!
Have a word with yourself London. That’s bonkersly mad.
Anyway.
It was the most overtly political day of my life, and that day was all the better because there were four of us, marching as a family.
Here are just a few photos (but between us, we took dozens):
This website uses cookies to ensure that you get the best experience here. But don't worry, I'm not selling anything. And not recording what you do. Really I'm not.Ok
