Thursday, March 29, 2007


Making good use of some more nice weather, I took half a day off work again yesterday and went for a ride to Ironbridge and ate some pork pie.

Without boring you too much with a history lesson, Ironbridge Gorge is a World Heritage Site and is universally recognised for its unique role in the development of the Industrial Revolution that originated in Britain in the early years of the 18th century.

To keep things simple here, Ironbridge Gorge consists of a town called Ironbridge and also has, surprise surprise, an iron bridge. Mind you, it's no ordinary iron bridge. It was the first bridge in the world to be constructed of iron. It was designed by Shrewsbury architect Thomas Pritchard and cast at the coalbrookdale ironworks belonging to Abraham Darby III.

There's a lot of interesting museums in the area but probably the most notable is Blists Hill Victorian Town which is well worth a visit.

The town was quiet yesterday, but at weekends, especially during the summer months it can get packed solid. It's a popular destination for bikers, the meeting point being right at the end of the bridge in the centre of town.

You absolutely cannot go to Ironbridge without eating a pork pie from Eley's, apparently a world famous pork pie at that! They're definitely up there with the best of them.

Changing the subject a bit, a couple of years ago Loz, Gaz, Neil and myself entered the Ironbridge to Bridgnorth Raft Regatta. The annual event is to raise money for charities and it's organised by the Bridgnorth Lions. You can find some good photos here. Most people take a lot of time and trouble building elaborate rafts. Not us. We basically got four empty blue oil drums, cut holes into them, made four seats, bolted everything together with planks of wood and Bob's your uncle.

Needless to say, our contraption came under a fair bit of criticism and piss take. Jealous people? Me thinks so!

The day consisted of a large amount of swimming, an even larger amount of fights with water and flour bombs and an heroic act of piracy from Loz whereby he permanently borrowed some beer from another raft. Oh and I mustn't forget to mention a pit stop at a river side pub for a beer and a burger off the barbecue.

Right, I'll get to the point. Along the way down the river we were overtaking this raft of titanic proportion, except to my knowledge it didn't sink. There was a house on this raft! It had a foredeck where there was a barbecue on the go and a large aft deck with garden furniture! For some reason best known to the designers of the raft, the aft deck also doubled up as the toilet.

As we were half way through our overtaking manoeuvre, this guy on the aft deck who was taking a pee over the stern decided to have a dig at our humble raft.

"You call that a raft?" he pipes up.

Loz, not one for being outdone retaliates with the question...... "You call THAT a penis?"

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

I've Been for A Ride!

As mentioned in the last post, there was hopefully going to be some photos of a jangle this week. Well there's not. I did however go into work on my bike yesterday. With a lovely, almost summer like day, I couldn't resist taking half a day off to go for a blast. For people who know me, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking half a day, isn't that what you normally do?. Well screw you... up the ass... with a big long piece of wood... rough cut for added splinter effect.

Anyway, a great ride it was too, all the way up to Ashbourne and back along the A515 (A favourite road of mine). With not much traffic about, things were flowing well, like the beer on a Friday night. And just like the Saturday morning after a Friday night session, I nearly shit myself on several occasions.

My bike's become twitchy on bumpy bends. It never used to do it. Either the tyres need some air in them, the tyres need replacing, which to be fair, they do as they have a squareness about them our friend Dean Tackleberry would probably masturbate over, or the poor suspension is struggling to cope with my ever increasing waste line.

Which ever, it's a worry.

Monday, March 19, 2007

The Tossers Guide To Hand Gestures

I'm greeted at the traffic lights by a man with his window down. He's informing me I'm a wanker!

I'm impressed. This guy knows his shit. Ok, maybe not as much shit as Albert Einstein, but shit none the less.

To reinforce what he's telling me, he's also making a hand gesture. It's a BIG hand gesture. It looks like he's wrapping his hand around a can of beer and he's making LONG slow deliberate up and down motions.

Now I really am impressed. He's informing me of the magnitude of my fire power!

I ponder this information for a few seconds. There are discrepancies. I come to the conclusion that maybe he's not as clever as first thought. He's certainly no clairvoyant and he sure as hell doesn't have x-ray vision.

To be honest, the guy doesn't appear to be in a very good mood. I put this down to the fact that he thinks I have a bigger hairy hot dog down my pants than he does.

I bide my time.

I wait for the traffic lights to start changing from red to green.

This is my big chance. This is my chance to kick him when he's down.

With my thumb and forefinger pinched together, I look across and make the very slightest of gestures. Imagine if you will, somebody pretending to stroke a matchstick.

I don't know which shocked him more, the accuracy of my gesture, or the speed at which I fekked off at.

Friday, March 16, 2007

I Blame It On The Useless Mirrors

Here is another little video of Nick's from a good many years ago. It's not likely to be of much excitement or interest to anybody else other than the people that remembered it, or people that are interested in Land Rovers, or people that are interested in old Land Rovers that refuse to steer in a straight line, or people who look upon the Land Rover as the ideal vehicle to give an invalid carriage a run for its money.

Don't get me wrong, it was very good at doing what it was designed to do; go up and down hills, carry man and beast across country, rattle your teeth until they all dropped out, fill your lungs with exhaust fumes, make you deaf, outrun a snail down a drag strip.... In fairness, the design team clearly thought things out carefully.

Let me tell you this, anybody who dares to take that Land Rover where no man has boldly taken it before, i.e. sixty miles per hour (assuming there's a steep enough downhill stretch of road), would be an international hero who'd then go on to become one of the greatest legends of all time.

Anyway I seem to be digressing. The point here is, I remember it very well.... Oh yes.... But I don't have very fond memories of it.

For some reason I can't remember, I borrowed Nick's Landy to go to work in one day. Quite early on I encountered a problem and thought best to notify Nick.

Ring ring, ring ring.

Nick answered the phone in his usual chirpy voice, "Helloooooo."

"Hi Nick, I've had a bit of an accident in your Landy."

Nick in not quite so chirpy voice (actually it was one of those voices that made you feel like a naughty school boy), "Why, what have you gone and done?"

"Well there isn't really much damage to yours mate." (Notice the mate thing? Well you've got to butter people up a bit when you announce you've crashed their car!).

I quickly continue explaining the events.

"It's like this, I woke up this morning, got dressed, then set about going to work. I reversed my car off my driveway and parked it in the road. I then jumped out my car, walked back up the driveway, opened the garage door and reversed the Landy onto the driveway. I then got out, closed the garage door, jumped back in the Landy and reversed it off the driveway."

(Pause for dramatic effect)

"Unfortunately I managed to reverse it straight into my own car!"

All I'm going to say about the incident is, if there's a fight between a Land Rover and a Toyota Celica, I know which one I'd be betting my money on to win!

My neighbour seemed to find it hilarious.


Monday, March 05, 2007

Scary Personals

We couldn't let Matt clear off to America for two and a half months without having a few last minute beers with him to see him on his way. When it comes to childish behaviour, kids could learn a lot from us.

You know, if this blog was an internet dating site, the title "Scary Personals" springs to mind.

There's not much need for an introduction for the next four photos



Matt's sister katherine

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Dakar 2007

As most people will be aware, Neil has recently returned from the Dakar Rally, and he's very kindly dropped some photos round my house. You'll have to bear with me on the descriptions. Neil did explain to me a few weeks ago who everybody was and what and where everything was, but I've been to sleep since then.

The Proseal Edmondson Team. From left to right: Colin Askey, Derek Edmondson, Neil sat on the truck behind him, not sure who's next (sorry), and finally Steve Malone.


Now you've got me. (scratches head)


I'm not sure where this is....

.....But I know where this is. It's on stage 7 somewhere between Zourat and Atar. It looks like a good place to be for crispy bogies!!!

A large expanse of desert area with a giant rock in the middle of it. I wonder if they've ever had shoot outs from the top of it, like you see in cowboy and Indian films?

This photo is taken of a large expanse of desert that hasn't got a giant rock stuck in the middle of it.

I think this was one of quite a few planes used to transport people and equipment from one stage to another.

Not much I can say about one up and two down, the photos speak for themselves. It's not quite like this for the privateers.

Apparently, so Neil was saying, these Repsol cars were completely stripped every night and rebuilt.

Lots of useful gadgets to help prevent you getting lost.

The front of the Proseal Edmondson truck.

I'm sorry the descriptions are all a bit vague, but vagueness is all I have.

(Note to myself not to apply for a journalism job in motorsport)

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Why's Nobody Riding?

Posted by Matt (Joey)

I can’t have a quiet pint down the not so local without someone arguing about the fire, trying to turn the music over (the diners don’t like planet rock, tough we do). Or Mike saying “when was the last time you contributed to Jangle, when was the last time you even looked at the blog”.

Well I have looked at it and excuse me but have I missed something in the last few weeks? Articles on car washes, burgers, graffiti, Loz’ hair and tank tops, where are the motorbikes? At least I have been out on my bike most days locally and down to London on Friday.

Ok it rained all the way there but that was just an excuse to stop for a smoke and riding a bike is the only way to travel in London. I had a meeting in Grosvenor square which would have been a nightmare to get to by car and public transport involves sitting next to people who smell of urine and want to talk! I know London fairly well but I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to turn right where I wanted to so I had to take the next one in the centre on a road I was not familiar with. A bit of guess work would have got me there but then I saw a motorcycle courier parked up. I asked him the way and after a bit off pointing around he said follow me. Now I should say for those not familiar with London’s couriers, they don’t hang around. On the way in on the A40 I couldn’t remember where all the speed cameras were so I followed a courier and when he went around the bend on the top of the fly over at seventy I guessed there were none there. This guy went a little slower, just sixty through the streets, in and out of taxis and buses, over Oxford Street (that went by in a blur) and suddenly I realise how much I am enjoying myself. The sun has come out, I am laughing at the people in the cars stuck at three miles per hour but all too soon I am at my destination. Thanks Mr. courier you are a star. This is where bikes come in to their own in London. I managed to park for free, fifty metres from where the meeting was and no congestion charge, shove that up Ken Livingstone.

It soon came round to home time, three o’clock on a Friday and the A40 is blocked. The A40 is always blocked, as sure as death, taxes and nurses the A40 is blocked. Not a problem on the bike nor was the M40, I am not sure about liability of admitting to speeds, so lets just say I got back to the pub and was having a pint at half five. What a great day out!