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The chronicles of Ruin, continued. Call me Ishmael said....intelligence is knowing what to do when you don't know what to do. Anonymous said... When I don't know what to do,I come here. 10 September 2009 22:59
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25 comments:
Mr Ishmael,
Another tale from the front... A mate of mine is a biker - though he has now a ghastly Harley and never had a Vincent. A big lad, he had a 6'1", red-headed girlfriend - taller than me, slender and long, hair to her waist, a leather-trousered siren she was.
Played away from home and got caught the first time (or so he says). She dumped him on the spot. Never the same man again.
Red hair and black leather,
My favourite colour scheme.
Frankly that new one looks like shit and it's probably equaly shit to try and ride at any speed. Retro innit.
My grandfather had a 250 Francis Barnett I used to sit on. He bought it at sixty when he became too old to ride the ten miles each way to work on his bicycle. Banned at eighty by his wife, for falling off on some ice in the middle of winter going fishing.
My personal chariot of fire is (in hock to a friend) a 1995 Ducati 916 SP that with a set of slick tyres could have qualified for the Superbike British grand prix the month I bought it. It's still phenomenally fast round a track. I once had it over a 160mph on the A303, I can't be too sure becuase Ducati clocks become a blur at that speed and they could be saying anything.
For real speed freaks a bog standard Japonese missile is required, in my youth I had a couple of ZZR1100's, one of which I managed to reach an indicated 180mph on the autoroute from Calais to Reims. That was my own personal Startrek moment.
I have heard fighter pilots remark that riding a motorcycle at speed is the nearest thing to low level flying you'll find. It's cheap too. sadly for most of you the era of empty autoroutes and motorways without cameras is long gone but it was fun while it lasted.
Sorry about the bike, Mr Swiss Bob, but what about the song ?
My Dad had a Brough Superior and an Aerial (?) Square Four rusting away in the back yard, given away eventually, which he rode in the Ulster TT.
That's a nice story Mr Mongoose, and serves him right, I should think a slim redheaded Amazon could take her pick of bikers, or anybody, really.
No. Can't do RT. Not even for a second.
Shouldn't come around here, singing up at people like that, lilith. Where were you for Chuck and Little Richard and that other guy, wotsisname, Kelly Jo Phelps, yes, and and that little fella, with the mouth-organ ? God gave rock 'n' roll to ya, he just gave Richard Thompson more of it than most; he is an acquired taste and like many, honoured more abroad than here.
That was awesome - strange with talking heads on Newsnight - woah, the Rory lad's on. Was gonna gibber on about S club 7 being the bollox but will shut up.
Bill Rammell? 4 weeks ago, never heard of the cunt - am I being blagged? Nah, not me, not me. Cunts.
Mr Ishmael,
Served him right? Absolutely. The poor deluded, arrogant eegit. I remember him saying "She'll be back. She'll be back." No, lad, she won't. Ever. And now, he measures the repentance of his error by the decade.
As for Mr T, if you too have ever loved and lost a wild lady, listen to this and weep with him.
Razorblades are available at the bar.
I never quite did, Mr mongoose,lucky in love, but its a favourite, nevertheless, loss, transience; RT should be available on prescriotion; Keep Your Distance would have served me when I was younger, Dimming of the Day and Waltzings for Dreamers suit for now, whichever of them it is I am always grateful for his writing, his singular virtuosity.
Saw him at Warwick University at about the same time I saw Warren Zevon; Thompson was a joy, warm and funny; Zevon for all HIS virtuosity and wit, a trial.
Looks like Lilith has taken her business elsewhere.
Mr Dick the Prick
Television gonna be the death of you, give it up. Go on, switch it off.
I shouldnt drool but i cant help it !
CW funny bike story form days of misspent youth .
Had a KLR650, mate on back going into poly for lessons late, took an unusual line on roundabout cranked her well over, scuffed his shoes (given pillion position is high you will apreciate this) as whailed like a wussey . Post event mates comment "you f****ing bas****d i dint think that level of lean could be done on this "
truth is neither did I ,and I never repeated it even when trying, but i did give a GSX1000 a run for his money on a twisty B road on my KLR and he was horrified
There was a song?
Mr Ishmael, I enjoy your posts, but I am often lost for words or have nothing intelligent to add. Perhaps I should just wave. RT is not a taste I acquired as he is deeply associated with a narcissist I fell in love with. Said narcissist took me to two RT gigs and offered to take me to many more. I looked around at the audience and realised I didn't belong. In fact, I got quite scared just looking at the audience. I thought Danny Thompson was great though. I think RT may be a "Grumpy Old Man" thing.
Mongoose...said Narcissist sent me "Beeswing" when I dumped him.
I know nostalgia isn't what it used to be but Vincent motorbikes never made any money and went the way of all the British motorbike industry. Hey we won the war Germany and Japan lost so lets carry on as normal same as we have been doing for years, what could possibly go wrong? Motorbikes made by people with a bad attitude with clapped out machinery, the last Britsh mororbike I had was a Matchless looked as though it had been assembled by people with hammers and chisels. Look over your shoulder,Honda, Yamaha (I have a 1,100cc Dragstar) Suzuki were on the scene buy one of these and you didn't have to work on it
over the weekend so with any luck it didn't break down during the week. The rest as they say is history all over the far east millions upon millions of small Japanese motorbiles can you imagine BSA bantams there? No nor can I.
Miss Lilith,
The moral of this story, the moral of this song, is simply that one should never be where one does not belong... but hold a good woman close if you are fortunate enough to be find one.
You are right about RT though. It's folky, grumpiness and despair. This is what folk music is for. Beeswing is an old man's lament - of long tradition. It is best listened to by lamentable, old men.
I have telly on silent with radio or music on full whack - wander around being furious hoping Mozart does dance music - love the lad - freakin' nutcase. Great Aunt on deathbed - 'Ricky, don't ever get a motorbike' - err... bit harsh, you've got a tash, Mum (single mum, cunt of an errant father) looking as like i'll have a bit o' this 'go on Richard, promise'. Cheers gals! Fair play - too many cars on road and already have drink driving offence (twatted parked Micra on July 9th 2005 on Hudds station whilst boys with machine guns thought 'fuck, s'pose should sort that cunt out) so death not really needing an invite to party - fucker's got a seat. Like planes tho, again, have vertigo and am usually too pissed.
Hedges and sunflowers - fit for fuck all else maybe, and trees - 4 trees (easy managed - touching wood and hot praying!)
Mr Ishmael,
I first saw RT in a wee pub somewhere just south of Banbury. Deddington, maybe. He was warming up for the Cropredy Festival, I think, though the eye dims. There must have been thirty people crammed into a back room. He played his acoustic guitar like God must. 1985 or thereabouts.
I was only teasing, Ms Lilith, as does Mr mongoose with the Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest, one of Mr Bob's epigramatic fables .... one should never be, where one does not belong; Taking my business Elsewhere being one of Maestro Thompson's more lugubriuos and melancholy, yet stunningly good offerings. I was just trading quotes, not thinking that you were gone for good, stomping around the West Country, in a fit of pique at all things Fairport Convention.
I know exactly what you both mean about grumpy old man stuff but grumpy old men don't usually have that rare, lyrical and literary, oddly English rock 'n' roll sensibility nor apply it so expertly to such English preoccupations as the MGB GT, the MacDonalds experience, the Borstal Boy, let alone the Jock preoccupation with Polka music played, woefully, on accordions. But it is the love songs, macho-free zones, which set Thompson apart, modest, self-effacing, self-deprecatory, self-mocking - I thought she was saying Good Luck, she was saying Goodbye; so refreshing, in a wilderness of cock-rock; not so much grumpy old men as thoughtful souls, exposed and wounded, just like real life.
Dear Mr Dick the Prick
I think if you are banned from driving cars you are automatically banned from bikes, else Colonel von Fawkes of the IDF would be turning-uop for work in a crash helmet, innit?
Mrs Ishmael once bought me a helicopter lesson. Do you know those fucking things go forward, sideways and up an down and round and round all at the same time.
The pilot, as was part of the deal, offered me, sort of, the controls. Do I look like a fucking lunatic, take me down outa this fucking deathtrap immediately. And Happy Birthday yourself. Fucking maniac. Worse than fucking drummers.
Mr Ishmael,
It's not Cock Rock. Exactly. And it was almost always dark, dark stuff. I had not realised until I saw some mad BBC4 prog a while back that he and La Linda had gone Sufi-bonkers all those years ago. Cause or effect I wonder.
But the best?
One more time... A transfixing noise when SD comes in the first time.
Old trad song but for a show of the musicianship... (As loud as you like.)
That's enough Sandy Denny nonsense. Do some work, the lot of you.
Yes, great stuff, love it all. Didya see Nina Simone, Who Knows Where the Time Goes? Here, a few weeks back ? Well worth a look, if you missed it.
Anyway, go and post on other posts now, or my backers in the CIA will be thinking I'm not worth the money, like all the rest of their projects.
Later, rocking with the Copper Family. But not Billy Bragg.
Last story before I take the missus out to lunch. The French restaurant at the end of my lane - you cannot make this stuff up - has a jazz night every now and again. Jazz mostly leaves me cold but the singer, and the chef's wife, is Irish too and we get on, so she sang this err, for me. (I did miss the earlier Nina and will look. Ta.)
Amazing song.
I have just been introduced to it today, which brought me here.
Here is video cover of another tune...hope u guys/ladies like it:
http://www.youtube.com/user/RedKruzer
rk
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