TALES FROM THE SHED

All things are relative. In the same way that the BSA on the bench is only a stocker as far as it goes – which is far enough, really – so the Matchless is only a tiny bit custom. It used to be a little more custom than it is, but I do have a habit of returning bikes to stock. And it is a habit I’m finding truly difficult to break.

Inspired by nothing in particular, I decided to see whether I could extract a spark from the BSA. Of course one of the two countersunk screws holding on the points cover had encountered Mr Bodger and his large assortment of ill-fitting screwdrivers. The head was well chewed. The other screw undid perfectly, the chewed one … not at all. Hurrah, a great opportunity to curse and swear a little. This improves the circulation and warms up a chap on a wintry day. Sleet was lashing the walls of The Shed and the gale force winds were running at a temperature close to freezing. Perfect. I understood in my sad old hippy way that this was A Sign, so I sprayed the seized and butchered screw with ‘Degrip-All’, changed into heroic outdoor gear, collected the Better Third and went for a walk along the Cornish cliffs. This is the best weather to experience the cliffs, and we have favourite strolling routes especially for days like this one. The seas are wild and magnificent, sand gets blown absolutely everywhere, and here are so very few folk out there.

Of course I could invent an excuse for leaving the winter Bullet at home and to take the car to the cliffs. I’ve forgotten what it was now, but I’m sure it’ll