Ollie’s ODDJOBS
was in Scotland, irritating some relatives, who, spotting that the Scottish Motorcycle Show was on, suggested, nay, insisted that I went. I wasn’t massively impressed by the show at first glance. It was more expensive than any classic show I’d ever been to, for a start, and the first hall was full of the usual sales of last-year’s clothing and dodgy US Pro tools made out of cheese spread, with a handful of manufacturers filling the space. The second hall was the ‘auto jumble’, full of stalls selling fake tin signs, fudge and dream catchers, though there
