Ever since I’ve had the  BMW R1150RT It’s been prone to “pinking”, i.e. pre-detonation where the petrol ignites before it should. It sounds like stones rattling on the front of the bike and it can damage the engine. In the early days I took it back to Coopers of Tunbridge Wells, the dealers where I bought it, you remember them, and they balanced the throttle valves and advised me to change my riding style. This reduced it but it never fully went away.

Just recently I took it in to Hastings Motorcycles for new tires and a 24,000 mile service. One of the things I asked for was adjusting the tappets.

When I picked up the bike they said that they had checked the tappets and “surprisingly” they did need adjustment.

And low and behold I now have what appears to be a new bike, there is no pinking at all.

Now this may seem like more Coopers bashing but why the hell didn’t they check this before they sold it to me, it was second hand but buying even a second hand BMW from a dealer is not cheap. Dealers have the equipment, the skills and one would assume greater knowledge of the marque they are selling than anyone else but they appear to not give a shit.

To be honest I have only myself to blame; in my early twenties I read “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” and it warns against motorcycle dealers, particularly mechanics (and, as I recall, all people) who don’t care about the quality of what they do. I have still got this touching faith that most people are not like that but slowly I am being proved wrong.

Engine after service by modern commercial mechanic

One of the reasons I don’t “do” politics here usually is that it’s such a complex subject and as I get older I’m wary of the semantic straw men we use in place of thought, it also doesn’t get the laughs. I’m also leaning towards the opinion that any discussion deals mainly with the psychology of the participants and the shared pretence that “facts” are involved is moral cowardice. Surely the one thing the internet has shown us is that there is so much knowledge swilling around that anyone trumpeting their grasp of a situation is, er, a self deluded liar.

One other reason I have is that few people seem that interested and almost nobody is interested in solutions beyond bashing each other with their ignorant “pick and mix” tribal beliefs.

Fast becoming a core belief with me is the concept of “always being wrong”. I am. I have changed my mind over thing so many time throughout my life I am amazed that people can keep the same views for more than a few years, and they do. Why?

Then I realised, there are two reason to gain knowledge, 1: find out something new, 2: validate a held view.

This brings us back to all conversation being about personal psychology. The first reason requires confidence the second is an admission of fear.

I know which I prefer, and you?

One of these is a politician, clue: it’s not the one with a pocket watch.

I have breakfast every day at the East Hastings Angling Associations club house, where I am as I write this. Out the window I can see the East Hill lift which has not been working for a couple of years.

I have no idea why, I don’t really care about the reason but what this says to me is that if the owners, the council, can’t keep this very public symbol of Hastings going why should we credit them with any competency at all.

Why should we trust their judgement on a whole range of matters from the Jerwood to communal bins?

The answer is we should not.

East Hill Lift that the Local Council can’t be arsed to repair.

The phrase that strikes dread into the strongest heart: “I’ve nearly finished my book…”. This, when heard at a “do”, is the equivalent of meeting “Jaws” in your local swimming pool. You reach into your deepest emotional pocket for the “attentively interested mask” – unfortunately this is so close to the “soul mate” mask that it is often mistaken for such – leading a stultifying half an hour (seeming like a lifetime) of wandering through the vacuous polemic of the deeply concerned. An does anyone ever come to your aid, I don’t think so!

It hit me half way down the M11 scything through the rain like Cap’n Ahab in a New Beatle, the world has grown up – and not in a good way. Many men know the drill, you’re forced down the aisle being held at gunpoint by your own loins, she’s a “top babe” or at least a fair approximation after three snakebites. The next twenty five years disappear raising a family, buying a house, declaring undying love to a nebulous shape by the kitchen sink etc. and the lack of sex isn’t a problem as drink is banned and the spirit of her mother (that you failed to notice lurking behind her eyes) has emerged fully fledged into this world complete with a broom and many interesting recipes involving “eye of newt”. Then, the kids leave and you think “ah, I’d like a little sports car”, er, no! “You’re 56, grow up!” is the general response. Many guys just knuckle down to the greyness, the sensible ones find themselves a nurse in her mid thirties for a few fleeting moments of fun before their loins reach for that gun the cycle starts again.

The world seems to have gone that way, rules, both formal and social, seem to hold sway. A “grown up” consensus has been forced on us like a linguistic strait jacket.

The good news is that it’s only our little area that seems this way, as an example our police kill a plumber then lie about it and nothing happens, the Greek police kill a student and a swift reaction occurs. Thank God for Greek students showing that not all European countries are going the Burmese way!

For those of you wondering what Heaven looks like…

Norfolk was, well, this is where self censorship rears it’s head, it was family; that can be good and it can be crap but for the sake of peace you don’t dwell…

I’ve been back for some time but am victim of my reclusive side at the moment, the word “drifting” doesn’t come close – I seem happy with a sort of “groundhog day” where I am constantly re-installing the Linux operating system on a range of computers made up from piles of bits, top fun I think you’ll agree but not great conversation!

And the world has changed, my how it’s changed. I thought the problem was the slowly encroaching state increasingly defining what views I should hold as it moved to re-introduce body snatching, sorry, presumed consent (if I ever knock anyone down at a zebra crossing I am happy to assume they consented to it). But what really has amazed me is the value of what little money I have evaporating. What is it that makes people not care when their money disappears except when its property values? The value of the pound has dropped against most other currencies so as we import most of what we consume, especially my toys, that means, for instance, that every hundred pounds I had is now worth about 70 pounds after just a few months. The effect is masked for the moment with over stocked shops desperate to sell before Christmas but come the new year imported good must start to go up in price – and I am now expected to roar down the shops because of a few quid off VAT, er, I don’t think so, I’ll save it as I’ll need to buy heating in January thanks!

Though the truth is, possibly because I don’t have children, I’m really looking forward to the depression. I remember the three day week and rolling power cuts in the seventies, great fun or at least it helped hide the fact I dressed in my Mums fur coat and stack heels, thank God digital cameras didn’t exist then.

The seventies – I wonder whatever happened to Celia…

During a heated defence of cyclists a “friend” of mine called me a “sad old git” and that wanting to say “Morning” to people was, I think she was suggesting, a sign of loneliness. The trouble is, as with many of these things, there’s a hint of truth there and for a few days it spun me into a haze of despondency.

The nature of friendship is a complex thing and possibly borders on the spiritual for being something that defies description. The rub for me as far as friendship goes is that the bond that exists should not be too dependent on one side making emotional sacrifices to keep the relationship going (Hey, that’s what marriage is for!).

The difficulty I have with friendship is that my interests rarely coincide with the people I meet, especially in Hastings and the circle I found myself in when I came here. A good example is politics. Very few people seem to view the infinitely complex field of how people relate to one another and the ruling structures that emerge from this in anything other than a crass series of stereotypes where the massively simplified augments of others are taken on board then defended by manipulation of guilt; it was once said to me by a member of Transport 2000 that if I had no objection to 4×4s I must believe in killing children. Whatever the rights and wrongs of things the lazy refusal to engage with the vast subtleties of life with anything but moronic cyphers and blackmail does not just make conversation pointless but boring. Add to this the oozing self righteousness of the unsuccessful artist, of which this town is plentifully blessed, and you have a situation where one either has to nod in agreement while gagging or make excuses and leave.

Me, I like it when someone says “Good Morning” to me, it makes me feel good and I hope the same goes for the people I say “Good Morning” to, no big deal, no harm done…

Patrick plans his escape from the grasping hands of sponging artists.

I hate to harp on (a lie in the first sentence!) but when I got the bicycle I thought that, apart from exercise, it would improve my head with it’s relaxing rides and sense of camaraderie with fellow cyclists. So the stony faced, anti-social self righteous bunch that I was confronted with came as quite a shock. Many speed along the sea front cycle lane with little regard for other prom users and you can see in there eyes that if they hit a wandering child it would be nothing to do with them.

It’s got to the point where if someone started a campaign to get rid of the cycle lane I would get behind it just to see this ungrateful crowd forced onto the road where they could sort it with real transport, the sort that pays for the roads and has insurance!

View of cyclist approaching on the Hastings seafront cycle path

One of the things I’ve noticed as a new cyclist is that, at least on the Hastings promenade cycle route, very few people nod or acknowledge each other. I’m used to motorcycles where a huge number of us at least nod to each other and when walking on the prom when it’s not busy many walkers grunt “morning”. But cyclist make a production of looking everywhere except at the oncoming rider and their faces take on the façade of a stone mask. I’ve had more walkers say “morning” as I pass. What’s going on?

Stuck in a shelter near Bulverhythe this morning.

I do a little bit of basic IT as part of earning a living, sometimes it can be rewarding (in the emotional sense), especially when you can walk away leaving something that will work without problem for ages allowing people just to get on with their business. Some times it can be the most depressing experience.

One of the problems is that, at the level I’m at, you’re often working in the dark being asked about applications that you have no experience of but knowing you’re advice will be used to pin any responsibility for problems on your tail.

The reality is that, for small businesses, computers and their software are just too complex, being run as they are by people who have learnt to do what they need to do by rote and on a “wing and a prayer”, without the prayer.

The brutal truth is that owning and using computers means that the total responsibility for what happens is down to you, this cannot be off-shored by the occasional bit of support, it doesn’t matter if you don’t understand “this shit”, that’s your choice and problem.

Computers are still at the stage of an experimental money pit that require a coterie of magicians surrounding them to do anything useful. The sad fact is that most of us magicians are more Tommy Cooper than Merlin.

A whole business balancing on this mess.