A short, yet slightly self-indulgent piece on the thrill of letting the Bonnie do its thing on the first properly dry day after yet another crappy British winter. Comprises the usual fare: anticipation; cornering; overtaking; misty-eyed old men reminiscing; biltong; etc. All in all, probably not the sort of article to make it onto our freind Brunstrom's reading list, but what the hell - the guy's a twat anyway.

A somewhat over-lengthy description of a trip from Cumbria to Yorkshire and back via Garsdale, Wensleydale and Wharfedale to dyno-tune a newly bored-out and "KARKed" Bonnie.
Features a cheese shop, a pub and some bleak photos of North Yorkshire. Fine if you like that sort of thing.

Pretty much as above, but via Dentdale on the way down, the Lune valley on the way back and without the cheese shop or dyno-tune. If you liked the last one, you'll like this. If you didn't - forget it.

A silly little story about a small boy, a newspaper and a lunch break. Nothing whatsoever to do with motorcycling and quite unsuitable for any over-sensitive vegetarians and vegans out there, but there we go - we can't have everything.

Yet another example of just how dense it is possible for me to be, particularly where matters of domesticity are concerned. Oddly enough, it doesn't feature an ironing board.

Alright - now we really are scraping the bottom of the barrel. This is a singularly gratuitous tale, set on the Red Sea coast a little north of the port of Nueba in the Sinai. It fairly adequately illustrates just how low it is possible to stoop when not entirely in control of one's bodily functions.
Best not read this if you're prone to colitis or any similarly morbid gastro-intestinal condition, as you'll likely not find it all that amusing.