British Independence Day

Well here we are, the day before our one and only referendum for British independence, and here we are being sold down the river by our own Prime Minister.


Many thousands, millions even are turning in their graves at the shame of how worthless their brave and gallant sacrifice was; a generation with far higher courage, morals and standards than Britain has now.


This vote we each have is pretty much all about regaining the sovereignty which the EU has gradually pulled away from this once great and proud British (NOT English!!!) nation….. The proud British nation that saved the whole of Europe, pretty much single handed until America reluctantly joined in and swung the balance for us at the last hour. Bless them for that, though. They made their sacrifices too.


It’s about protecting our Democracy along with that sovereignty, and hopefully pulling the EU up short to make changes to allow democracy to regain a hold in what is fast becoming a dictatorship of unelected EU officials, ten thousand of which earn MORE than our own Prime Minister, even though pretty worthless as he has turned out to be.


It’s about CONTROLLING our levels of immigration, and to say that is certainly NOT racist. I fume at how political correctness has effectively gagged us as a population from discussing and addressing things that are actually the most pressing concerns to most of us. Interestingly, those who are the most PC and ‘Right-On’ are those insulated and protected from the greatest effects of too much uncontrolled immigration. Yes, I’m talking about those with a high enough income to use that to buttress themselves into a cosy bit of Britain and speak so loftily and powerfully.


Well, I’ve got news for them…. Make the most of it, because money can only do so much. Unless we get some things sorted out, your children won’t be able live as you do.


If we vote tomorrow to drag ourselves, at this late hour, from the mire that Europe has become, then at least our ELECTED government will be completely running the country again.


If we vote to stay in, Europe will have us not only by the balls, but by the ovaries too, which they will drag out and wear as earrings. There are well established plans being withheld until after this referendum, because if they were revealed before, they fear we would definitely leave instead of it being the close run thing it is forecast to be so far.


David Cameron got few concessions from them with the referendum gun held to their heads. Believe me, with that threat of us leaving removed, we will have no influence worth the mention on this arrogant European dictatorship. They will have finally done what none of their predecessors ever managed…. Dominated us …… and with our consent.


So…. It all pretty much boils down to whether you want us to be a proud and independent Britain, or a mere lackey to Europe, increasingly dictated to after we give them the green light to do as they please with us all.


How proud will you be of what you did tomorrow in, say, ten or twenty years time?


If you’re young enough, how will you answer the question, ….. “What did you do in the Referendum for Independence, Daddy?”



First love….. a red Fastback

The Red Fastback

Some women never leave you, and nor do some bikes. The memories that come flooding back when I look at a Norton Commando anywhere I see one, are really powerful…….. so much that they sometimes really surprise me with just how strong they are.

I saw a Red 750cc Norton Commando Fastback parked up the other day, and right off I was in a right old nostalgic state…… Couldn’t leave it and kept walking back to it. A bright red Fastback …… she was one of my young life’s “Firsts”

I wanted to take it home sooooo much. Wanted to feel her under me again, wanted to touch her, feel her throbbing between my legs like only a Norton Commando can. Wanted to run my hands over her polished alloy timing chest… trace the word ‘Norton’ so beautifully cast into the alloy like I used to do when I was polishing my old Fastback all those years ago.

Wanted to get on it again, and feel that moment when I bought my first one from Bridge Garage, in Exeter. It was an identical Red Fastback. She was beautiful and I fell for her the first time I saw her, crammed amongst all the other second-hand bikes in their showroom, all looking like the ownerless, abandoned and forgotten souls that they were, all wanting to be owned and loved again.

I bought her without a second thought.

I was twenty and still pretty raw to ride a bike like her. She’d been around the block a few times and was the biggest, most powerful bike I’d ever ridden.

I rode her away from Bridge Garage and up onto the busy flyover roundabout. I pulled her over and just sat there tight to the curb with all the traffic going by. Her engine patiently ticked over, heaving on the rubber mountings in that lovely Commando “rubbery” way they all did, and it was a moment I’ve never forgotten. She was quietly waiting for me to do what I wanted to her, anywhere, any time, any place. Quietly chuffing away through her unique ‘peashooter’ silencers in her special way, and seeming to say;

“I’m ready when you are, sonny boy, take your time”.

She was so latently mighty, so brutal, and I felt afraid of her but somehow not at the same time. I can remember quietly saying to myself “What’ve I bought? What’ve I done?” I’d just part-exchanged her with a nearly new Bonnie, ….. the iconic 650cc Triumph Bonneville, …..but this thing felt like I’d moved up into the Big Boys league ……… Like , really, REALLY moved in with them, and right at that moment I found myself wondering if I was up to it. I was a nutter and I was good, …..bloody good, …..but was I good enough for this?

She felt like such a handful. She was tall, her wide seat splayed my legs apart compared to the Bonnie which felt much smaller. She was heavy and just exuded badness, the likes of which I’d never felt under me before. She made me wanna scowl at the world. She was like the sort of girl you just wouldn’t want your dear old Mum to see you out with. She was going to do some real BAAAAD stuff with me. She knew it and so did I. She also seemed to me sat there on her back to know it was my first time in the big league, and that I was sitting there not knowing quite what to do with her. I could sense that she just wanted me to let her clutch out again and ride her, and somehow I knew she’d show me the way.

I can remember how she felt as I thought to myself, “OK, I’ve bought it, so there’s no way to back out of this thing now,” and gingerly eased the clutch lever out. I eased it out a bit too quickly, though and she grunted and shuddered under me as the revs dropped too low. I felt her threatening to stall but gamely refusing to at the same time. I automatically gave her a touch more throttle and she barked softly and suddenly lunged forward. I grabbed the clutch in again and slipped it for longer the next time.

I rode her through the Exeter traffic, and it was a real steep learning curve. Lots of lunging forward shutting off, then another lunge and so on. A good bit untidy until I got the measure of her very tall gearing. She was so high geared compared to the Bonnie and so you just had to slip the clutch all the time and daren’t let your hand off it once it was really in. She would run away with you if you didn’t snatch the clutch in quick enough when the traffic slowed. Run you into the back of the car in front, real easy. As soon as the clutch bit, she just surged forward with hardly any revs on. She was saying “If you think THIS is hot, wait until you really wind me up and let me go”, just like the Bad Girl she was. I couldn’t wait to get out of town and get some room around us.

Finally, we got out onto the lovely open road, and in a few miles I was giving her all the beef she could feed on and at the same time trying for all I was worth not to wind up throwing her down the road. Sure, I was overcooking it all over the place and had some real near misses but I just didn’t care, in the way you don’t when you’re so young and invincible. I was laughing at her way of being so fast without trying at all. I remember that the most clearly of all; laughing aloud as I rode all that hot sunny afternoon.

This was different from the Bonnie. That was fast, but this girl was REALLY fast and she took no prisoners. This was what I’d always wanted. This was what I’d always thought it would be like in all the hours I’d spent as a kid sitting on Dad’s BSA B31, wearing his leather flying helmet and goggles, and dreaming of riding like a God. Now here I was, doing it for real on a top-end bike. She was a Superbike of her day and that afternoon I knew nothing was going to be the same again. One of those moments in life and every bit as memorable as making love to a girl for the first time. A moment in a life when everything changes and an innocence is lost forever.

It was beautiful, that first ride and I think it was the first time I ever felt a bike really looking after me. No matter what I did wrong, she seemed to just show me how to get out of it. Like an experienced woman making love to a young boy, she gently showed me the way to please her, and the more I pleased her the better it got. She’d been around the block a few times, and there was a soft power in the way she handled under me. I loved her from those first few miles, and I never stopped loving her. She made me feel just so proud to be on her back and I rode her all day into dusky moonlit darkness. I just couldn’t stop. I laughed a lot that afternoon and evening, and I never felt prouder before or since in my whole life.

Well, I did, but that was when i married my wife. Yup, it was that good.

When I went to bed that night, I was different. I was finally the Greaser I always wanted to be at last. Head to toe in black leather, a white silk scarf made from genuine coffin liner and walking so tall. I knew for sure that no one was going to mess with me again, and no one ever did.

Anytime I want, I can conjure up that first hesitant moment on her back. Sat quietly on the flyover there on the cusp of something so new. Listening to her ticking over patiently. Blipping the throttle and feeling the huge shudder under me from that lovely big-twin motor spinning up. Seeing that pretty Red Fastback the other day, was a shock from how strong the feeling was still. It really took me by surprise.

Like turning a corner, seeing a first love again and feeling the breathless surprise of her, and it being like first time you ever saw her all over again.

© Kevin Udy 23/03/05


Another dating email…… Stepping aside for a better man… {:o)

I sent this email to a chick on a dating site…… VERY fit, loved mountaineering, skiing off piste, camping and cuddling up under canvas and laughing.

She said she’d like to meet someone who’d also seen where clouds were made on the tops of mountains and one of her photos was of her sat in front of a huge boulder on the edge of a drop, to which she was attached by a rope that looked VERY loosely tied around it in a big loop.

The caption was… ‘Me, tied to a rock’


You have THE most impressive profile I’ve seen yet, and I’d go for you in a heartbeat, but for the following……

  • You’d kill me for sure certain.
  • You’re too far away for me. My range these days is the surrounding 500 yards and closing….. Ten feet on a foggy day. Foggy weather at night isn’t applicable because Mummy said that’s when girls who don’t wear knickers go out, and that ‘it just isn’t very nice’, but never did really explain why…. I s’pose it’s the cold and damp. Where the darkness comes in is anyone’s guess.
  • I’ve never climbed more than a few bricks in the garden, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t consider that climbing photo of you as qualifying being ‘tied to a rock’. I can tell you for sure-certain that I’d want a lot more rope than that, even if I was only going down a beach path, let alone swinging a thousand foot up in the breeze. I’d also want it wrapped around that rock a good few more times too, ….at least fifty times, …. say, sixty for safety. I’d make sure it was tied a lot more tightly than in your photo, and for good measure gaffer-taped to the rock so it won’t slip off. Then I’d want that bleddy rock tied to something else. Looks like a rock waiting to roll to me!
  • I like a cuddle as much as the next chap, but isn’t doing it under canvas a bit hard on the skin? I prefer a nice duvet, 300 tog at least. Laughing at me under the canvas won’t help me get it up either. Being a gentleman of a certain age, I appreciate a bit of robust and enthusiastic encouragement to get steam up as it is these days….
  • I have to be honest and admit I’ve never seen where the clouds are made. They’ve always just sort of, well, just been there I suppose, but now you have me thinking. You SURE they knock them up in mountains? Does the government know this? Are they tax deductible? Who makes them anyway and is there a training scheme? Is Health and safety an issue? So many questions come to mind….
  • I’ve never been skiing in my life, partly because I already endorse plenty of ways of efficiently breaking my neck, thanks all the same. I know it must cheer you up, but surely it’s pretty risky skiing when you’re piste off. I did the washing up when I was piste off once, and it cost a packet I can tell you. Smashed a whole dinner set, a tea-pot, bent the soup ladle irreparably and put three windows out as well. The wife wasn’t best pleased, especially since she forgot herself and broke wind in anger, when frankly she shouldn’t have risked it. Not with the prunes she used to have for breakfast. Ruined a new pair of white slacks she was wearing at the time, that did, and I never heard the last of it for a month.

Then she left me to find a bigger idiot. At least I’m sure that’s what she said…..

Anyway…. I think I’ve made it clear why I think we’d never be compatible, but my God you’d look bleddy magnificent on the back of Hoover (see my motorcycle photos) with your toned little leather-clad bottom sticking out, cheering all the poor motorists up as we flash by….

All I wanted to say, really, was that you really are a little belter of a woman and, but for the above, I’d go for you like a pursued ferret hammering along a drainpipe, without even the slightest encouragement.

As an Officer and a Gentleman, therefore, I step to one side, salute you for your energy and spunky nature, and wish you plenty of luck in finding a suitable mountaineer/skier/camper/traveller etc. etc. etc…..

K.x {:o)

I LOVE this great blog….. follow it, you’ll love it too.

The Secret Diary of an Internet Dater aged 53 and three quarters

When I first started online dating, I would religiously write back to everyone who contacted me, even if I didn’t think they were for me, believing it was a polite thing to do. Not wanting to hurt people’s feelings, I’d send a courteous and sensitive reply saying that I’d enjoyed reading their profile but they lived too far away/didn’t share the same interests/weren’t my type.

These emails reminded me of the thank you letters my mother made me write after Christmas when I was a kid. Faced with a hideous hand knitted hat, a pac-a-mac and a pair of enormous knickers that I’d finally grow into in my twenties, I’d manage to write something so gracious that distant aunts would believe I’d been thrilled with their presents.

Although I’m often tempted to write back just to correct men’s spelling and grammar, I’m feeling a bit jaded nowadays and I’m afraid…

View original post 927 more words

An online dating email….. just for the fun of it….

I found this, which I wrote a few years ago now and saved; an email to a lovely woman on a now defunct dating site who described herself as ‘Prosilient’. I loved that, and had to look it up.

She also said she would relish the chance to take up even more interests with a suitable man, as long as they were legal and not painful.

Much impressed and excited, I was inspired to write to her, thus….

(She replied, as I remember, and thanked me for making her laugh…. a good sport)

Hi there,

I just had to drop you a line by way of compliment, even though I’m afraid you are too far away for me to be approaching you for a date…..

I was much impressed and more than a little excited by your profile. Anyone who calls themselves ‘Prosilient’ has my full attention and not in the least because I had to go look it up, but also because it must surely be the mark of a posh and intelligent bird.

I like my chicks intelligent and so far have always managed to overcome the posh bit without any problem, apart from them seeming to have an apparent predilection to breaking me in with the painful application of a deftly and enthusiastically applied riding crop.

Or is that just the Horsey ones? I forget now…..

No matter….

My Cornish accent, which makes me sound as it I’ve been dragged up by way of upbringing and mostly in a heavily manured field at that, I feel serves twofold…..

Not only by way of being  a refreshing contrast to that of the Posh Bird’s, but also to give hope to other lesser beings watching us pass in disbelief, that all things are possible and that they too may hold the hand, and perchance more besides, of a Posh Bird.

Anyway, ‘prosilient’ evidently means ‘outstanding; conspicuous; jumping forth’, all of which I would consider to be fine attributes in any woman I’d want to be in harness with. I am particularly attracted to the ‘jumping forth’ bit. I could do with a bit of that around here these days I can tell you, especially since I seem to be going through a bit of a long and frustratingly drawn-out dry spell lately.

I note you don’t feel you’d be able to indulge in anything illegal. This, if true, is a good reason from your perspective that you are so far away. I would only shamefully lead you into joining me in frequently entering the realms of shocking behaviour on my motorcycles, one of which frequently leads me unto splendidly illegal deeds. I have to say though, that hitherto these adventures have proved to be something of an infallible aphrodisiac to any woman who has ever slipped one of my large adrenalin machines between her lovely slim legs. You may or may not feel some relief at having been excused the temptation of being led unto such an abandonment of (perhaps) a lifelong element of self-control and tasteful restraint.

Slinging the whole plot down the road on it’s side at some considerable velocity, usually due an excess of enthusiasm, would undoubtedly be painful too, thereby exceeding another of your parameters. By way of recompense, I would be willing to endure your admonishment with a riding crop of your own choosing, if that would help at all.

Anyway…. Before I start rambling on, and onto God only knows what other erroneous paths, (possibly those of a dubious nature for a Prosilient woman of breeding), I’ll quit and wish you well in your search for a man of a similarly prosilient character.

I hope this pitiful missive has cheered your day, should it need cheering. I’m doubtful as I rather think an aura of good cheer follows you around like a faithful and dedicated doggie.

Good luck, and may prosilience ever be your byword. (According to the Gospel of Google, there is no such word, …..but I don’t care. I like it!)

 ‘Prosilient’…. (I bleddy LOVE that word). Gonna write it down and use it at every opportunity.

 You have yourself a good and prosilient day, y’hear.

 With prosilient affection and good wishes,

Kevin.x {:o)


Otherwise known, more Heroically, as Sir Clint Thrust McUdy……

Henceforth to be addressed as….. Sir Clint Thrust McUdy, The Prosilient One

Laughing in the rain……

My buddy, No Problem Pete called around with his little 400 sporty Honda yesterday. I forget the model, but kinda like a CBR 400, an early R45. A Jap import. Cute little bike, 1985, a bargain buy on eBay.

“Take it for a spin”, he said, so I did. Couldn’t go far, as the alternator wasn’t charging the battery, but I couldn’t resist the temptation to run her up the blacktop and back. Haven’t been out on the bike in a few weeks, for various reasons, not one of them being all that good, but there you are. No matter. Got my lid and gloves and off I went in just my workshop overalls under the black rain clouds and soaking wet roads for a quick blast on this cute little number of a bike.

No, not this one, but one very like it………

You fit in this little bike, as all good bikes, like you were born as a part of it, like you always were a part of it, like you’ve known it for years and not just been introduced. Everything fits, she feels good under you. Feels like she approves of you right off, and you feel just the same. It’s an instant thing. Like women, some bikes are introduced to you, unexpectedly met or whatever, and there is a polite time when you are more than aware you are strangers, but some, oh boy, some feel like they were always around, like you knew them before. Familiar. Comfortable.

Doesn’t happen all that often, but, bike or chick, when it happens it feels real good. Real special, and you know it’s going to be good from the get go. It’s a bang, crash, wallop love thing, and you can’t wait to get together. Wanna forget all the getting–to-know-you protocols, and get stuck right in.

Know what I mean?

If you don’t, I sure hope you get to knowing before you grow old and die, because you can live years out in a few seconds when you gel like magic. I’ve had moments in life when I’d sacrifice all that was to come for another second of it.

This bike felt like that good. We went off, me and this little gem of a bike. She was old by today’s standards, but even so she felt so damn good. Revved clear to the red line at fourteen thousand without a hesitation and would go past it eagerly given half a chance. So light, so small, so agile. Wet roads, old tyres, but she was as eager to please me as could be.

Hungry for me. I felt suddenly alive within yards, and the years dropped away, like they always do when I go down the road on a good bike. Hell, it happens on any bike really, but on something so cute and special, it really kicks in and the world beyond the bike and the road just vanishes. Like magic I’m not fifty-bloody-seven any more. I’m a young greaser on a motorcycle and once again free of the years that age us. The willing engine revved up and I shifted her through the gears in split-second clutchless changes, with barely a slight off and on flick of the throttle.

The old magic returned and I let her run free. She was loving it. What she was created for, what we were born to do together. Slipping off the side of the seat into the bends, wary of the old tyres on the wet road, and hugging the bike up real close, we gambolled together down the road as one in the spray we kicked up behind us. Laughing together at the fun of it all, the world stripped away to the simplicity of the moments flashing by second by second.
The only way I know to be a boy again, at least momentarily, free of all the crap the years have heaped onto my once free and wild spirit.
We hit a huge downpour and I was soaked through in seconds, the rain hurting my naked skin under the thin blue overalls. I was laughing out loud and screwing her open wider, making her wail harder, and she was so alive under me, urging me to whip her harder.

“Harder, big boy, harder, and fuck the rain.”

It was real hard to turn her around and go home again.

On her back, I was just a boy on a bike, ……. laughing  in the rain.