I've been pretty keen to crack on with the garden this month. I have no idea what I'm doing but 'the mother' has very green fingers and is pointing me in the right direction. First thing to sort out was the compost. I love the idea of turning garden and food waste into something useful. I spend ages at the foot of the garden turning it all over. Great stuff!
Next is the spuds and onions. My cousin Lisa has given me some of her excess and they're going in the ground ASAP.
Next is the spuds and onions. My cousin Lisa has given me some of her excess and they're going in the ground ASAP.
Sliding down the road on my butt at 70 miles an hour towards the crash barrier I had a few moments to think about my predicament.
Stress hormones such as adrenaline have a fantastic ability to almost stretch out time to allow you to run through your options in an emergency. My options really were quite limited – hit the barrier or not. Thankfully I managed to deflect myself reasonably gently off a down strut without snapping any bones. Why was I in this position in the first place, and not sat astride my lovely motorbike that was currently spinning around on its side 30 metres further down the hard shoulder of the M11?
Well, because some dozy truck driver has a leaky fuel cap. As I rounded the fast sweeping right-hand bend exiting the motorway I managed to spot the metre wide streak of diesel that covered the centre of the lane far too late. Both wheels lost all traction and the bike snaked impossibly before giving up and lying down.
As I almost came to rest at the barrier I popped to my feet and started walking towards my stricken bike. A van pulled up in front of me on the hard shoulder and the driver jumped out looking horrified. “I’m ok” I said trying to act all nonchalant as I’d seen countless race riders do on the telly. Actually I was noticeably hobbling having smacked my left heel quite badly. It was then I decided to do a quick MOT on myself rather than the bike. My BMW trousers had stood up to the task but were in a sorry state. It was very breezy around my back end. The palms of my gloves were pretty much worn through from trying to brake my slide and I was just down to skin on the left hand. Apart from that though I was remarkably unscathed. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of my bike.
Stress hormones such as adrenaline have a fantastic ability to almost stretch out time to allow you to run through your options in an emergency. My options really were quite limited – hit the barrier or not. Thankfully I managed to deflect myself reasonably gently off a down strut without snapping any bones. Why was I in this position in the first place, and not sat astride my lovely motorbike that was currently spinning around on its side 30 metres further down the hard shoulder of the M11?
Well, because some dozy truck driver has a leaky fuel cap. As I rounded the fast sweeping right-hand bend exiting the motorway I managed to spot the metre wide streak of diesel that covered the centre of the lane far too late. Both wheels lost all traction and the bike snaked impossibly before giving up and lying down.
As I almost came to rest at the barrier I popped to my feet and started walking towards my stricken bike. A van pulled up in front of me on the hard shoulder and the driver jumped out looking horrified. “I’m ok” I said trying to act all nonchalant as I’d seen countless race riders do on the telly. Actually I was noticeably hobbling having smacked my left heel quite badly. It was then I decided to do a quick MOT on myself rather than the bike. My BMW trousers had stood up to the task but were in a sorry state. It was very breezy around my back end. The palms of my gloves were pretty much worn through from trying to brake my slide and I was just down to skin on the left hand. Apart from that though I was remarkably unscathed. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of my bike.
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