Henry's Column
August 12th 2008.
Many people have enquired why the column has stopped. King Henry VIII is sick at the moment, a strong dose of flu from one of his subjects has sent him to his sick bed. He will return to the Royal keyboard when fit and well.

July 24th 2008.
Expansion in the air! Just what could I offer year 6 and year 8 which crosses the boundaries of Primary and Secondary schools? Now not being unknown in the education world, I have listened and from my own trials have developed a new workshop for these year groups. It is a two day affair and culminates in the production of a real movie called "Katherine Howard the Traitor". It has one day of making props, choosing actors, learning scripts, and the second day of filming with their crew and set. Here is a synopsis of the plot.
Click here to download this file
I know I always end up with a poem, so why break the habit of a lifetime.

Make a movie
By Henry Tudor

I have toyed in the past
With mirrored glass
To find a new way for me.
I have taken note
Of how folk vote
Concluding what it could be.

Not a Henry
Not an entry
This man has far too much power.
He must be there
To produce much fare
Cannot send him to the tower.

Now it is set
My new workshop bet
A film studio I will create.
Film a story true
Made by me and you
The outcome to celebrate.

So now if you desire
A King for to hire
And a movie for all to see.
Hired my band
Any main land
The outcome no certainty

We will choose all our cast
Build all our past
Learn all our lines ‘til we’re the best.
Then edit the disc
No need now for risk
Making this curriculum a test.

Now sell the video
To all them that know
Give to charity generously.
Such a goal
Seen as a whole
Would really delight the likes of me.


July 21st 2008.
A good friend of mine, who lives in the desert City of Las Vegas, found my lack of phone and wristwatch to be a strange way of life. Well, throwing away your watch and phone is the most uplifting thing I have ever done, it completely changes your outlook of life and you begin to live with greater attention to detail. All those beautiful places often missed in rushing to keep to a schedule, all those changes in nature during a single day, missed because of time keeping. I find that I no longer watch crime, violent movies, I now watch documentaries usually about nature, though even these not that often because I now go and see for myself in my own time and space.
So here is my answer to all you timekeepers and work slaves, not meant in any other way than, Hey! why not try it?

No Watch
By Henry Tudor.

I left the world of time and schedules, in order to be free
I left the bells with stop and start, to create a world for me.
No watching the clock to make it right, a planner on the wall
No meetings, no ETA, no need for time at all.

I threw my watch into the bin, a "Swatch" and worthy of praise
But don’t need its time anymore, the light is my beginning for days.
I drive now overnight to places far and wide
I sleep outside the venue gates, my RV warm inside.

They wake me up when they appear
A smiling crowd, they bring me cheer.
They add me to their plan for the day
I enter, I act, then I drive away.

I join their world again for just a day
To deliver a King Henry in my own strange way
I act, I talk, I intrigue, I walk, I go with their scheduled flow.
After a lifetime in their world, their system should know.

The only man in the western world with no phone in his hand
No way will I join this mass commune, I am a one man band.
All my life I have dealt with strife
From kids and house, to trouble and wife.

So being invisible is so great for me
No-one knows where I could be.
Sort your own solutions now
I’ve trained you hard, so you know how.

I may have stepped off this world of yours
Wandering round with Henry’s tours.
I may have buried my head in sand
But I don’t care, my life is grand.


July 11th 2008.
I really do work for and meet some fantastic people. Take for instance Samlesbury Hall, two of the most fabulous women one could work for, both gang up on me, a mere man. Now one of them goes off on a Portugese holiday. We are left in England in the worst rainfall ever seen, cold windy and miserable, what does she do? returns with the most fabulous sun tans I have ever seen. Portugal is only two hours away! Why is it so hot there? Why do I burn in the sun, why have I got red hair? So in frustration and for all the suffering Ginger and fair skinned shadow dwellers, here is a poem which sums it up.

Tanned
By Henry Tudor

You don’t know how lucky it is to be
Able to sit under the sun next to the sea.
Olive skinned and dark haired too
What about us red-heads with eyes of blue.

We hide from ray’s and cover our skin
Sand over our toes, hat rims to hide chin
Lots of factor 50, dark glass and tee-shirt
Without these protectors the showers hurt.

We are jealous of such tanned beauty
We need your secret, it’s your duty.
Tell us how we can brown off and appeal
Instead of, red heat and dead peel.

Why should we live in the dark shadow
Whilst you walk the Sun and paddle
Does not seem fair, this skin and colour
White, burnt, peeled, hatted and duller.

Fake tan, orange hand, brown skin crease
Will this nightmare ever cease?

July 4th 2008. USA Happy Birthday.

It took me over an hour to travel the 10 miles this morning to Samlesbury Hall to entertain a group of children from the ex-Russian country of BellaRussia and the concequences of the Atomic accident at Chenobyl. These children are amongst the most talented I have ever worked with, artistic and clever and full of enthusiasm, we could all learn from them how to grab life and enjoy the moment.
The traffic jam, though annoying at the time to us mere blinkered drivers, was caused by a fatal accident about a mile ahead of me. Inconvenient to us, but devastating to the family involved. So I hope you are coping with your terrible loss, and that happiness soon returns to your lives. I wrote this poem in my head.

Jammed
By Henry Tudor

Arterial movement sat still and hot
Three lanes of temper, movement not
The young souped-up car with noise
Fat tyres, spoilers for the boys
The Micra with the trilby man
His wife’s finger shaking all she can
The lorry laden down with food
No need to sound horn, it’s no good.
The rep’ in his annual colour change
The school run tractor, with little range
The tourist slowly inches on
His caravan wobbles into the Sun.
I’m here amongst my new found friends
Nothing to do but wait for bends
Not bothered about being late
If they really want me, they can wait.
But soon we all tune into the news
Someone ahead crashed and killed.
So thankful that we’re still sat here
The scene has changed into thoughtful fear.
Better late than never, no need to grieve
Another family is crying, cannot believe.


Happy Birthday M

June 29th 2008.
When I'm not being Henry, which is 270 times per year, I'm driving, making props, setting up theatre sets, doing the books, writing this column etc, etc. AND we have not even touched on the family man! So I musy admit to being a bit behind with my question answering, I have a new saying...."A one man band soon sounds flat".
Here's the past three days.



A female deer walked right up to me this morning and my RV was surrounded by a flock of peacocks, the trees were purple, the fields were vast and there was only me there! Money could not pay for this, had I woken in heaven? No it was 6.00 in the morning in Normanby Hall country park and when you see my RV on its own in the picture below you will understand.


June 25th 2008.

Green Fingers
By Henry Tudor

Dennis potted around his shed, his empire
He watered his tomato’s and tucked in their roots
No chance that they would expire.

His life now perfection with soil in his soul
He increased his seed collection
And watered each bowl.

But life was not all rosy, not even cosy some short time past
His wife used to nag him, rag him
To make him work fast.

She wanted all his money, his time and his pride
Yet all he wanted was to garden
To create growth from inside.

He worked too many hard hours in boring mindless kind
Just to satisfy her needs and her ranting
He toiled but kept plants in his mind.

They stopped him from becoming crazy, they saved his sanity
She spent all his hard earned money
To satisfy her own vanity.

Suddenly she went missing from Dennis’s arduous life
Nobody actually missed her
He continued without his nagging wife.

His mates all understood why Dennis left his old job
Became a Central park gardener
Loved his life amongst the new soil sod.

His allotted land became quite impressive
His mates were always struck down in awe
“How do you grow things so big Den’?”
Tell us so we can also score.

I have a special mixture, to feed the plants ‘til they’re really quite big
I keep all the weeds away then
And mix in the food when I dig.

But what is this secret ingredient, that you mix to make it all grow
Ah! A secret that’s really worth keeping
So only me and my wife actually know!

I call it “nagger’s great tonic” it makes the soil very rich
It shouts at the plant to grow faster
I may have discovered a niche.

June 23rd 2008.
The Shell
By Henry Tudor

The sand held them up with ripples cast fine
The sea sank below the sparkle of time
The shell sat there waiting for lovers to pass
Bereft of its morsel now polished to last
The girl she did se the colours of nature’s thin case
She picked up the shell and saw her mother’s old face
She cried inner tears as she recalled the last time
Her Mother and Father were alive and just fine
Not wanting to dwell on past sadness today
She polished the shell then gave it away
Her man by her side will treasure her gift
A gift from her heart, her heart with a rift
Only aged three the girl walked this way
Repeating this dream the reason today
Goodbye dearest Mum, my shell was still here
No sadness from now, no heartache no tear.



June 22nd 2008.

Sand in my toes
by Henry Tudor

Not wanting it to end, the beach curves its finite bend
Houses closed no work here for life
Come back at the weekend, family and wife
Sunday comes quick, the sand now feels cold
Must I go back, I feel cold and so old.

We own this chateau, we work in the smoke
We leave it empty and dark, shuttered bespoke.
One day we will all come and live here for good
Grow our own food, chop our own wood
It takes all my strength, to leave it at length.

My beach is my life, my sea and my coast
I long for be here to dream in my host
The shutters would never close if I never left
The fire never out, the larder never bereft
My mind is made up, the city I give up.

Tomorrow I quit from office and desk
Sell up my apartment, give away all the rest
Leave Paris for ever and live by the sea
Become a poet and writer, a new man you see
But what of commitment to others besides me?

Maybe not yet, I’ll stay as I am
Just for a short while more, contented to plan
Another weeks goes with same bitter end
Only my seaside house my understanding friend
Not to mention my fear, others too dear.

No word uttered, my house now shuttered.



Room with a view
By Henry Tudor

Two hundred feet high, into my sky, from here I can fly, my prey I can spy.
Swoop down for a rest, tucked up in my nest, to build it a quest, my best.
Sheltered from incoming storm, chimney keeps me warm, secrecy sworn, others forlorn.
St. Michels my home, I live here alone, chicks now all have gone, flew off the stone.
Now tourists like me, take pictures above sea, I am still free, my cup of tea.




June 21st 2008.


Just arrived back from France in the RV. Gotta say, what a beautiful place, the people were fantastic and the views glorious. Lots of new stories written, with poetry and pictures. just keep watching as I load them up. Here's one to get you going.

Triumph of love
By Henry Tudor

Mid life crisis over and calmed, a Triumph bike worked its charm
Frank loved his bike polished and honed to his delight, he’d plan his journeys every night
His love for all of forty years, Edith his wife stood and let Frank reduce to tears
Frank went and joined the Triumph club, centre of aged and aching mid life hub.
But Frank changed and barked at Edith who, with mistakes and errors was ill too
She lost her mind to forget all things, she lost her smile, she lost her rings.
Now Frank not noticing his lost loves mind, took her for a ride to be kind
He connected their helmets to radio talk, now she can navigate, he can hawk.
She got them both lost, read the map upside down, he barked at her she wore a frown
He blamed her for his silly pose, he missed the tear run down her nose.
She loved him though he changed that day, she wouldn’t want him gone away.

The gritted corner came too fast for Frank, he skidded and the front wheel sank
He was flung away but landed soft, he knew it was his fault they had both come off
But as he turned he couldn’t hear, his lovely wife quietly lying there.
My god! yelled Frank as he scampered ‘round, the machine that held his love on t’ground.
What have I done to my darling wife, the one who shared my adult life?
Edith was not hurt in any way, just closed her eyes so she could pray
But when she finished talking to God, she opened them and gave Frank a nod.
Thank God you’re not dead, the anxious Frank said
I could not live without you in my life, my beautiful wife.
Things now have changed in Frank and Edith’s home, love has returned it has come back round.
They sold their bike and bought a car and now they are inseparable a true loving pair.

And another

The Tramp
By Henry Tudor

A rich man’s lot these pile of stone sat in the palms, all alone
Old and dark it needs new blood to revive, new money to stay alive.
Bought in a sale by generous man, the pile renews, they have a plan
Open the place to all who pass, tea for two, wine in glass.

But there’s a problem not seen before, a tramp lives in a hovel outside front door
He hides in his hut next to the gate, go near him not, he is irate.
So how do they rid themselves of him, they try and try and soon give in
The public come in drib and drab, but their attention the tramp soon does grab.

Alas this tale has another bent, along came student on work placement
He dressed like a tramp with jeans and hood in blue, he could rid them true.
But no he has new cunning plan, why not use this forlorn man
Take the folk on tour of ground, show them the man you have found.

Tell them to doff their caps and take a bow, this is the eccentric lord just now
The Tramp became a tourist aim, his life was never ever the same.
They would queue to see the lord in filth, increasing the owners massive wealth
But one day the tramp had gone, left a note in his book thereon.

Cannot stand the crowds no more, am leaving home for another shore
The student now employed within, stared at the note and produced a grin
I will dress up and be the tramp, stay in the hovel as a camp
Take the money from the crowds that come, become rich and buy a home.

Sitting there in rags and dirt, he read the book, it by the Tramp, Albert
Lord Bertum Smyth will diary here, his life and aims his loves and fear.
Poor Albert lost his love and wife, he became an outcast in his own life
Lived outside the house they shared and loved, waiting for her to return from above.

The tramp called Albert deserved the bows he farmed the land with sheep and cows
Not used it to wow and enthral, he made it work to feed us all.
The student suddenly felt quite sad, had he driven off this man so mad?
Next morning the gates opened wide, the sullen Tramp now young inside.

He never left the gates again, became the tramp and went insane
Albert grew into a happy man, now released, very pleased.
So if you go to large house over there, stay in crowd and don’t interfere
New Albert may want to greet you all, but stay outside or you will fall.



June 5th 2008.
Off on my jollies again!
Cherbourg in France the landing place, then it’s off into the unknown for 9 days around Normandy. When I say the unknown I don’t actually mean “the unexplored”, I mean, I don’t know where I’m going! Toss a coin at the harbour gates, aim the RV either left or right and drive until I like the place I’m in, when I get bored I toss the coin again.
Sounds maybe a wee bit too carefree? No, not really thanks to Satnav, the spy in the sky will make sure I don’t end up carrying a tent on my back over the desert behind a line of camels.
Have found a new place to stay near the ferry in England, an old Manor house with some character, will explore this in depth and report back. France! Seems a long way to go for cheaper fuel! It's £1.30 per litre here whilst the same in Euro's there. Hey Mr.Brown what's going on?
Here’s how random this trip will be. I have purposely not bought travel maps or the area, will wait and see what it looks like before committing my plans, Plans! What plans?

June 1st 2008.
I like this nonsense poem, or is it? See quesiton 414 to get a full idea of what it means.

Galyon Hone
By Henry Tudor

Punty rod ready, wet the grooved wood steady
Heat the end bright, large wheel make tonight
Blow a great ball, cut the end open small
Spin and spin ‘til opening
Now heat and treat the glass in neat.
Spin out the shape, wheel will imitate
Thickness fatter in the middle, impossible to fiddle
Wrinkles and rings formed within
Let the wheel congeal, greater feel.
Cut the quarries at the edge, richest there to pledge
Middle class get the middle
Cut above higher shove
Colour and paint, etch in faint
Place together in leaded came, tight in frame
Create your art, that’s my part
Create your light, air and water tight
From Holland all alone, except for flowers near my home
We work so hard to please the King, jubilant we sing
Were are masters of our ware, nobody can compare
I now stand here alone, master of glass, Galyon Hone.

May 31st 2008.
Six large bags of paper, plastic and old workbooks. Two large bookshelves, trolley and storage units. Assemble two new shelves, revamp the computer wiring and now restock the new shelves. Total time taken is three days, one aching back, a lost stone in weight and lost temper ages ago. Just what have I been doing?
Upgrading my office.
Not touching it again for another five years, then I’ll get in the heavy mob, I'm far too old for this effort.
The new office now contains my music room, history library, computer/website interface. The 100 Watt Amplifier will blow the books off the shelving, he he. Must go and look for a small fridge, no modern office is complete without a fridge! Now what about a projector and a white wall, just thnk of a play station 3 and a golf game! Na, Computer games are nothing compared to real life, now where should I put my golf clubs?

Oh. Just added a 2009 calendar to the Hirng page, lots of enquiries.


Termagant Woman
By Henry Tudor

The shrewd shrew wears me out
Arguing, scheming returning shout.
She seemed so attractive, in old courting day
But now with so much power,
The love has gone astray.

She wants all the money for monastery land
Take it and give it by her generous hand.
Buying the people will not win their heart
She needs better building of bridges,
That kept them apart.

“No Nan Bullen” for us they shout to her face
But she carries on trying, old Queen to replace.
She manoeuvres and plans her rebirth and realm
She forgets just who steers,
This ship at the helm.

Termagant woman, so hard to endure
So I found a new love behind a close door.
Jane will not meddle as she knows her place
Anne will create enemies,
Expanding her space.

So let me offer a word in your ear
A Termagant woman as mistress is dear
But marry in haste this turbulent bride
Because she will try to take over,
Take over your side.


Bounce
By Henry Tudor

Aim a cannon up to the sky, try to hit the ship on the descent
Not actually easy even with good eye, too many factors make you relent.
Now lower your sights above the water, and fire straight into their hull
The ball will skim five times further, not easy to miss and less skill.
But remember to seal off the woodwork, or sea will pour into your hold
The cannons will slide down the decks now, a disaster about to unfold.
This happened off Solent high water, when France tried to take our fair land
We thought our bouncing ball cannons, would see them off with the back of our hand.
But no, our Rose was top heavy, she sank when the wind bent her mast
The cannons gave water the weigh in, the French watched then gave it a pass.
The fleet then came out and fought bravely, one ship is not all that we own
The French were bloodied and beaten, but Mary Rose died on her own.
Many a century has since ended, and Mary is found and brought back
She lies on her side under plastic, to history the Folly Attack.


Nostalgic thoughts always come after something nasty happens. A few days ago my car was broken into and robbed, lots of damage and now the repairs and claiming to replace lost goods are under way. Okay, I'm not a Saint, so I shouted a bit, gritted my teeth and promise the hoodies a tyre print up their miserable bodies if I ever caught them. Now I've calmed down, I see my family happily playing with their own children on my carpet, I see my lovely wife laughing whilst she holds the babies. So, what was all that grief about, the materials will be replaced and mended, the thieves will have smoked their drugs from the money they got, the insurance company will have filed the event and forgotten it. My family was not hurt, life is still great.
Here's a poem which entered my head this morning and sums it up.

Did I tell you?
By Henry Tudor

Some things are better left unsaid, better left in your head
Some things stir up feelings of sadness and grief
A smile on the skin but tears deep within
Some things not worth a mention, not worthy of thought
Keep these to yourself, that’s how you were taught
But sometimes the silence can pass the main task
Tell her you love her, don’t force her to ask.

One time round the spiral that’s all you have got
Life gives you a freedom to culture you’re lot
Forget your possessions they clutter your life
Look at your life partner, your lover, your wife
She gives you her person to make you complete
She makes you a family, a unit so neat
Appreciate all her efforts, watch her each day
Remember she’s mobile, you want her to stay.

Three simple words of affection, more if you can
Charm her and surprise her, her greatest fan
She’ll take in the message and know what you mean
You love her, you need her, she completes your life scene
Smile when she sees you, watch her when you’re both out
Remember that out there, there’s other’s about
A prize like your woman would suit other eyes
But she sees only you, no need to disguise.

One day when you’re both old but still have a spark
Talk and laugh keep life from the dark
Go out together still hold her hand
Throw off your laces, feel toes in the sand
Picnics and country a space for you both
Family and children, be proud of your growth
So now at the end of your wonderful life
She now cups your hand, the tears of your wife.

Guinea Pigs, Samlesbury Hall breed them in a small farm in their grounds. Some schools have Bought Guinea pigs for their class pet to be sent around parents homes during holiday periods and then looked after at school during term time by the children.
But things happen!
Yesterday at the Hall some children found a small Guinea pig stuck in the wire mesh surrounding the pen. A teacher retrieved the poor little black animal, noticing it had been blinded in one eye on the wire and its legs seemed to be without movement. We put it into the safety of the hut on the pen and hoped it would be helped by the other pigs. Our gardener, Louise took the poor animal home to help it recover and today I report that it is healing, and the legs are not broken, though it has lost an eye. It is feeding and hopefully it will recover.

Pigs
By Henry Tudor

There’s pigs and there’s pigs
There’s many a mix
Bacon and fry a breakfast to fix.
But Pigs come in shapes not often thought real
From wild boar to pink curls
A huge piggy world.

Forget the farm hog and the prey from the hunt dog
Think fluffy and cute
These pigs are a hoot.
Hairy and small they curl into a ball
They make all round smile
Not seen for a while.

The humble guinea pig is so fine
I wish they were all mine
They come over to feed and then chew a weed
They love to display how they scamper and play
White, black and even ginger
They nibble your finger.



What a day. Lots of paperwork to catch up, a funeral to attend, buzz off up the motorway on the Vespa for a hospital appointment, finish off the paperwork, load the RV for an over night trip to Birmingham. And this is my day off! But then a sunny day on the saddle of the blue Vespa, cruising down the M65 at 60 mph, no real traffic just hills and scenery, what else do I want?

Goodbye to a sad man
By Henry Tudor

The Vicar said it all, this man was a loner, a man of the earth
He had kept himself on the farm to death from his birth.
He could not speak to others, communicate, no way
He seemed rather grumpy and miserable every single day.
But now he’s gone forever, who do we moan about
His loud mouthed antics and tightness, his uncouth uncluttered shout.

He died alone in his single bed
His life not full, his dreams unlived
He existed alone in his fortress of brick
With his fenced in field, even when sick.

He did not want us to visit, he’d ask us to leave
How can anyone live so poor, we could not believe.
So goodbye Harry, your passing so pained
Did you notice we still came?
Twenty came to see you go
Never before had so many for you, show.

Not all people can fit in with a crowd
Some need to be in solitary and shout it aloud.
Some need to collect all trappings and wealth
But in the end trappings don’t give you health.
People must be accepted for just what they are
But keep a way back, keep one door ajar.

Sometimes your own company is good for you, but don't leave out the one's you love.


10th May 2008.
Well quite a week as Ray without a single sighting of Henry.
1. My wife’s brother died after a long illness.
2. My son-in-law’s life long friend committed suicide by jumping in front of a fast moving train not 200 yards from my house!
3. I went to Madrid for a break and it rained whilst England had a heat wave.
4. Got told off by a Spanish “Jobsworth” for pointing at a suit of armour in the Spanish Royal Palace, then getting blamed for the alarms going off when it was a maintenance crew causing it!
5. Brother in Law’s funeral clashing now and a lost standing booking to be rearranged.
6. Came back to chaotic school booking over past week from the website, with a full day of writing acceptance letters ahead of me.
So will I attempt to go away on a research trip again in school term? Maybe not.
Life is much simpler being Henry.

However there were some bright moments, I saw my two grandsons again, took their family out for dinner in Madrid and met a delightful English Lady who took my Wife and myself on an adventurous day out in the Spanish capital. She’s only been there a few weeks and she speaks the language as fast as they do, amazing.
Some tourists stared in wonder when i turned my camera over when taking pictures, now can you see why I did it?

I don’t care if Jobsworth lights up spellcheck, well so does Spellcheck!

May 6th 2008.
Is it hot in there?
By Henry Tudor

Starting on the inside then slowly working out
Vest and shorts with Simpson’s Bart, somewhere there about.
Then add on the shirt with string tied cuffs
A silk neck scarf to stop sore rebuffs.
Roll the black kilt twice round the block
Larges men’s tights instead of a sock.
Tie the dagger firm and cover with leather belt
Squeeze on the garter, sometimes achingly felt.
Slide into the leather hunting coat in black
Drop over the silver rose clasp at the back.
Now climb into the Royal coat all velvet and with fur
Heavy and cumbersome eyes now a blur.
Fit the woollen shoes with soles so that you will not slip
Balance the heavy gold chain on shoulders, not easy to flip.
Nearly ready for the crowd to see the reborn King
Just fit the furry hat, covered in pearls, gold and bling.
Need the silver walking stick to keep me upright now
Out I come into the sun and take my Royal bow.
Soon the layers all add heat to the fur and thick black leather
By noon I’m melting and praying for nice cold weather.
So if you must know about my clothes, yes they’re very hot
But I wouldn’t change them for the world, to me they’re not a blot.
They add to my face and create my act which is what I’m aiming for
My Henry look, my Kingly spook as I walk out the Tudor door.
Another shower, another day, another set of clothes
Must thrill the crowd, and fill the Halls and bring them in, in droves.


May 5th 2008.
Am off again on a jolly, Madrid no less. City of Palaces and beautiful art and hopefully a train journey to Aragon. Not wanting to drive in Spain these days due to the poor roads and mad drivers with their horns sounding at the confused Englishman in the lefthand drive hire car. So problem solved, use the train.

May 4th 2008.
It just seemed strange the other day, there I was under the disguise of a scooter rider with no facial identity thanks to a black crash helmet, a young girl waved a thumbs up, two spotty teenagers cheered as my Vespa passed, a middle aged taxi driver let me have priority and did the OK sign with his finger and thumb. Was I just noticing it for the first time or was there something going on?
The car park in town told me the answer; it was full of bikers, Harleys, Triumphs and classic scooters. All riders middle aged and enjoying their mid life crisis, I felt like a member of an exclusive club. I had nearly fell into the trap of considering the selling of my blue Union jack machine and buying a green, powerful electric bike to flow down the environmental route, as well the thought of free travel by charging the bike on caravan site hook ups. But, I moved back from the edge, I turned off the luring website and remembered all the fun I have had in the past 6 years with Vespa and the first powder blue Vespa on which I did all my courting some 40 years ago. No I cannot sell my machine, it’s part of my personality, it is me. The picture of me riding the Vespa whilst dressed as King Henry VIII has become an icon in Samlesbury Hall circles, the staff call it my Italian Stallion, I need to take some more pictures on it and explore the very nature of King of the Road. Two strokes and your in!

May the Fourth go with you!