Heaven...I'm in heaven...

Bennet's Bar, Edinburgh, next door to the King's Theatre. Never mind the play, I'll just start at the top left. Half and half, anyone?

"Highway is my middle name..."

This song has my name on it...and I'll be playing it at a Mojo Triangle gig in April. Still loving Sonny Terry's style.

Are you a motorcycling vicar? The DfT wants you...

Got this in my IAM e-newsletter today. Can't decide if it's extremely patronising or a refreshing new direction. If it's not OK to ram bikers who are vicars, mums or fathers of large families, does that make it OK to ram Hells Angels or teenaged men? Anyway, if you do give them a call, tell them Highwaylass sent you...

The Department for Transport is putting together a motorcycle safety campaign – would you like to help?

Here is the request, which we are happy to pass on to IAM members.

The campaign launches on 1 March and we are looking for case studies of bikers to profile in the media. To help challenge the stereotypical view widely held by many motorists that all bikers are young, male, reckless, speed demons, we are looking for real life bikers that people might not expect.

We are looking for:

Any bikers over the age of 65 - a motorbike-mad grandma perhaps
Any bikers who are mums with young kids
Any bikers with an unusual profession who you may not expect to ride a motorbike? For example a banker or nanny
And any who use their bike for work in some way? Such as a doctor, vet, nurse
Any fathers with big families who are keen bikers?
Any exciting stories e.g. "a biker saved my life", "I started biking and met the man of my dreams", "my bike ride raised £50K for charity"
Any out-of-the-ordinary bikers - vicars, nuns or maybe an opera singer or ballet dancer?

- Please email victoria.goddard [at] iris-pr.com with a short description if you are interested or if you know someone who fits the bill – we would greatly appreciate your help! Any suggestions must be comfortable for their story and picture to appear as a case study in newspapers, magazines, on television or on the radio. We would inform any case studies of each opportunity and ensure approval is given before progressing anything in the media and all will be treated in full confidence.

Biker chic revisited

From "Christopher Kane updates the Little Black Dress at London Fashion Week:"

Bad-girl biker jackets came in matt and patent leather and instead of a Hell’s Angels style skull they were embroidered with the kind of posies that might decorate a strict church minister’s tablecloth. Imagine a very grown up take on a teenage Sunday school dropout smoking by the bike sheds.

How do you get the dead flies off your embroidered posies?

Happy Year of the Tiger

This is a Tigertini. Cheers!

Suzi Perry - goodnight and good luck

Suzi's just announced on Twitter that she won't be covering MotoGP for the BBC this year. In a world of commentators who thing shouting "And it's RED!" counts as informed commentary, she was the best thing since Muddly Talker. And it's always nice to see a woman beating the guys at their own game. Good luck with all your other projects, Suzi, and thanks :)

Old Dog, New Tricks..

Another frosty Monday but today I am prepared. I've WD40'd the locks on the Mules, as Richard suggested. I've got my winter trousers back on (this time not requiring the assistance of a man who can bench-press 140lbs) and I've got the car key in my pocket so I can move it out of the way (it has to go. If anyone wants to buy a 4-year old Vauxhall Agila, please contact Highwaylass Quality Motors at the usual address).

But there is a new hurdle in my way - the ignition lock has frozen solid this time.

Small light bulb moment.

Back into the house, warm up the key on the gas hob. Try not to ignite the plastic at the top of the key. Put box of matches in pocket in case exercise needs repeating.

Lock the door, try not to burn self on key, rush round to bike before key gets cold, stick key in lock.

Wiggle.

Lock frees up, bike starts.

Fret about whether I turned the gas off. Decide that if I do burn the house down it will save on hoovering.

Escape onto the road, wondering again why it is that I ride a bike.

Oh, that's right - because it's less stressful.

Here comes the sun

It has been something of a trying week. I handed over £309 quid to a Well Known Computer Store for a netbook which was supposed to be the next generation model from the small but pefectly formed and really rather nippy beast owned by PB. What I got was a laptop with the speed of Ernie the Eel in the 100m custard challenge. It has been many years since my automatic reaction to starting a programme was been to wander off and make a cup of tea while it struggled to reach launch speed ("Yes, that's what my primary school teacher used to tell us to do," said the remarkably trusting youth in John Lewis. He does still have the use of both legs, but it was a close-run thing). After a trip back to the Well-Known-Store, with PB as back-up, I now have the actual machine that I thought I was buying a week ago. Haven't dared plug it in yet, though - can't face the disappointment.

However, all this was behind me on Tuesday morning, when, with 20 minutes to kill before the opening of the rather splendid "Yarn on the Square" (I was lurking with the intent of being the first person through the door ready to fall on my knees in delight at that massive rarity, a wool shop that actually sells wool...but that's a different blog) I found myself in a small caff with a cup of coffee and a sausage-and-egg bap. The sausage is my morning filling of choice when out on Ruby (a fact gleefully pointed out by Graham when I was in the queue for one of JD's bacon sarnies) and this was a perfect example of the art - sausages sliced lengthwise, egg balanced in the middle, underside free from charcoal and yolk perfectly poised between liquid and solid. For a moment, squinting in the sun and burning my tongue on the instant coffee, I could have fooled myself into believing that Ruby was parked outside the window with Robin Hood bay behind her, waiting for the final push across the border.

It's time to go travelling again!

Eye to Eye Contact

In my continuing quest to gather the skills needed to busk round the world (Progress so far: I know where to get a carnet from, I can order two beers in Spanish, and I have the dual-sport bike - I just need to be able to pick it up when it falls over, otherwise my trip will come to an abrupt end at the first unexpected camber), I continue my weekly harmonica lesson with Steve Lockwood. Proving that mastery of the motorcycle is indeed key to all the secrets of life, today I learnt that eye contact is vital if I want to safely share the limelight with others. Though in this situation, if I fail to make eye contact, it's just my solo that gets run over, not my bike.

All dressed up and no place to go

The weather found a new indignity to inflict upon me this morning. I tottered out of the house (after 15 minutes looking for the keys, Mondays really do hate me) wrapped in thermal underwear, clutching winter gloves and wearing a BMW winter jacket two sizese too big for me, ready to laugh in the face of sub-zero air temperatures .....

...only to find that I couldn't get the key in the locks of my Metal Mules.

Unwilling to balance my harp bag and the netbook PC I was taking back to Comet on my lap, I had to scrape the ice off the car instead. And then drive with the windows open so as not to boil like a lobster.