A Knight in Gleaming Armour

There I was this morning, zooting along on my nice shiny new big motorcycle, laughing as I passed the cars that were stuck in a traffic jam stretching from the city centre all the way out to where I join the motorway, about 18km outside of Dublin. Biking is great - being stuck in traffic is pretty much a thing of the past.

And then something weird happened; I opened the throttle a bit and where the engine should have revved, nothing happened. There was a slight jerk, and then it took again, then another slight jerk and the engine pretty much died. When I initially realised something wasn't right I had moved over to the edge of the road, so when I stopped I wasn't causing an obstruction.

"Waaaah! My bike's broken!!!" was my first reaction.

Because, you see, at first I'd thought I'd done something silly like run out of petrol. There's no petrol gauge on the new bike so it's hard to tell. But I'd checked the tank last night when I got home and I could see what looked like plenty of petrol in there. So surely it couldn't be that?

I had only just stopped and was still turning the key in the ignition when another biker pulled over in front of me to see if I was OK; when I shrugged to indicate I wasn't sure what the problem was, he dismounted from and came over to take a look.
I found myself looking into bewitching blue eyes, and a silky voice with a French accent asked, "Is it gas? Do you have a Reserve switch?"

{gulp!}

It's unreal how quickly an intelligent, educated, 35-year-old wife turns into an airhead blonde in the presence of a hot, leather-clad Frenchman with smoldering baby-blues..!
I pointed in the general direction of somewhere under my seat, he flipped a switch, leaned over and with a masterful flick of the wrist, restarted my bike.

I smiled, embarrassed, with a lame, "It's a new bike..."
He smiled back kindly and suggested I find a petrol station.

moving along swiftly

At first I was afraid - I was petrified,
Kept thinking I could never really learn to ride a bike.
But then I spent all summer long
riding back and forth to work and I grew strong,
and I learned how to move along

I made it through,
I did the deed,
and now it's time for me to move onto a bigger steed.
The little one it was okay
but it's too small for motorways
and so I got myself this beauty, ain't it gorgeous, watcha say..?


Yep, I've graduated!
To a Suzuki GS500.
The final straw was when I was rudely pushed into the yellow line along the motorway not so long ago by a truck. I had no choice - my 125cc bike just didn't have the oomf to get me out of the way any other way and the truck driver was pretty single-minded about wanting to be where I was.

When I first test-drove the new one two weekends ago I thought, "Nothing this much fun could possibly be legal!"
But it is - it's street-legal, and learner-legal, and it seems there is absolutely no reason for me not to have it. I really did need the extra power. Half of my daily commute is on the motorway and I need a top speed of over 100kph to be safe.

But yes, I confess, the throaty growl and zippy acceleration were what actually sold me....
And it's purty, dontcha think?!

Six years, six things

Six years ago today two incredibly good-looking (if somewhat clueless) South Africans stepped off a 'plane at Dublin airport for the first time. They had been married a mere 6 months and since the wedding their lives had taken on a whole new and rather unexpected direction. Their cars, motorcycle, house and all it's contents had been sold, debts settled and farewells bidden. They had with them a grand total of IR£3500, which was all they had in the world apart from their clothes and a few boxes which were neatly (sort-of) packed in corners and garages of various relatives' homes.
It was the beginning of a new life; their aim was to settle in Ireland and move forward. Their cash was enough to maintain them for 3 months, at the most. It was make-or-break time.

The short version is that at the end of 3 months, they thought it was "break". 9/11 happened, the job market froze and they were down to their last week's worth of grocery money... and then one of them found work. And from there things started moving forwards.

Six years on and I'm pleased to say it turned out to be "make". To the point where they often turn to each other and smile, giving thanks for how lucky they are.
They have all the trappings they left behind in their homeland, and more.

In honour of the day, I thought I'd share with you six random things:

1. There is, in fact, good reason for all those Irish jokes you hear.

2. The reason Ireland is known as the Emerald Isle is because the fields and grass are greener here than you would ever believe possible.

3. The reason the fields and grass are so green is because it's pretty much always raining!

4. The Irish are the friendliest and most fun-loving nation I have encountered.

5. Guinness really is good for you!

6. Places like those you see in TV programmes like "Ballykissangel" and "Father Ted" really do exist in this day and age.

Thanks, Ireland. You've been good to us.

saying nothing

She plops down in front of her laptop, rubs her hands together and then stares at the screen, hands poised for when the moment strikes; the moment when pure genius inspiration will flow from her soul through her fingertips as they fly over the keyboard.

But... nothing.
Only five more minutes before she simply must switch off the laptop and pack it back in its bag (because of course leaving it out just would not do - far too untidy) and the pressure is getting to her. Because she has to write something today. It's been over a week since the last one and since then - nothing. No clever thoughts; no funny anecdotes (except for the guy in the canteen last week who had a piece of toilet-paper trailing from the back of his trousers but really, how much can be said about that?).

Two minutes to go and she's staring out of the window, wondering if the cat perched on the wall is going to pounce on whatever it's stalking in the neighbour's yard, or not.
It doesn't. Instead, it stalks off further along the wall that stretches from yard to yard all the way down to the end of the lane.

Time's up now. She sighs and sniffs, defeated.
Oh well, tomorrow is another day.