Are the riding Gods against me?
Posted: Thu Apr 03, 2008 7:22 am
Not including the debacle surrounding Pickfords ineptitudes I've brought up in another post (Bloody Pickfords) the Australian red tape has me bound and gagged (no Ligloo not like that!).
The story goes like this:- THE QUEST FOR THE MAGIC SCROLLS
Once upon a time a Falco rider, we'll call Falcopops to blame the guilty, decided to take himself and loved ones to Australia to live an thought it would be a good idea to take the family too.
After encountering many adventures along the way he eventually arrives in the land of great bouncing beasts, spiders and sunshine and is reunited with his Falco, which has clearly seen a bit of action on it's travels displayed by the cracked sidestand bracket.
The titanic battle with Victorian bureaucracy lies ahead and the fearless duo steel themselves and prepare to run the gauntlet. Preparation of the Falco comprises a tank of fuel, recharging the battery and replacement of a modified sidestand bracket, which takes 'till 2am to get rightish. Falcopops readies himself the following morning by drinking two coffee's smoking a fag and donning ill fitting leathers, our hero's red and sunken eyes are disguised behind a pair of dark glasses and fly spattered visor lest the enemy sense a weakness.
Armed only with a small piece of paper making him invisible to the authorities, well allowing me to ride without the bike being registered.
The dynamic duo's 1st battle with a registered engineer (to confirm the Falco meets Oz standards) is scheduled for 10am as the opponent has another duel arranged for 10:30 (cocky fecker), so to ensure maximum psychological advantage (for the opponent) Falcopops gets lost and arrives at 10:20. The engineer wilts in the face of our hero as he dismounts his trusty steed, it may have had something to do with the unholy stench of tobacco, caffine and sweat (it was about 33 degrees) emanating from from every pore.
So to battle - The engineer pokes and prods and peeks and peers, he measures and writes and scowls and nods. The Falco absorbs the onslaught admirably while Falcopops holds the water dispenser at bay smokes a fag in an agressivemanner and surrupticiously breaks wind in an attempt to confuse the enemy forces. The Falco parries every attack and the engineer retires defeated to prepare the 1st of the magic scrolls and his bill.
Now at this point there was an expectation that an additional prize for crossing the 1st hurdle would be a nice shiney sticker to adorn the frame of the Falco to advise the unwary of it's triumph. The evil engineer cackles sarcastically from his den "oh no, unenlightened one, you neeed to get that in the post from another of my despicable cohorts located 10 leagues hence from here. Seven days it takes, three if you cross their palm with silver".
Bugger.
Undaunted the pair continue to the next quest, where the Falco must endure further punishment at the hands of the roadworthy (MOT) wizard. This conflict was due to commence at 12:30pm and our intrepid twosome arrive early to prepare and ambush, only to find they've all fecked off for lunch! This allows Falcopops an opportunity to prepare further for the conflict, yup water and fags.
The roadworthy wizard (eventually) sets about the Falco with all manner of implements of torture, at one point I feared all was lost when he reached into his magic chest and produced the most mythical of all weapons of mass destruction, Pierre's hammer of doom. The Falco resisted even this, and Falcopops broke wind in appreciation. The cunning wizard had the last laugh as he failed the Falco on tyres not having enough tread and the chain having a tight spot. Our previous crusade to battle the WSB dragon in Italy has clearly left deeper wounds than 1st envisaged. The Falco limps away injured, but not defeated.
At the rematch and with new tyres, chain and sprockets the Falco reigns supreme and departs the wizards lair fitter than ever, with Falcopops clutching the prized 2nd magic scroll.
With the hellish legions defeated the final battle with the giant troll of officialdom looms near Falcopops has gathered together all the magic scrolls gallantly won by the Falco. Apart from that bloody sticker that still hasn't arrived in the mail, despite the crossing of palms with extra silver to get the express service. A seance is arranged and contact is made with the other side. Eerily a voice demands written confirmation of the name of Falcopops' hamlet and lodgings therein. It's written on the top of the bloody form Falcopops utters in exasperation. "Oh OK then" says the voice "it should be with you the day after tomorrow" and it is. The final magic scroll is attained.
Our brave team arrive at the lair of the giant troll on the morning of the final battle weary from their semingly unending struggle, but confident of success.
A darkness hangs around the lair, almost impenetrable to the naked eye. A howl like a banshee split the mornings silence as the doors to the lair grated open, confidently Falcopos strode in to the unknown. He was greeted by name by the giant troll, clearly the trolls power was great. Undaunted Falcopops produced the magic scrolls and the troll read what was written upon them. Falcopops was amazed and afraid at once, for instead of recoiling in fear the troll merely grinned as it secreted the magic scrolls within its robes and replaced them with a single wafer thin scrap of parchment. With mounting anguish Falcopops read and re-read the scrawled inscription, then turned on his tail and fled.
THE END
Poxy power had gone out and because the computers aren't on I have to go back at a later date.
FECK ARSE I'm never gonna get this bike legal at this rate
The story goes like this:- THE QUEST FOR THE MAGIC SCROLLS
Once upon a time a Falco rider, we'll call Falcopops to blame the guilty, decided to take himself and loved ones to Australia to live an thought it would be a good idea to take the family too.
After encountering many adventures along the way he eventually arrives in the land of great bouncing beasts, spiders and sunshine and is reunited with his Falco, which has clearly seen a bit of action on it's travels displayed by the cracked sidestand bracket.
The titanic battle with Victorian bureaucracy lies ahead and the fearless duo steel themselves and prepare to run the gauntlet. Preparation of the Falco comprises a tank of fuel, recharging the battery and replacement of a modified sidestand bracket, which takes 'till 2am to get rightish. Falcopops readies himself the following morning by drinking two coffee's smoking a fag and donning ill fitting leathers, our hero's red and sunken eyes are disguised behind a pair of dark glasses and fly spattered visor lest the enemy sense a weakness.
Armed only with a small piece of paper making him invisible to the authorities, well allowing me to ride without the bike being registered.
The dynamic duo's 1st battle with a registered engineer (to confirm the Falco meets Oz standards) is scheduled for 10am as the opponent has another duel arranged for 10:30 (cocky fecker), so to ensure maximum psychological advantage (for the opponent) Falcopops gets lost and arrives at 10:20. The engineer wilts in the face of our hero as he dismounts his trusty steed, it may have had something to do with the unholy stench of tobacco, caffine and sweat (it was about 33 degrees) emanating from from every pore.
So to battle - The engineer pokes and prods and peeks and peers, he measures and writes and scowls and nods. The Falco absorbs the onslaught admirably while Falcopops holds the water dispenser at bay smokes a fag in an agressivemanner and surrupticiously breaks wind in an attempt to confuse the enemy forces. The Falco parries every attack and the engineer retires defeated to prepare the 1st of the magic scrolls and his bill.
Now at this point there was an expectation that an additional prize for crossing the 1st hurdle would be a nice shiney sticker to adorn the frame of the Falco to advise the unwary of it's triumph. The evil engineer cackles sarcastically from his den "oh no, unenlightened one, you neeed to get that in the post from another of my despicable cohorts located 10 leagues hence from here. Seven days it takes, three if you cross their palm with silver".
Bugger.
Undaunted the pair continue to the next quest, where the Falco must endure further punishment at the hands of the roadworthy (MOT) wizard. This conflict was due to commence at 12:30pm and our intrepid twosome arrive early to prepare and ambush, only to find they've all fecked off for lunch! This allows Falcopops an opportunity to prepare further for the conflict, yup water and fags.
The roadworthy wizard (eventually) sets about the Falco with all manner of implements of torture, at one point I feared all was lost when he reached into his magic chest and produced the most mythical of all weapons of mass destruction, Pierre's hammer of doom. The Falco resisted even this, and Falcopops broke wind in appreciation. The cunning wizard had the last laugh as he failed the Falco on tyres not having enough tread and the chain having a tight spot. Our previous crusade to battle the WSB dragon in Italy has clearly left deeper wounds than 1st envisaged. The Falco limps away injured, but not defeated.
At the rematch and with new tyres, chain and sprockets the Falco reigns supreme and departs the wizards lair fitter than ever, with Falcopops clutching the prized 2nd magic scroll.
With the hellish legions defeated the final battle with the giant troll of officialdom looms near Falcopops has gathered together all the magic scrolls gallantly won by the Falco. Apart from that bloody sticker that still hasn't arrived in the mail, despite the crossing of palms with extra silver to get the express service. A seance is arranged and contact is made with the other side. Eerily a voice demands written confirmation of the name of Falcopops' hamlet and lodgings therein. It's written on the top of the bloody form Falcopops utters in exasperation. "Oh OK then" says the voice "it should be with you the day after tomorrow" and it is. The final magic scroll is attained.
Our brave team arrive at the lair of the giant troll on the morning of the final battle weary from their semingly unending struggle, but confident of success.
A darkness hangs around the lair, almost impenetrable to the naked eye. A howl like a banshee split the mornings silence as the doors to the lair grated open, confidently Falcopos strode in to the unknown. He was greeted by name by the giant troll, clearly the trolls power was great. Undaunted Falcopops produced the magic scrolls and the troll read what was written upon them. Falcopops was amazed and afraid at once, for instead of recoiling in fear the troll merely grinned as it secreted the magic scrolls within its robes and replaced them with a single wafer thin scrap of parchment. With mounting anguish Falcopops read and re-read the scrawled inscription, then turned on his tail and fled.
THE END
Poxy power had gone out and because the computers aren't on I have to go back at a later date.
FECK ARSE I'm never gonna get this bike legal at this rate
