STILL IN THE GAME

Blair, Cameron, Milliband, seedlings reared in the same walled garden; such is modern politics: perhaps a short stint in PR, then special adviser to a Government minister of similar background and similar lack in experience or knowledge beyond the garden's walls. These are the leaders who dictate our foreign policy and order our military into war.
My elder brother, Antony Hornyold,is not a politician. He read history at Cambridge and has continued reading while travelling extensively, much of the time in military and Government service. He has gained a deep and extensive knowledge of that vast tract of nations stretching form the eastern Mediterranean coast to the Hindu Kush. His autobiography is published this week, Still In The Game.The book is available on Amazon. I doubt that any of our political masters will read it. More the pity. They might make fewer damn fool mistakes...

OLD MEN CAN'T WAIT

Finished checking proofs for Old Men Can't Wait. Goes to the printer next week. Copies will be available in time for the Motorcycle show at the NEC, Birmingham, next month.
I will be signing copies.

OVERLAND MAGAZINE

OVERLAND is a quarterly travel magazine publishing articles by experienced travelers of all ages and of how ever many sexes there are. Ted Simon is, in heart, an adolescent; Bridi, writing on Iran, is a barely post-teenage student reading Classics at UCL; I am a nearly octogenarian granddad.
OVERLAND is a magazine to collect, to show to friends who have never experienced the freedom offered those who travel by bike; the freedom to go where we wish, stop where and when we wish and at a price we can afford.
Though we travel by bike, OVERLAND is not a biker magazine (for all that technical stuff search elsewhere).
OVERLAND is much much more: it is a paean to the liberty of the open road and the joys of meeting new people, discovering new friends, experiencing new places.
Order it on the internet.

LT COLONEL IAN KINNEAR - A TRIBUTE

Lt. Colonel Ian Kinnear died last week and was cremated today. He was a fine loyal vital man possessed of an extraordinary enthusiasm for life and with a great laugh always near the surface however inhospitable the place or threatening the situation. Life was for living; time was for doing; negativity and pessimism were the enemy; as for naysayers for ever pleading difficulties, Ian rammed them out of the way.
Imagine him watching from above today’s pre-breakfast hunt for cufflinks, collar stud, black tie, lace for a black shoe not worn in a while. The hunt begins with the S word and progresses speedily to Where the F, followed by F it, F it, F it, with Ian up there watching and chuckling happily
The long-retired rugby player vainly struggling to button the top trouser button before discarding the suit in a rage, the broken finger nail as he tries to button his shirt collar round a neck that has gained an inch; leaving the collar undone, trousers bridged by a safety pin and the wife saying,
“You can’t go like that. You’re a bloody disgrace, that’s what you are.”
Ah, well, that’s life – or death.
And so we bid farewell to a man who has left us with treasured memories: husband, father, Scots engineer (always the best), cup-winning rugby coach, commanding officer and, in retirement, Hanley Swan’s rival to Halliburton - not bad for a single life and small wonder that mourners flew in from half way round the world, not in sadness but in celebration of what he was.
Meanwhile St Peter will give a sigh of relief: “Ian, we’ve been waiting for you. There’s a few things here need fixing...”
Ian, with a single glance, will recognise lack of maintenance as the sin. Imagine him humphing a couple of times while rolling up his sleeves. Miracles don’t happen; they must be worked for. Such is the consolation for those Ian has left behind: by the time it’s our turn, Heaven will be a better place.

GRANT JOHNSON, SUSAN JOHNSON

HU MEET AT RIPLEY
The Wehrmacht invaded Ripley last week. Old ladies and children trembled as BMWs thundered down the lanes. Serried ranks of khaki tents enveloped Lumb Farm pasture. Leather-uniformed storm troopers searched for prey. Wild men and women in war paint pranced before midnight flames. Beer got drunk in vast vatfulls.
Bedding in the rear of a Toyota Corolla is not for the faint-hearted - yet such was my fate.
No silver tepee this year and only one brief presentation before scurrying home to Herefordshire to watch our cricket club win the regional section of the Village Knockout competition.
However, and a big however, this post is a thank-you to the Wehrmacht's Generals, Susan and Grant Johnson, for having created the biker internet community, HORIZONS UNLIMITED.
We all, BMWs and otherwise, owe the Johnsons a debt of gratitude for bringing us together and enabling us to exchange information on every detail of motorcycle travel. Through Susan and Grant, I will have the support and friendship of fellow bikers world-wide as I set off round the world in celebration of my 80th year. Thank you indeed...
And thank you fellow bikers for a great weekend, especially Bill and wife for sharing lives with coffee and butties.
Cheers!

RABAGLIATI BENTLEY

PHOTO HOLDEN BENTLEY

A near neighbour, Bill Holden, has contacted me after reading OLD MAN ON A BIKE. He owns a Bentley identical in body and paintwork to the car my stepfather campaigned - see the Rabagliati Bentley on the web.

OFFAL

Gorgeous day. Am cooking lamb kidneys and mushrooms in a cream and Jerez sauce together with a risotto of baby broad beans and chives. My offal chum, Roger Gill, is coming to lunch. We shall eat in the garden.

HEAVEN

My study opens off the corridor by the front door. Both the door and my windows are open. I sit at my desk and breathe the scent of roses. Shade and sunlight on the trees continually shifts in the breeze. Herefordshire is heaven on such a day...

TEMPTATION

Clematis and roses surrounding my study window are a temptation to sit outside with a mug of coffee. A cold wind chases me back indoors.
Received my royalty statement from Harper Collins last week. Sold 1094 copies of Old Man On A Bike over the past six months - good considering the book has been out three years. Bad is a royalty of £0.50 per copy. Have decided to self publish the following two in the travel series as Ebooks, Kindle and audio plus a short print run. Emailing printers for quotes. Started with Thailand...

WANTED: ENGLISH SPANISH TRANSLATOR

Wanted a translator for Old Man On A Bike. Must have sense of humour.

TOY BOY - OR TOY GRANDPA

Carin has turned the old tramp into a vaguely respectable grandpa...

BRAVE OLD BRIT

B threatened me: get my hair cut or exile to the garden shed.
I bought a dozen red roses this morning and knelt in the doorway of Carin's salon on the Market Square in Ledbury, face hidden behind the flowers.
Carin has forgiven me.
I have an appointment this afternoon.

SEVEN YEAR ITCH

Seven years ago I went to the multi-sex hairdressing salon in Barnards Green. A trainee, Carin, cut my hair brilliantly. Two years later she moved to Ledbury. I followed. Now she has set up her own salon. I was to be her second client. She telephoned three days before opening to remind me. My short term memory is nil. I forgot.
That was in December.
I keep meaning to buy her a huge box of chocolates and a huge bunch of flowers. I will kneel outside the salon door and beg for forgiveness.
Then, finally, I can have my hair cut.
I need to do this soon.
Or borrow a hair net.
Because I am easily mistaken for a decrepit old tramp (rather than what?).
Jed is embarrassed - particularly when he has guests home...

JEDEDIAH

Snowboard season is over. Jed has been home a week from the French Alps. He seems to grow each time that he is away.
Or am I shrinking in old age?
Maybe in height.
Not in girth.
Ah, well...

SPRING GARDEN SHOW

Sun shines. Roses break out of bud, Clematis in flower, scent of freshly mown lawn. B has a stand at the Spring Garden Show. She will have been standing all day, sore feet, sore back. She will probably head straight for the Malvern Spa before coming home, swim, have a sauna, chill in the meditation room.
I am so immensely fortunate to be so in love...

SECRET AGENTS IN TUXEDOS

I find particular pleasure in this commemoration of a mission planned by my stepfather, Colonel Euan Rabagliati (see web), given a scurrilous attack on his character in a recent "biography" of a Danish agent/adventurer.
Libeling the dead is risk-free and despicable.



Dear Mr Gandolfi,
I am organizing an event to commemorate the daring operation Contact Holland, which took place in 1941. This operation was a MI6-operation and was meant to establish a radio-contact between the UK and occupied Holland. In order to do this, a Dutch secret agent, Peter Tazelaar, was brought to the Dutch coast by a Motor Gun Boat. He went ashore wearing a tuxedo (in the sixties this element was used in the 007-movie Goldfinger). This operation was lead by your stepfather Euan Rabagliati. He was highly respected by Tazelaar and his comrades.

On May 3 the son & daughter of Tazelaar and myself will leave from the harbour of Lowestoft on board of an original Motor Torpedo Boat from WWII, quite similar to the MGB used in 1941. We will cross the North Sea with destination Scheveningen. On May 5 a re-enactment of the secret landing of Tazelaar will take place on the beach of Scheveningen.
Victor Laurentius

LORD PROFESSOR WINSTON - MOST IRRITATING MAN IN BRITISH POLITICS

Prime Minister Cameron recently named Ed Balls the most irritating man in British politics. Rude, yes. Boorish, yes. Conceited, certainly. But surely unpleasant rather than irritating.
My vote goes to Professor Doctor Lord Winston. Professor of Science and Society at Imperial College, Chairman of the Institute of Obstetrics and Gynaecology Trust, Fellow of the Academy of Medical Sciences, Honorary Fellow of the Royal Academy of Engineering, Fellow of the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists, Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians of London, Honorary Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons Glasgow, and the Institute of Biology, Chairman of the Council at the Royal College of Music.
Add honorary doctorates from sixteen universities, member of the Engineering and Physical Sciences Research Council, patron of The Liggins Institute, University of Auckland, New Zealand.
Forgive me, Your Lordship, for any titles, positions and honours that I have failed to include.
Wow!
Lesser mortals attempt to hold the moral high ground. Lord Winston is the moral high ground. He speaks with a certainty that the Pope must envy. Mere mortals fear to contradict - even when His Lordship is in error.
In error?
Never.
Forgive me, Your Lordship. The very suggestion is a sin.
I will do penance by suffering that utterly confident monotone in my dreams...

BRIDGE OF THE AMERICAS, COSTA RICA/PANAMA

A Spanish biker, Alejandro Menendez-Chacon, has posted on Facebook a pic of the Bridge Of The Americas. It is a railway bridge built by United Fruit to connect their banana plantations on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica with the banana port of Almirante in Panama. Loose planks either side of the rails enable the bridge to be used by road traffic. Alejandro's pic shows the safety netting is new. This is my pic. I crossed in the rain on my ride south from Mexico to Tierra del Fuego - see pic in OLD MAN ON A BIKE. The wet planks were slippery and lengths of safety net were missing or had big holes. I lost my nerve and tipped the bike inward over the rails. A transport driver picked me up and loaded the bike into the back of his truck. See this Blog, July 8/9, 2006...

GERMAINE GREER

Germaine Greer is Professor Emeritus of English Literature and Comparative Studies at Warwick University. She gives me the impression of being both unpleasantly arrogant and conceited. I may be wrong.
She is often on the BBC TV Friday night art show. She seldom has anything pleasant to say concerning the reviewed works of writer, actor, composer or painter.
Last week she panned a film of war time children sent to Australia as researched "wrong" as opposed to wrongly researched. Though even the latter would have been poor English usage. Inadequate or incompetentt might be better.
Misuse of English is no big deal - unless when criticising the work of others in an intolerably superior manner.
Am I a pot calling the kettle black?