ger-land clad flesh and are loudly bemoaning climate change.
Well, some of us are, anyway. Not me, yesterday I decided to partake of some of the finest air conditioning available and wheeled out the larger of my motorcycles to run an errand in a nearby town. A quick blat down the main roads, deal with my task for the morning and then off I went into the maze of minor roads that connects the dots in the British countryside.
There was a time when I was an all-weather commuting motorcyclist and this machine was my main transport. Now I'm that most derided of riders, the weekend biker. The shame! On summer weekends you can't move for weekend bikers on British A roads, they're the ones in brightly-coloured skin-tight leather race suits (And they say transvestites look ridiculous!) on sportsbikes taking insane risks and riding like nutters. Fortunately they balk at the challenging corners, potholes and rural detritus of the minor roads so aside from a short detour to rev the tits off my machine as I passed the home of a well-known and annoying television motoring presenter I was able to leave them behind.
Aimless riding on minor roads in the heat of summer is a true delight. Fast enough to keep cool but not fast enough to miss anything, you experience the sensations of the countryside in a way that car drivers never can. I have yet to pass through a sun-drenched village in a car and be assaulted by the smell of the climbing roses that adorn the houses, for instance.
I parked the bike in a field entrance next to a linseed crop in full flower and just sat for a while against a stone wall. I thought I saw a bit of grease leaking round the rear hub where I'd had the wheel off last year and leaned in to investigate, managing to burn my arm on the hot silencer. Damn.
I'm off on the bike again today, heading off for lunch with friends. Might as well make the best of another fine day. Enjoy your Sunday, whatever it is you're doing!