Motor-icicle.

The little ball of bell metal exploded in the ill depths of morning.

Cold nagging I pushed my motorcycle onto the driveway & attempted
to depress the clutch & fire the 1959 mechanics into the roar of a big
machine.

Only the fucking clutch had frozen into degrees only known of Narnia.

Brute force & complete ignorance resulted into the clutch cable objecting
by pinging from it's complex housing leaving me in a state of blue fingered
contemptible self-pity.

With a hurried movement of metal 'put putting' I launched myself forward
only to discover various components of direction had also frozen themselves
solid; resorting to hand signals, blind faith & sheer incomprehensible stupidity.

Face pain, fogged visor & Jack Frost gripping hands I made the ill advised
journey to work.

The roads at least seemed mostly acceptable, the only mode of road giving me
worry & strife being the ice-rink section which I proceeded to hit with some
overly enthusiastic sense of self preservation...

..only to find myself at complete loss of control & continued to slide sideways
in a rather graceful movement of draconian deluge... stopping only when I skillfully
hit a bit of not icy road...

Heart lost overboard & dog eared Bible swallowed 'holy' - I managed to complete
the journey without what now seemed a compulsory death situation.

Factory life for you.

I feel somehow to be surviving by National Lottery odds.






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