Finally the snow has melted in front of the garage, so I'm off out on the yam for the first time in a couple of weeks. This must be the longest time without a blast since.......the last time it snowed. I've had enough of it now: walking everywhere, those heartstopping moments when yer feet slide away from under you, gravel and salt all over the roads (if yer lucky), the graphic frozen dog turds that look even more offensive than normal. though in fairness, you can spot em more easily. Then again, I don't walk on pavements unless it's to the pub at night, so wot do I know? I say SNOW, ENOUGH. YOU'RE NOT PICTURESQUE ANYMORE. When's summer anyway, come on bring it on, I'm running out of jumpers and hankering for salads. Even an old dolt like me likes to dress up spiffy, and how can you do that when it's minus whatever outside? I've got wittily sloganned T shirts just gagging for an airing. I'm kicking my heels at the mo waiting to get access to me new workshop, so there doesn't seem much point spraying anything on the Thunderbird project in a draughty shed when I'll have a purpose built spray booth (ok, cls and plasterboard) to do it in a couple of weeks. Accordingly, I'm making a nuisance of meself on Dirty Bobbers, my fave forum, and spending too much time on ebay looking for elusive motorcycle gold, and getting stressed about whether it's entirely right that I should be thinking about trying to make a living doing something I love. Will I get bored? Will I make ANY money? Will I be drawn to one of Teignmouths 22 hostelries on a working day to shoot the shit with the other losers as my meagre profit trickles down the cracked concrete urinal? Who knows...do they teach you how to cope with these fears at business school? In the meantime here's some pretty pictures.