Now, we are going down my road of memories in the 1970's.

It was only 50-odd years ago; some of you reading this would not have been born, and for others, I hope it will stir memories long forgotten.

I will try to keep the years in order, so if I get some of them wrong, I am sorry, but it all happened, and it is all true.

You ain't heard nothing yet!

(I know nothing about social media, blogs, or Twitter., but if you like reading my tales, please pass it on to all you know; the more people reading them, the more I will write. When a friend of mine told me to start a blog, I had no idea what a blog was, so with the help of my son, I looked at quite a few. I would have had more entertainment watching my toenails grow. You want to follow what I write, and you will learn a lot. Not only that, no team of 100 scriptwriters could tell these stories; you could never make them up, but they are true, and I hope you enjoy them with a laugh, well, they made me laugh at the time, mostly.)

So...

The early 1970s were the end of the British Motorcycles, BSA, Triumph, Royal Enfield, etc., were swept away by Yamaha, Suzuki, and Kawasaki, all imported from Japan, and far better bikes than the British could offer.

It was not for many years that the British bikes made a return led by Triumph who, as a biker friend said, 'they have out-Japped the Japs.'

(Yes, I know that is probably racist, and I will get 10 years in jail, do I care?)

So as the old-style British bikes disappeared, and were binned (any one of them today is worth thousands), we all bought new Yamaha, Suzuki bikes.

Back then, the average bike for us was 250-350 cc, small bikes by today's standard, which are around 1,000 cc, but they were quick, light, and fun.

But again, it was about style.

Crash helmets were made compulsory, and to be cool, you never used the goggles to cover your eyes like the old days, as the new visors had just come out.

How any of us survived amazes me.

In the pub all night, then pissed as farts, racing our bikes.

However, it was not all fun and lunacy.

Now motorbike seats get cold when left outside the pub for several hours, and in the winter covered in frost.

So when you stagger onto your bike in a drunken state, you did not notice.

But it was at a cost.

Piles, yep, caused by cold seats, or so we believed.

Many a time I have seen a fellow sufferer, come out of the pub and look at a frost-covered seat, only to ride the bike all the way back standing up.

Not an easy task after 12 pints of Heineken.

Now the thing is that if you have a motorcycle, sooner or later you are going to fall off.

It may be because there is oil on the road (did that, or your Bell-Bottom Jeans went over the kickstart without you knowing, as you stopped at traffic lights in the middle of town, in the summer when it is packed, because you can't put your foot down, that was me as well).

But sometimes it gets worse, and you end up in hospital, broken bones, etc.

The next day the news went round. Have you heard about? Insert name here.

He is in Hospital, has anyone got any pyjamas?

Back then once you were put back together, you had to supply your own Jim jams, but none of us wore pyjamas, and still don't. So we had to filter back to our dad and see if we could borrow some for our fallen friend.

We always managed to find some.

(Quick one, I mentioned our local Doc, the one who was called out to Hendrix; well, one guy we knew had a really bad crash outside the Docs house, like seriously bad, luckily for him the Doc was in and saved his life, in the middle of the road. The guy lost an eye and was badly scarred, but doc saved him that night.)

Crashing your bike was a chance you take; it never happens to you, until it does, then it is all in slow motion. Take my word for it, just don't try it; it ain't fun.

I went off a few times as we did, but luckily never hit anything; regrettably, someone I knew hit some wet leaves and lost it, and his girlfriend on pillion hit a tree and died.

I think in all the time we had bikes, that was the only fatality, and he was a good rider only going slow, on a bend, country road.

Shit happens; it took him years to get over it, I don't think he ever did.

Still back to happier memories, well, for some of us.

I vividly remember one night outside the pub; Mick, a friend of mine, had a new bike and was trying to impress by doing a big 'wheely' as he went past. Unfortunately, he lost it and hit Kev's car, side-on.

Now the cars we had back then were basically old wrecks; Bernie's car never even had a radiator, but he could drive it to the pub, let it cool down as we had a few, then drive back home before it overheated.

There wasn't a lot of damage to Kev's car that you would have noticed, but Mick's hand was a bit banged up, broken fingers, etc.

He was a bit shaken up, so we got him on the back of my bike and took him up to Doc's.

In those days, the local doctor held surgery in their house, so was not surprised by late-night calls.

Naturally, doc knew all of us, so got Mick into his, don't know what you would call it, surgery, a room where he saw all the patients, during the day.

Doc never gave anyone sympathy but he was a bloody good doc.

Obviously, Mick had broken a few fingers so Doc carefully packed them in cotton wool and bandaged them.

The end result was like a big boxing glove.

He told Mick to go to the hospital the next day as they would not do anything now and it was better to let the damage settle.

He gave Mick something for the pain and bid us farewell.

As we walked out, Mick turned round.

'Hey doc, how am I going to get my jacket off tonight, I can't get the sleeve over this bandage.'

Doc just said, 'You should have thought about that before you hit Kev's car, boy.'

A great Doctor, and was respected by everyone in our village.

There were two high points in the local calendar, March and July, and the reason was girls.

March was the time that the hotels opened for the season, and they obviously needed staff.

Back then the staff were recruited from England, normally from adverts in something called Lady Magazine.

The questions soon went out amongst the local male population.

'Have you seen the new girls at the Albion Hotel, etc., what are they like this year?' etc.

Well, what do you expect from guys?

I can count six 'friendships' that ended in marriage and

lasted a lifetime.

But for most, it was just a good time until the hotels closed in November and they all went home.

The other highlight was July; it was then that the Swedish students came to stay for four weeks.

This was sorted out for them being allocated in people's houses (who got paid for it) and naturally half of them were girls, sixteen, seventeen, all out just to improve their English.

And if you believe that you will believe anything.

No one cared if they were underage (18) in the local pubs or dance halls; we certainly didn't.

The music at the time was amazing, Alice Cooper's, Schools out for summer, Garry Glitter, Rock and Roll (before anyone knew what the vile creature he was), Hawkwind Silver machine, T Rex, etc.

I remember vividly going to the local funfair, and taking a young Swedish girl for a ride on the Octopus; they were playing Schools Out, up and down, round and round went the ride, and then she was violently sick all over me. Believe it or not, such things can put a bit of a downer on a summer romance and I never saw her again.

Oh well, win some lose some!

Next time... The Red Arrows, more bikes, Elizabeth, and my first car.

Hope you enjoyed my tales; if you did, spread the word.