The people in the know always said: “If you can remember the 1960s, then you weren’t there…”
This is probably true for the rock ‘n’ roll superstars – but not for me: and I was there!
In 1960, I remember getting a good smack from my mum when my home made cannon blew up and I burned a hole in my school sock.
I can also recall my super smooth chat up line when I discovered girls. It was “Hiya.” Nothing else: just the single word because that’s all I had.
When I began work as a labourer, I was at the epicentre of the corruption and incompetence which pervaded every part of British industry.
There were tears and laughter but all the time I had motorcycles to save me – buying, selling, riding, racing and inculcating a passion which burned into my very soul. Bikes were me and I was bikes – then and now.
So this is the story which you will not read elsewhere. Not that of a rock star, surrounded with hoards of beautiful girls, or a World Champion spraying champagne from the top step of the podium.
This is the tale of the most naïve young man in the universe, ricocheting from one disaster to another in his efforts to grow up – truly, scrambling for an enthusiastic beginner.
Scrambling For Enthusiastic Beginners
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