Book of splinters

Driving across Glasgow is pretty awful, it's not the place, it's the ground up traffic and the lack of a solution to unsticking this ongoing problem. Nothing moves for long periods of time and for no obvious reason, the laws of mechanics are rendered unworkable by a mass conscience made up of mechanical machines with their soft pilots, so (as a separate matter) thank you darling Alister for deferring the 2p hike for six months. We shall try to dance in the congested streets at some point to celebrate, trip on a pot hole and so begin a lengthy court case for compensation.

Lenny boy Cohen gets my vote for quote of the day: "Since then (when I was 60) I've taken a lot of Prozac and I've also also studied religion and philosophy - but cheerfulness kept breaking through."

I don't quite know what I mean by "Book of Splinters" but I like the title and feel a strange urge to incorporate it into a project at some point. These thoughts come and go like swifts on a telephone wire but that's ok, the swifts seem to know their own business and I do admire their busy little lifestyle.

Thanks to Paul for the sensible perspective on an insane world presented in the comment on the previous post.

Laugh? I nearly wrote a song...

I picked up the following quote on the BBC website:

" In doing so, they come up against the guardians of traditional morality -such as the Christian Action Research and Education (CARE) group which condemns "unconstructive" relationships based on "the dominion of one person over another"."

The good people from CARE were giving their view on Max Mosley's S&M lifestyle, I couldn't quite square some aspects of this modern church view with "unconstructive" relationships based on "the dominion of one person over another". I do recall however, a long time ago watching an old, obscure B&W Russian movie on the life of Christ where a particular scene stuck with me. For some reason on the road to Golgotha the Christ character, full of pain and being taunted by the crowds mouths the words, "All power is tyranny!", in a despairing and profound manner. I sometimes think that was the clearest glimpse into the supernatural I ever experienced, but it was gone in the moment.

"Oh them that defend what they cannot see with the killer's pride, security, it blows their mind most bitterly to think that death's own honesty won't fall upon then naturally. Life sometimes must get lonely, and if I though dreams could be seen, they'd probably put my head in a guillotine." Bob Dylan: It's alright ma.

The Channel 4 doc on the Qur'an last night didn't help, what a crap, evil and contradictory religion Islam is (if you believe C4's expose). The "old masters" came across as blinkered bigots and the "young guns" as equally deluded and passionately dangerous - the rub being that depending on what translation of the good book you believe martyrs will either get the gift of 72 virgins or a bunch of grapes when they enter paradise. Eh? What kind of bollocks is this and how can seriously clever and powerful people buy in?

On the plus side our recording career has resumed with "Air kisses", "Garden of music" and the strangely ambient "Ah Ah song" making rapid progress on the strength of a two day old curry and a few glasses of white wine. On the negative side Smudge ate a sparrow and spat the feathers out all over the house.

Raspberry Beret

Over the weekend we ate a lot of raspberries, a fruit Ali describes as "Scottish". I suppose that in a certain north of Dundee, DC Thompson and Angus glens way they most certainly are. Once these soft berries are converted to jam they are, in my opinion best avoided. We also watched the film "Atonement", not exactly a laugh a minute affair but very watchable thanks to some fine cinematography and a decent cast, the overall experience was however a little bleak.

Home recordings: Following the Confushion brothers visit I dusted down the mighty MRS-802 to see what gems I'd last recorded (about 18 months ago) and I made up a list. In doing so I had to make up titles as most of the 16 tracks I found were in the key of anonymous. Some of them were actually OK and on the second listen usable perhaps. "Air Kisses", "Pools", "Eagles" and "Sugar" may at some point see the light of day either as ambient pieces or actual songs, you can never tell what will come out of a buried treasure trove (some best left buried perhaps). I also hooked up Dr Drum for an impromptu six track (may go to eight) version of the old Blind Faith (Steve Winwood) track "Can't find my way home". It comes in at an economical 2 minutes 5 seconds and features two guitar, two drum and two vocal tracks. The drum tracks include Dr Drum's fine "John Bonham" super gong sound at least twice, it may not make the final cut. I'm now thinking about a phased guitar for track seven, this amusement never ends.

Road Tax: If ever a government was set on cutting it's own throat it's this one, not content with bolstering a financial and fuel crisis with their inaction they are now set on upsetting 9 million MPV and 2 litre saloon owners by hiking up the tax on the congested potholed and gravel parking lots that used to be known as roads. Great, the only good news being that you'll now be able to buy that Range Rover you always promised yourself for about £500. Then you can stick it in your drive and live in it while renting out your house to homeless Americans on the run from Aunt Fannie-May.

Two weeks since the party

The helium has gone home to ten thousand feet or the centre of the earth, local air traffic is curious but not disturbed and the West wind blows where it will. Two weeks ago the bonfire was lit and it seems to have rained every day since while we held the sculpture of balloons prisoner, now they are free and...in the dustbin.

Impossible confushion

Much of today was spent recording and jamming with the good old boys from Confushion, the multi-talented John Farrel and Fraser Drummond. We recorded one song, a new, lighter than air version of "rainbow" all done with relative ease and in the relaxed and professional way that these guys work. John provided some great ideas for extra guitar parts and a more upbeat Latin arrangement, Fraser just comes in as smooth as silk with a mouth harp melody that could run the length of the song comfortably and Ali was in full "right first time mode" with her two vocal tracks. I enjoyed plugging along on bits of rhythm and lead guitar and that all added to what will hopefully be a good final mix. As it's the first bit of recording we've done in ages it marked a welcome break in our silence, we need to build on this and get the bug again.

Recipe: Rain + cake

After a few weeks of my usual procrastination I am now learning a bit more about the use of ubuntu and the operation of linux on a home pc. None of it is quite as strange as I'd thought it would be and having a stable operating system to work with is proving to be a bit of a stress buster. The time spent monkeying around has taken the edge away from my search for a new laptop and has also given me the opportunity to de-clutter the numerous ancient and unnecessary files that have built up over the past few years. A bit of a house renovation job really and at last one that is giving a certain level of satisfaction that is not normally present in my computing life. Certainly I'm finding that every ubuntu based application I open is full of unexpected and useful features and they all have the familiar functionality and simplicity that MS Office has, but all for free. I was also pleased to find the open ubuntu happily deals with existing MS Office files (on this side anyway), I've yet to try to open any ubuntu files in Office.

A family of crows have turned up in the garden, awkward, young and gangly like spotty teenagers exploring a new shopping mall with skateboards under their arms. Inspired by MacArthur Park I decided to place the remaining chunk of Emma's birthday cake out in the rain and at the very top of the bird feeder as a challenge to the scrawny hoodies. By and large and despite being obviously hungry they seen to be unable to recognise two week old iced carrot cake that has been rained on for 48 hours as a food. I'm sure they'll soon learn that all food does not just look like road kill rabbits or the strewn remains of a Burger King meal scattered across a bleak car park or lay-by. The robins and finches know better and have enjoyed the feast, the squirrels are a bit puzzled and seem to lack the range of acrobatic skills to get to the prize (and I don't think I can take it as it took so long to bake it...). They remain content to destroy the top of the fence while the cats observe from a safe distance.

4 Free, Free 4

Every day life's lessons teach us that nothing is really free. Even when you add up the costs, do the maths, compare the prices and finally think you have the solution or are coming close, up pops the snag or the catch. Buy or rent a phone, get a package, gain a free laptop or a Wii or a PlayStation, free service or insurance or warranty. None of it exists other than as a trap for the hapless consumer who, time after time believes the hype and bites at the outstretched hand greedily.

Thinking however does remain a relatively free pastime, so far successive governments have failed to curb the practice despite a variety of underhand attempts and hidden anti-thought agendas. Perhaps they know that most thoughts if actualised would not amount to much more than Japanese toy monkeys playing accordions or clashing together tin cymbals. The other messages would be a mixture of beer-glass related dreams of easy successful sex and lottery winning fantasies involving bright blue skies, non-UK climates and gleaming but useless cars.

Day dreaming is of course a higher version of thought, not so high up as meditation (a practice that may not actually exist except in some deluded minds) but still superior to plain old fantasizing. Day dreaming is a golden exploration of the mind's capacity to talk drivel but wrap it up in pastel colours and allow a set of familiar and comfortable story lines to unfold before your half closed, flickering eyelids while you lose track of time and location. A pleasant but heavy meal being slowly digested in the dreamer's innards also adds a lazy tank of fuel to the process. The drowsy, fuzzy and numb edge of the experience also provides the advantage of adding a serene stillness that borders on the spiritual but isn't: And it's all possible in a lunch break, in a lay-by or on a flight.

Tuesday things:

I've never run my engine at +4000 rpm.
Backing up "useful" files is a complete crock.
Baby crows are unlike any kind of proper baby.
In the weeks to come I must eat a mountain of cheese.
I am starting to believe that reading Wikipedia will make me clever.
I'm also worried that I'm looking up things on Wikipedia that I already know about simply to gain some kind of affirmation for myself.
Road tax the car on line, now that works really well.

W**rd Ph*s*cs

Sometimes it's very hard to see the way things are going, particularly when you realise that impossible things aren't really impossible at all, they are just bound by today's actual perceptions rather than the unrevealed laws of physics being worked out before our eyes.

Class 1 impossibilities are technologies impossible today that do not defy the current laws of physics: teleportation and psychokinesis are examples.

Class 2 impossibilities are those at the edge of our present understanding: time travel and hyperspace transportation and the like(?).

Class 3 impossibilities are a bit further out still (but seem closer than you might think in an odd, circular way): perpetual motion and precognition (seeing into the future).

There may of course be a Class 4 series, as yet unmapped and even more scary: Cracking an egg without breaking the yolk , getting itunes to work properly, a cure for snoring and making the perfect cup of coffee. All in theory possible with today's technology but as remote as plasma engines, nano-ships and space elevators.

The weekend's most interesting and best things:

The indiscriminate use of curling tongs.

Meet the Fockers for the third time.

Main meals, with wine(s) and puddings and all relatively civilised.

Ubuntu user trials are carried out in the "IS" proving grounds.

Podgy swift fledglings perch of the roof looking cute and hungry.

Dr Who comes to an almost satisfactory conclusion despite some wild speculation on my part.

The rain beats down upon a grey Fife coast as we travel across it's wide expanses and buy bird seed, magazines and jars of curry paste.

The Felice Brothers bang a hollow drum in a lengthy introduction.

Ten shirts ironed as the Tour de France runs across North West Brittany narrowly missing our front door.

Strumming chords and whispering songs by Steve Winwood.

Speeding up and slowing down and stopping, as happens during many experiments to do with improving our understanding of physics.

What lies beneath

Pork and mango curry I'd say, with a little lime pickle, rice, onions and the correct amount of seasoning.

It bothers me that the bulk (?) of our religions were formed in the middle east, share common folklore and imagery, common characters and events and all believe themselves to correct and beyond criticism. So why did bunch of pagan, Celtic toe-rags like us Northern Europeans buy into their imported ideas and worse why do we continue to do so? Why did we fight pointless wars, burn heretics, build unpleasant and ugly churches and form ourselves into football teams and communities that fervently oppose one another with a passion, all in god's name? The answer? "We tend to believe what we're told and were easily led then and we still are now".

A cheese and ham toasty eaten in the garden. Olives.

Fresh strawberries with cream and a tiny pinch of sugar and a tiny squirt of honey.

A wasps nest hidden under the slates awaiting my cunning plan of wasp destruction.

I'm not keen on Far-Eastern religions either, perhaps I'm just not on the right wave-length.

One of these weekends it'll be T in the Park and the heavens will open.

Last week I bought ten bags of ice and have nothing to show for it.

Despite the somewhat alluring appeal of having people fawning before me and agreeing with me in a sycophantic way I still refuse to form my own religion.

Fixing a model helicopter with bathroom silica filler and it still flies.

I don't know either

Ok I don't get it either but if Dr Who is dead and must regenerate is it not possible that he may return as the Alex Kingston character from the Library or am I missing some plot twist or other obvious distraction? Everything must lead somewhere I suppose.

Four days of eating party leftovers and we are still going strong although even I am not quite so keen on the garlic filled olives now (two jars to go), the tiramisu (almost aged nicely) and the various selections of cold meats and cheeses from around the world. The French "soft" red wine still holds a fine fascination however and I'd like a little more creme fraiche please.

Tennis is boring and I'm sorry to say nothing can make me root for the dour, petulant and un-pretty Andy Murray, boy genius and son of Dunblane in Central Scotland. If he grunts enough and wins something fine but my life will not change. I love Scotland but the Scots themselves can be a pretty annoying bunch sometimes. Now if a tennis champion came from Kelty or Buckhaven or Valleyfield, I'd be amazed and supportive in a complex and contradictory way.

Lost (and found) weekend

Firstly thanks to CBQ for "collage 31" (above) which sums up in a rather nice pictorial shorthand the major activities here over the weekend. I reckon that over 100 brave souls partied away till at least 2am, some managing till 6am after starting at lunch time the previous day. I escaped with very few burns and only slight injuries and no hangover as we celebrated a huge birthday for Emma and then a farewell to Emma and Kevin, now bound for one of the colonies (not Zimbabwe) for the next few years. It rained, the sun shone, the wind blew and nobody really cared much once the party got going. Next day I was up at the crack of mid-summer to walk across the Forth Road Bridge as part a sponsored fundraiser for my son's football team, a good cure for stiff party joints and a creaking back. Now it's Monday and I'm back home, sane and in my right mind. I won't even begin to try to describe the condition of the house and garden on Sunday, I'm only glad that a passing group of elves and fairies popped in to clean the whole place up.

P.S. Pop up full size gazebos I now know are less keen on popping back down and into their rightful place in a storage bag. Ali and I struggled for a while to collapse what felt like a scale model of the Blackpool Tower, bending, twisting, shoving and getting nowhere. I injured a few pieces accidentally in the process and became only slightly angry with myself and the construction - I was in control. It was about then (20 minutes into the task)that Ali suggested we read the instructions and of course this resulted in the beast giving way and packing itself up perfectly. The moral of the story is...

Escape to the gazebo

When life becomes over complicated, things don't work out and you need a place to think and chill out, why not head for your pop-up Gazebo, as we do (or will do one of these days). So the experimental non-time traveling gazebo was erected in double quick time with little or no injuries sustained in the process. I wonder if the squirrels will move in?

If I wasn't tired I'd probably watch Glastonbury 2008 on the wall to wall red-buttoned BBC coverage. I dislike the "Glasto" tag, the inverted snobbery, the over enthusiastic pundits and the raucous guitar bands in hoodies and trainers and various boring soul singers in funny shoes. Perhaps somebody good will appear on the stage with an unusual guitar I can admire and when the interviews start I'll just drift away into the gazebo.

Injured art works saved. I may open a clinic for poor, neglected pieces of driftwood and scrap iron art. A squirt with No More Nails, a swish with a hand brush and a quick spray with a black aerosol of paint and they can be released back into the wild to hunt, run and be free.

A dead frog in the coal bucket, a single sad sight I saw this afternoon and then reflected upon. This was followed by a live frog in the rain on the steps, so the cosmic balance was restored. I think it is frog season again.

Nelson speaks out

So the great white Nelson has almost spoken out against Robert Mugabe and Golden Brown is going to strip away his knight-hood (how long has that taken?). Well at least they are capable of doing something, a shame it can only be described as pathetic and about five years to late. It does make you wonder how "normal" our politicians and leaders are in terms of their judgement and ability to react. Meanwhile Robert M and his generals will hang on to the bitter end, cracking skulls, laughing at the UK and even worse than that at their own African neighbours, all of whom seem frozen, indifferent and so bottled out they can hardly say a thing. Truth has fallen (did it ever stand?).

Meanwhile I've discovered that the NHS Cafe (in a Fife hospital) has banned the sale of Coca-Cola as it contains too much sugar. However in a brilliant piece of food policing they continue to sell cakes, sweets, Irn-Bru, Pot Noodles etc. etc. There's nothing like this kind of ridiculous "healthy" posturing to destroy credibility and completely baffle patients and punters alike.

Song of the day - Frankie's Gun by the Felice Brothers.
Meal of the day - Six Pack by Burger King,
Shirt of the day - White George at about £7.99.
Riff of the day - Black Dog.
Athlete's foot of the day - Small red patch on right pinkie toe.
Question of the day - What's on in Madison Square Garden this summer?
Result of the day - 3 - 0 to Spain.

Muffins

A shortage of muffins and cakes but a decent scoop of ice cream.

Stuffed crust pizza, chips and cocktail sausages.

Rain that plays with the hair on the back of your neck under brooding skies.

Mid-summer in Finland, heavy rock, vodka and fish heads.

The wind blows a party and horse trials down our un-named street.

The changing colours of the inside of the compost heap.

Recycling unnecessary packaging again and again.

The postman brings materials, gifts and bits for i.pods from Amazon.

Driving on summer headlights.

Another day at the office and far away puddles.

Things past remembered and the concept of negative time (before time) explored.

A few things are wrong

A few things are wrong with me, primarily physically (but you can never really know the root cause of anything) and mainly minor. Most irritating is a mysterious tiny red blob on the ball of my foot (thankfully not the foot of my...etc.). I'm crediting this new crippling and annoying red mass to an insect bite of some kind. Insects being small and only able to bite or sting are of course easy to blame for things and because of their inherent creepy crawly nature deserve all they get. Anyway I think I must have stood on this one a few days ago in the garden and now it's getting some horrid revenge from it's tiny unmarked grave somewhere in the sole of my sandals. I'm sure this could be seen as some kind of Karmic thing - if only I believed in the power of Karma.

I also cut my finger by absent mindedly picking up a sharp kitchen knife that was hiding in a tea-towel, that little nick hurt like Hell and nearly caused me to forget the Pop-Tarts (another burn hazard - see my long suffering right thumb) and the boiled egg (pick those mothers up hot from the pot and split them with a knife = more pain). Perhaps kitchens and sharp objects are best avoided when you're in a spiral of self induced pain production. The good news is that I seemed to manage to go all weekend without banging my head on anything, falling down the stairs, hurting my back by looking too long at a spade or getting a paper cut.

I should also write a bit about Strimmer injuries, flying stones, thorns, nettles and "objects d'art" that fly up and pepper your legs and goggles and embed themselves in any exposed flesh. Yes I have learned to wear goggles and despite the head strap cutting the blood supply to the brain (not always helpful but the cause of colourful, happy hallucinations), my sight has now been saved many times over. Protective clothing, though frowned upon in France and other under-developed countries has at least found it's way into Scotland. Thank you B&Q.

Karmic revenge also seems to work on the hurried use of any kind of Sellotape. I've noticed that the more urgent the need to wrap a gift then the more difficult it can be to find the end of the tape. Of course many modern aids exist that should prevent this from happening (a sonic screwdriver?), sadly we don't have any. Our strategy is to have many rolls of tape, all stubbornly stuck at the point where their ends have disappeared into some invisible mass of tape that cannot be found and attack the roll with scissors. The other deciding factor in this is how recently you have cut (to the quick) your fingernails. This drastic pruning of said nails happens a few hours after a black finger nail experience (previous posts) and then renders any Sellotape manoeuvres completely off limits. I will not give in to this and reserve the right to rebel against these cruel universal rules which frankly must be the fault of either the fervent prayers of Muslims hoping to confound the infidels or a direct result of my bad thoughts about the hysterical and nonsensical headlines in the Daily Mail.

The most evil...

So what is the most evil thing in the universe (at the moment)? Funny the thoughts you have on a Sunday afternoon when really some shirts need ironing, broken things need mending and the thundery air outside waits impatiently to be taken on a tour of my lungs. Vashta Nerada, various forms of narrow eyed Islam, various forms of arrogant Christianity, various forms of ridiculous Satanism, various forms of Western indifference, cheap cartoons, the advertising industry, oil tycoons, despots, smug self righteous super models and the people who insist on releasing new and unwanted versions of Kit-Kat biscuits. When will they learn?

Today I purchased a new frying pan, a red dot Tefal super pan from Homebase. The packaging promises perfectly cooked food, a robust non-stick surface, it's easy to clean and it may manage to give the owner a happy life in which all kinds of resident evil(s) can be avoided. It can also be used, in extreme circumstances, to batter those pesky Vashta Nerada or Fascist extremists should they come scuttling across the floor of your kitchen whilst being pursued by the food police or green militants. Not bad for £14.99.

Bad Wolf

Wolf City: Is it the best Prog-Rock album ever? Is it better than a resprayed black Delorean with 666 number plate? Is it a predestined piece of prophetic rock heavy metal treason to add further weight to the "Bad Wolf" in Dr Who? Possibly and probably and in effect none of these. The Bad Wolf in Dr Who is a recurring theme, a metaphor and a person, a landmark and a milestone. The clues are of course hidden in the detail and graffiti of every episode like a giant conspiracy formulated by Russell T Davies, you have to keep your eyes wide open people. It is the end of the world as we know it and very little shall be revealed.

Funnily enough tonight during the Dr Who episode we experienced a series of time travel problems brought about by using Sky plus and pausing real-time TV. We inadvertently created a time paradox by stalling on a Euro 2008 prompt whilst recording. This resulted in us having to fast forward the recording whilst it was still recording, as we had had lost the real time (back in time by 5 minutes) version. Confused? You should be. Shine on Mr Wolf.

"Oh Rose, thou art sick! The invisible worm That flies in the night, In the howling storm, Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy."

Delorean Blues

Some months after it was released I've discovered the Neon Neon album "Stainless Style". A concept album about the life of the great, misunderstood, crooked crook, visionary and egotist that was John Delorean. I can't think of a better idea for a themed album in any musical genre. Of course this one is all over the place as SFA meets disco, rap and electronica with a few Star Wars references and a sweaty Raquel Welch thrown in. It's dark, seedy, stained, stainless and truly bizarre. Having heard it a few times now (I quite enjoyed it on a new VW Passat's stereo dawdling up a crammed M40) I'm almost prepared to not give up on the music business.

Man on the moon

The logic of having faith often escapes me but then I do believe that NASA did put a man on, in and around the moon a lifetime ago. Those cigarette smoking, crew cut scientists of the sixties using electrical equipment averaging the size of a cast iron refrigerator and tons of explosive fuel actually put a man on the moon. That I'm astounded by this, believing in it and am puzzled by it, all at the same time says a little (or a lot) about my age and state of mind. Sometimes you look a technology and think, where did it all go so wrong for us?

A good example of simple complication is that ultra reliable process of purchasing goods on the the Internet. Pay your dosh and wait on the delivery. All fine until you're not in to sign for the brown shiny package and it's a hike to the depot and a gallon of unleaded to collect that elusive prize held in check by a load of grumpy guys all on the minimum wage. That in turn reminds me of my ambivalent relationship with petrol. I use it but never see it, never spill it, touch it, only tug at it and irritate it with my right foot to spray it through some tiny fireman's hose into a blazing engine and it's converted into energy and blue smoke and gone leaving only a ghostly image on my credit card, like a frozen imprint on the moon's face. You only know what you've got when it's gone and when you have created a carbon footprint far bigger than Neil Armstrong's.

Fevered memories of the day and significant things:

Tie of the day - blue speckled M&S now a little frayed at the bottom.
Coffee of the day - first cup of Gold Blend, at work at 0745.
Meal of the day - an Ali special of rice, salami and various left overs and vegetables.
Song of the day - "Useless Money" by Impossible songs (in development).
Drink of the day - Grouse + 4 ice cubes.
Goal of the day - Ballack in 49 minutes against Austria.
Chord of the day - Cmj7 as used in many songs by the Velvet Underground.
Websearch of the day - How to buy live stock.
Bank balance of the day - £97.80.

Indiana Jones and the Skull of Crystal Tips

It's a really bad film but it's a really good film in the way that Star Wars III was and James Bond can be and the last Chili Peppers album wasn't. So Indiana Jones returns to the screen older, more tired, not much wiser and with the voice of a 65 year old, grumpy action-hero. The battle is against those eternal enemies of the common American man, aliens and Reds so it's a no-brainer on who wins out...cue the intelligent troupe of monkeys, the indigenous natives with blow-pipes who never win and the ironic prairie dogs.

For Father's Day I ventured out into the wide world (with my thirteen year olds) to view local classic cars, buses, motor cycles, steam engines and general motorized junk from ages past, some of it even older than me, all on show at Lathalmond in Fife. I was in my greasy element staring into restored interiors, under blasted and painted bonnets and admiring huge and tiny engines, all robbed by enthusiasts of the chance to rest at the end of a long life. In the classic car world, once you dodge the compactor it's an eternal life of shows, pampering, waxing and no road tax for you. What did I like best (apart from yet another buffalo burger and a melting 99)?

A gleaming 1969 Wolseley 16/60 exactly the same as my first car (but it never did gleam).
Seeing open ended buses and describing to my kids how you could leap onto and off them while they moved - exhilarating and dangerous as I recall.
A VW micro bus in Irn-Bru colours - oh yes I want one.
A yellow Ferrari Dino - not really practical at all.
A Triumph Tiger motorcycle (not unlike my first mc).
A great, puffing traction engine that smelt like some kind of weird coal burning heaven.
3 Ford Mustangs in a row.
An old green lawnmower and a red pedal car.