I met up with my bro in our usual in Clapham yesterday evening. After the horrors of the day I needed to purge myself with a pal so at exactly 6pm I walked out of the sunshine and into the cool dark bar. My brother had just arrived.

We got chatting about the matters of the day and in between a few home truths and general concerns about ones welfare he mentioned the blog posted about my grandfathers 100th. In short he felt it had ignored the ‘family’ aspect of it. I‘ve decided to break a cardinal rule and allow someone to influence this blog.

My family is, like most other families, a collection of people thrown together by a combination of love, circumstance and fate. For example, my Grandfather didn’t approve of my parents marriage, my mum had grown up in an environment that could be described as quite posh, whereas my dad was a lower middle class chap with an honest trade. Over the weekend, at times, I felt that some of the wider family members still look down on our side of family but because none of us genuinely give a shit it serves to make us appear common and, in addition, arrogant – sort of working class hero types. Which of course we’re not.

On the other side of the family there were some half brothers (still not clear on this part) and relative offspring who were so tenuously connected I didn’t even know they existed, yet they referred to my grandfather in the same way as I did, which was odd. As my dad never had any siblings all of my aunties, uncles, cousins etc., are on my mums side, my immediate family are literally the minority and at times it felt like that. For the most part though the whole affair was very congenial and thoroughly enjoyable as outlined in Monday’s blog, indeed, the actual fact so many different people are able to meet under the same roof as ‘family’ to celebrate an occasion without resorting to bickering and sniping, on the contrary, smiles, kisses, and handshakes is itself an achievement that made my grandfather so very proud over the weekend. And so he should be.

I missed out something in yesterday’s blog too. Prior to ripping my battery from it’s motorcycle moorings in order to charge it, Cunt appeared on a bicycle, doing his usual ‘Has anyone seen Piqued..’ etc., I was in such a state of abject rage I barely noticed him, indeed, I was actually resilient to his fuckwittery. Noticing that I was upset he tried to help. He casually enquired if the radiator was alright… (????) I grunted a ‘yes’, where upon he suggested that my radiator should be full of holy water and proceeded to bless my bike in cod Latin whilst making the sign of the cross…. I shall say no more on this for fear of putting my fist through my monitor.

After I got back from the pub I watched Horizon on BBC2 which was all about how this multi billion pound machine under the ground in Geneva has been built to discover how the universe started, or rather, what happened less than one billionth of a second after the big bang. It was head fucking stuff. The experiment is to be conducted in November this year, the only downside is that the machine has the potential to cause a black whole which could result in earth being sucked into it…

On a lighter note I remember being told by a physicist that for every grain of sand on every beach on the world there were, at least, a billion, billion more stars. Yesterdays show informed us that it takes 4 years the light of the nearest star to reach us though some go back billions of trillions of years.

Fuck me.

Right, today’s offing is for the laydeeeez as an antidote to yesterdays rather macho link (laydeeez who like Dead Kennedys)

I’m in a mood so foul you could scoop it off the pavement.

Last night was pleasant enough with Frank in the pub. I got home at a reasonable hour and subjected myself to an evening of TV, books and the odd drop of Chianti after eating pizza. I went to bed after the snooker, which I like to enjoy as universal physics on baize (via the power of skunk).

This morning I awoke at 9 as I had a dentist appointment at 10. I checked my emails, drained a cup of tea and prepared myself for the short ride to the inevitable bollocking I’d receive from the hygienist. Suited and booted I removed the bike cover, switched on the ignition, checked the system… checked the sys… nothing. The battery was as flat as a witch’s tit. I can only assume I’d left the parking lights on, an easy mistake to make but after riding for 20 years on her majesty’s fucking roads I really should know better.

The Triumph has a wonderful alarm system. It’s really great. Only one snag, when the battery is fucked it’s impossible to remove the battery in order to charge it without a high pitched squealing alarm that is so fucking irritating they should use it in Guantanamo bay to torture innocent terror suspects where they’d gladly confess to the sinking of The Titanic…

What to do? I ran back into the flat and called the toothsome one, made another appointment for an hour later as I’d just had a brainwave.

I rushed down the road to a local autofactors and purchased a set of jump leads (£15). I pushed the bike into position and connected the m/c battery to the one under the bonnet of my hooligan white van. Ignition on, systems set, the bike fired into life. I left the bike running for a few minutes whilst I tidied up and returned into my knicker-wetting bike gear. Great, I was going to make it in comfortable time for my appointment. I clicked the bike into first, released the clutch and was just about to give the bike a right handful when it fucking stalled. I attempted to re-ignite the engine but there wasn’t enough juice in the battery.

Almost in tears I ran upstairs, hit redial on my phone and yelled at the dentist receptionist. ‘Piqued here, my bike won’t fucking start, I’m not going to make it…’ There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. ‘Twenty-five pounds Mr. Piqued, I waived the last cancellation fee as we had a slot within one hour of your failure to arrive at the designated time, I cannot make the same concession twice…’ Wordlessly I hurled my phone at the carpet, which duly came apart both to my satisfaction and to my utter disbelief. An own goal if there ever was one.

After a minute of psychotic anger I collected the bits of my phone, which have come together as Frakenphone. It works, just, but looks as if it’s been through the digestive system of a Hippo.

I’m now officially ‘working from home’, the blinds are drawn in order to prevent any of the cheeriness of the bright sunny weather getting anywhere near my furious face.

Apologies for the late post, you know why.