It’s nearly June, FFS.

Where on earth does the time go? Honestly, what happens when you got older? The obvious sets in, like grey hair. I’d like to say that I work on my memory every day, by doing quizzes every day, most of them word games. I’m trying to persuade Ed to do the same, given he’s got a memory like a sieve.The persuasion ISN’T working. (sorry, Ed!) Watching the Chase helps too, not that I’ll ever be a contestant on that. Too humiliating.

I’m meeting a gentleman tomorrow for the first time, to assess his riding. He’s taking a fast-track to becoming an IAM RoadSmart member, so would like his riding assessed in advance of his test. He’s already well qualified, however, wants to be involved in our little group, who are, quite frankly, awesome.

Now, reader, don’t switch off, this blog isn’t all about riding motorcycles. OK, there might be a teeny weeny wee bit; hang on in there.

So, given I’ve not met this gentleman before, how do you describe yourself, other than vertically challenged, marginally unhinged, wired up differently, a distinctive wine belly and not exactly a shrinking violet?

My clue to him was to look for the person with ‘helmet head’. That might not be enough. His clue to me was: I’ll be the one with the silver hair, blue GS1200. That narrows it down a bit. I always get to a meeting early, so I’ll be able to watch him coming into The Smiddy…. Then I thought, what if I am not the only biker there? How else would I describe myself? So, after checking in the mirror, I added to the helmet head description, that I have silver highlights amongst my dark brown hair. That’s the thing about getting older, the grey hair is inevitable. I just had to check to make sure my description was accurate. I didn’t mention the wine belly.

So, it’s been an interesting adventure this year, that’s for sure. I would love to mention the member of staff who arrived off the bus pissed. She was welcomed by our lovely Training Manager, Helga, who nearly passed out from the fumes emitted as she got into the car. Now, I can’t even tell you her name, what she looked like or, quite frankly, anything, other than what I was told, and the brief moment I saw her.

The following morning, she was meant to turn up for induction. Because she couldn’t get in the front door, she sat in the most unlikely place imaginable. No wonder when Helga went to look for her, she couldn’t find her. Sitting on the step, off the foyer, under the Outdoor Store windows wasn’t an obvious place. Why not sit on the fecking bench like any other human being? Well seen she was still hammered.

Two managers did an olfactory assessment on our new staff member (just in case you haven’t a clue what I’m on about, click HERE….), to establish that yes, she was still probably under the affluence of incahol. (typo intended). Given she’d ‘sort of’ turned up for her induction, she’s then deemed to have started her employment. So, after some calls with HR support, we had to invite her to a disciplinary meeting. Did she turn up? Not a hope.

Now, Craig may be able to fill in blanks, however, she was (very politely) asked to pack her bags. As it transpired, that didn’t happen instantly. It took hours. Then seen staggering from her allocated accommodation and doing a ‘trip-splat’ with a great deal of momentum, doing a face plant and ending in a heap on Craig and Cheryl’s garden. Then only time I laid eyes on her was when she was sitting under the tree, amidst the grass cuttings, sitting on her suitcase, grasping a bottle of water. (?).

I was busy, on a time schedule, having had a nightmare morning in Edinburgh, ridden my lovely Smoggy up from there, to have to carry on the Oban in Mum’s car (with eyelashes attached)… see the picture. Now, for those motorcyclists amongst my readers, there’s a biker chancing his luck. Had an HGV come round the corner, it would have unceremoniously ripped his panniers off and he would have ended up in a heap in the middle of the road. I can’t judge, giving I’m driving a puddle-jumper decked out with flowers and damn eyelashes.

I found Ed and Karen at the bottom of the drive, as I was collecting car with eyelashes, obviously in deep discussion, wondering what to do next (I didn’t know ANYTHING about anything at that point). I was more focused on taking my poorly pussy cat to the vet. Frankly, that was more important. A brief chat, with a ‘good luck’ thrown in, just to confirm I cared… quite frankly, I was more concerned about Dotty at that point, you can hardly blame me, can you? It’s that internal prioritisation that takes place. How many managers does it take to escort a newly, not inducted member of staff off the premises? Not enough it seems. We had to get the local police.

So, apparently, the police arrived and she just WOULD NOT BUDGE.When he asked what was in her water bottle, she said, “My drink.” “Can I smell it?” “No.” Aye,water? Not. Vodka, I’m sure. It’s unlikely to be gin, given she was from Eastern Europe. Not being judgemental, just, well, it seems the obvious, clear (!) choice.

Eventually, she was piled into the police car and escorted to the train station. Take care that the door doesn’t smack you on the arse on the way out.

So, you might be wondering about Dotty. He’s OK now, it did take a week and a half for him to be even remotely interested in any food. That’s unusual for ‘Dotty-two-teas’. I cried on the Saturday night, expecting him to be curled up in a ball, not breathing on the Sunday morning. I even called the vet, Alistair, who suggested it wasn’t a good idea to bring him to Oban. It’s in his notes, he’s branded (by me) as the devil cat, as soon as he sniffs a vet he goes into ‘really bad behaviour’ mode. I have to say that I don’t recognise him as he regularly hacks my arms, fingers, wrists and tries to dig his salmonella infested teeth into my skin. Nice. I would love to know what’s in his file (probably, ‘complete nutter, keep your hands away. Wear gauntlets’), other than ‘needs sedated’ on a regular basis to prevent clawing, biting and generally a seriously bad attitude. To vets.

When I came home, on the Sunday, after an observed ride, I was so delighted to see him on his ‘perch’ when I came back. I did consider cancelling the ride, however, I knew that I would just sit and irritate the poor wee boy. His purr button had stopped working too. That was a really worry. This photo was taken when I got back. It was the first time he had managed to get up there to view his policies, in two weeks. Bless. Love Dotty.

I swear, as much as it’s inevitable that Dotty will be in kitty heaven (not wishing him away, of course), when we get our next cat(s) or kitten(s) I am going to make sure they are comfortable with travelling. I would also like to call on Andy to create a top box, with a

Could this be Dotty?

hole for my cat(s) to take in the scenery on the way to Oban. To smell that sea air and yet, more importantly, not a big enough hole that they can jump out at the smell of the fish and chips on offer….kittens last seen sprinting, in tandem, down Oban seafront. There’s a YouTube video, if ever there was one!

In the meantime, I’m flat out busy on my chosen mode of transport and pursuing the hobby I love.It seems my love of blogging has returned. There’s a lot of ‘stuff’ in my head at the moment

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