Loony Racing, or motorcycling as it is more commonly known, is a really strange business. Don't get me wrong, I've commented elsewhere that I've a great deal of respect for those guys - there is no way you would get me on one of those machines. I'm talking about proper motorcycling here, the Superbikes or MotoGP, those are serious machines going at serious speeds, and it is a pretty dangerous activity.
But just consider. Man in leather sits astride hot throbbing thrusting thing, and pursues other man in leather sitting astride hot throbbing thrusting thing, of whom the only visible parts are the leather stretched taught across his buttocks as they writhe from side to side attempting to keep his thighs and knees tight around the hot throbbing thrusting thing. And an exhaust pipe.
Grrrrr, more testosterone than you can shake a stick at. And it gets better. All the advertising hoardings proclaim the virtues of sausages and lubricants. I kid you not.
On a slightly different note, those of you who know who Miffy is won't need me to tell you that this is probably a good place to go. Don't ask why I've posted this now - I should have done it before, maybe it's something to do with the arrival of the niece. Whatever. Enjoy.