Living with an Italian supermodel

I don't live with a supermodel and, the way things are going, it looks like I never will. Never mind, my life partner, the beautiful redhead, surpasses any supermodel anyway. However there is one aspect of my life that is somewhat like living with an Italian supermodel.

Living with a supermodel would surely be a challenge: all those tantrums and unreasonable demands, all those clothes and shoes. Still when you're out and about with her none of that would matter.

Similarly, when you're out and about, riding your Ducati, exhaust singing that V-twin song, more basso profundo than supermodel soprano, everything is wonderful and the experience wipes out any woes the bike may have given you. Even if you are just gazing at it wondering how the Bolognese manufacturer can make an industrial product look so right, all practical considerations fall away.

A Ducati is not a domestic appliance. If you want push-button motorcycling get a Honda. Any piece of thoroughbred machinery needs some care to keep it up to scratch. My own 1994 600 Supersport had 2013 miles on the clock when I bought it in November 1999. Low mileage, no problem I thought but, since then, I have replaced fork seals, wiring to the headlight, battery (a regular maintenance item really), voltage regulator and chain (twice, once as preventive maintenance and once when it broke 30 miles from home). I crashed it once, at 20 mph, and that added to the upkeep costs a bit, new fork yokes needed. Also I had it Dynojetted with a Termignoni exhaust, and had HyperPro suspension fitted. Now the mileage now is close to 20000 and nothing much has gone wrong in the past two years and I've had plenty of fun with it. Was there a point at which "La Superba" felt that I had spent enough and was due a little reward for my trouble?

I was so excited when I stumbled across my 600SS - by chance, at a Kawasaki dealer, 120 miles from home - that I didn't think about what might be lurking underneath. I would have bought it whatever.

Overall the bike has been perfect for my requirements. I only took my bike test at age 50 and immediately wanted a Ducati. The 600SS is nothing like as fast as a 600 4-cylinder but it's torquey, handles beautifully and is cheap to insure. I will probably replace it some time with a 749 - although that would truly be a "Prima Donna Assoluta".

The best digital camera

The best digital camera is your scanner, because with a scanner you can use a film camera (or plate camera, if you are a deep traditionalist). The most interesting film cameras are made out of metal, leather and glass, and even a 1930s camera can compete with the latest hi-tech digicam for image quality, and beat it hollow for satisfaction.

Will film disappear? It looks unlikely; take a look at flickr.com to see how film (and darkroom printing) are surviving and thriving.

The best photographs created since photography's invention were made with low-technology cameras and what we might call inadequate materials. Most of them only had one colour.

A photograph doesn't care what was used to make it.

There is usually a logical explanation. If the weather is warm, you don't wear your dressing gown in the morning when you first get up, and if - a couple of weeks ago - you left your vintage Heuer in your dressing gown pocket it will seem as if your vintage Heuer is lost.

Meanwhile, unknowingly, you have been walking past your lost vintage Heuer two or three times a day, as you pass your dressing gown hanging peacefully on its hook.

Lots of work searching for nothing, chance found the watch.

While I was not watching, my watch hid.

It must be in the house somewhere. I love that watch, bought it secondhand in 1979. It's a vintage Heuer Autavia chronograph. Where are you hiding?

Perhaps not

Roads have never been so good, cars have never been so good, driving has never been so awful. Last Sunday morning I decided to drive the five miles or so from where I was staying into the centre of Bristol. At the first roundabout the traffic started, and didn't stop until we got into the city centre. This was Sunday morning, remember, but the traffic level was about equivalent to a rush hour of a few years ago. By the time we got back from this little jaunt I had about decided to give up my car altogether, and rely on foot, bike, bus, train, or whatever.

Is it over for driving? Are cars now next to unusable? All you can do is glance over and admire the polished titanium brake calipers of the BMW stuck in the queue next to you. The only part of modern motorised man that is not obese is the left leg, with muscles built to a pitch of perfection by operating the clutch pedal in traffic jams. Those with automatic gearboxes have no weapon against complete obesity, of course.

On Sunday evening it was time to leave the West Country and drive back to leafy Surrey. I dislike motorways so always try to take the old road. The old road in question turned out to be blissfully free of other cars. On one long straight stretch I could see no other car behind or in front. On top of this the evening sun shone brightly. This was not driving, this was motoring: in a lovely responsive car (an Alfa Romeo), on a lovely clear road. No wonder the motor car caught on.

By the time we reached home I had decided that perhaps it's not quite time yet to give up on motoring.

A lovely wedding weekend

On Saturday the Beautiful Redhead and I went to a wedding. Being somebody who owns a camera I am sometimes asked to do wedding photographs. I use to say yes and that is why I now always say no.

Of course I took my (vintage Leicaflex) camera to the wedding and shot four rolls of black and white film.

The sun shone, the venue was pleasant, the bride was radiant, every guest was one or more of gorgeous/chic/stylish/dapper, the champagne was delicious, the conversation sparkled (yes, really), there was no embarrassing dancing. What more could one ask?

On Sunday morning I developed the films and the negatives look not bad.

Just a lovely weekend.

Today I created a blog

Well, I need the writing practice, and I have half an hour to spare before a friend arrives for lunch.

This morning my son and I went to take a look at the Alfa Romeo Mito. The wild idea is to change our two cars (Punto and Alfa 145) for one, maybe a Mito or maybe a Fiat 500. What's behind it is that my 21- and 23-year old "children" cannot be insured on the fire-breathing monster that is the Alfa 145. It must be a fire breather because the insurance company wants over £1000 a year to include the 23-year old and won't even consider anyone aged 21. Of course the insurer could be profiteering; surely not though?

Of course this is all a false premise because the extra dosh that would be needed to fund the Mito/500 would pay the insurance premiums on the 145 until well past the point where the insurance company would think that both "children" are a good risk.

But the Mito and the Fiat 500 are both so cool.