I was given an already well and truly second hand Belstaff Trailmaster by an older, kinda 'mentor' mate of mine back in 1991 or '92, [thanks heaps Buddha], Norm had 'outgrown' it and I was still fairly trim and was only too happy to accept this awesome hand-me-down . . . . and being a rider of ye old Triumph Bonneville, there was a certain degree of appropriateness, especially when every man and his bull terrier were trying to look like Ah-Nold out of T2, fuck yes, I never wanted to look like 'bikie boy', and still don't really. I got unbelievable service out of that thing, rain, cold, no drama, except a couple of wee holes which I had patched . . . . never let me down once, brilliant !! Practical as all get out, it was designed to do a job, and that's what it did.
Now, twenty years and girthsome inches down life's highway, the old, re-waxed, patched, frayed at the sleeves, oily, stained, grubby Belstaff is still kicking arse but now, this Round Count has done the outgrowing, [got fat] and it simply doesn't fit, fucking tragic actually . . . . the problem is, what do I replace it with ? I don't like my leather jacket for wet weather gear, and it's now twenty years old, I won't wear nylon, dayglo striped, spaceman gumby suits and I want something that will last another forty years just like the old hand-me-down Belstaff did.
To cut to the chase . . . . I've spent the best part of the last two months searching allover the interweb for it's replacement, some stuff has been really cool and almost got me to buy it, but all the time I kept coming back to Holdens in the U.K and looking at their Belstaff range, hmmmm . . . . BUT, and it's a big motherfucker of a 'but' . . . . just like Choppers, Harley's, Triumphs, Red Wings, Vans and half the other shit I've always loved, Belstaff has now attained 'High End Fashion' status and is now seen on every big buck mega star and desperate wannabe across the planet . . . . and McQueen never even wore one, it was a Barbour !!! Oh yeah, I forgot, they are now made in Italy, not that there is anything wrong with that for a moment.
Despite all of that, tonight I've made my decision, I'm going to fork out the coin, it's shitloads less than the fuck off prices at the bloody Belstaff site, [ha ha ha, an outrageous scam that is !!] and invest in a Tourist Trophy model that should see me through until I'm confined to a wheelchair with the colostomy bag option . . . . just as I knew buying a new skirtster would make me the object of public derision and scorn, so I realise that the donning of the Belstaff will instantly consign me to the 'scenester' cocksmoker basket . . . . but I guess anyone who has been reading this blog shindig of mine over the last half year or so will know . . . . I don't give a fuck what others opinions are, I know my choice and my decision is sound, and when I'm slopping along on the scoot in a mid winter's downpour, the fact that I'll be dry and warm will be comfort enough to justify my reasoning.
Now, twenty years and girthsome inches down life's highway, the old, re-waxed, patched, frayed at the sleeves, oily, stained, grubby Belstaff is still kicking arse but now, this Round Count has done the outgrowing, [got fat] and it simply doesn't fit, fucking tragic actually . . . . the problem is, what do I replace it with ? I don't like my leather jacket for wet weather gear, and it's now twenty years old, I won't wear nylon, dayglo striped, spaceman gumby suits and I want something that will last another forty years just like the old hand-me-down Belstaff did.
To cut to the chase . . . . I've spent the best part of the last two months searching allover the interweb for it's replacement, some stuff has been really cool and almost got me to buy it, but all the time I kept coming back to Holdens in the U.K and looking at their Belstaff range, hmmmm . . . . BUT, and it's a big motherfucker of a 'but' . . . . just like Choppers, Harley's, Triumphs, Red Wings, Vans and half the other shit I've always loved, Belstaff has now attained 'High End Fashion' status and is now seen on every big buck mega star and desperate wannabe across the planet . . . . and McQueen never even wore one, it was a Barbour !!! Oh yeah, I forgot, they are now made in Italy, not that there is anything wrong with that for a moment.
Despite all of that, tonight I've made my decision, I'm going to fork out the coin, it's shitloads less than the fuck off prices at the bloody Belstaff site, [ha ha ha, an outrageous scam that is !!] and invest in a Tourist Trophy model that should see me through until I'm confined to a wheelchair with the colostomy bag option . . . . just as I knew buying a new skirtster would make me the object of public derision and scorn, so I realise that the donning of the Belstaff will instantly consign me to the 'scenester' cocksmoker basket . . . . but I guess anyone who has been reading this blog shindig of mine over the last half year or so will know . . . . I don't give a fuck what others opinions are, I know my choice and my decision is sound, and when I'm slopping along on the scoot in a mid winter's downpour, the fact that I'll be dry and warm will be comfort enough to justify my reasoning.
ey up youth, so, it's over then? you and me? i thought we might have a 'little something' going on, but no, you are just like all the rest of the boy's, i thought you were something 'special' in my life, but, you have cast me aside like a used tissue and jumped on the scenester bandwagon, what next for 'us'? overlong facial hair? hunting down original selvedge? measuring 'our' turn-up's? bastard! you used me whitey, i can't even utter 'her' name, belstaff, i hope you and 'that bitch' are happy now....... [xxx]
ReplyDeleteDear . . . what was your name . . . whoever you were, friendship and loyalty are but shallow, ephemeral companions, my pursuit of the 'in crowd' and the 'happening scene' are all that matters to me. My desire to live a life unfettered by morals, integrity and self respect is paramount, I harbour no regrets and this callow man is not for turning. I wish I could say it was nice knowing you but my memory of you is lost to me forever as I surge forward with my empty, fashionista soul as my constant companion, farewell to you and my backbone, hello 'Corporate Man'. [XXX]
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