THE BOSSANOVA KIDS "DANCETRAIN" . . . . MY SECOND BAND CIRCA 1987 COVERING MY FIRST BAND'S FIRST SINGLE . . . . NO ELECTRONIC DRUMS HERE FOLKS . . . . WE WERE ONCE DESCRIBED IN A MUSIC MAGAZINE AS 'ELVIS MEETS THE MC5' . . . . SHIT, I'LL TAKE THAT ONE THANKS.

WE WERE OFTEN CALLED 'THREE WOGS AND A DOG', THE GUITARIST, MARIO SPINA, WAS ITALIAN, THE DRUMMER, JOHNNY HIPPOCRATES, WAS GREEK AND THE BASS PLAYER, TERRY STEPHENS, OF EGYPTIAN DESCENT . . . . MARIO DIED OF A BRAIN TUMOUR ON CHRISTMAS DAY NINE YEARS AGO, EVERY WEEK IN THE STUDIO TERRY AND I DO OUR MUSICAL THING WITH MARS' ASHES SITTING IN AN URN ON TOP OF THE EFFECTS RACK . . . . IT'S A SPECIAL AND BEAUTIFUL THING. 

I DON'T MIND LOSING OR FAILING, ESPECIALLY OF MY OWN VOLITION . . . . HOWEVER, I DETEST HAVING MY SHIT FUCKED UP BY SOMEBODY ELSE . . . . OR, WORSE, DOING NOTHING TO STOP IT HAPPENING . . . . THAT'S WHAT I DID IN MY FIRST BAND, I LET SOMEONE ELSE TAKE THE WHEEL.

Notice anything odd about the photo, not including my hyperactive sweat glands, stacked quiff and effete hand gesture, nor is it my lucky towel, or the Peavey bass rig lying on its side, no, its's the fucking ridiculous Simmons electronic drum kit wasting space behind me . . . . I mean, as if drummers aren't bad enough in their own right, they decide sometimes to have a half mind of their own and actually do something without being told to or seeking group approval first, under any set of normal circumstances, things they never do . . . . as 'The Ballistics' we were a psychobilly/rockabilly/punk hybrid act, sweaty, loud, ugly and thoroughly flat out, we were braining it, getting the best support gigs, headlining to full houses, touring the country, free piss, road crew, PA and truck on permanent hire, all the gold we could eat, it was post punk, alternate rock heaven . . . . the last thing we needed or deserved was a hair brained plan by our chief noisemaker and non-metronome, to go out and drop three fucking grand of the band's money on a dinky idiot syndrum kit, but, being a drummer by name and nature, he did, and, I let it happen. I should've realised there and then that the entire shitfight was doomed to plummet into the ground like the Pan Am jumbo over Lockerbie . . . . what I should have done was say, 'hey, Cam, this is my fucking band and we're playing rockabilly not doing Ultravox covers, you either take that ridiculous collection of Tupperware back to the supermarket or you're looking for another gig', but I didn't, and the rest is just so much piss and wind . . . . not that I'm bitter and twisted about it . . . . much . . . . I mean, 1983 was a long time ago and I'm over it . . . . sort of.

A PICKUP TRUCK LOAD OF COOL FOR THE MONDAY BLUES . . . . THIS PAIR JUST TURNED UP AT ROSCOE'S PLACE OF EMPLOY, STRAIGHT OFF THE BOAT . . . . C10 OVERLOAD, PICK IT UP !!!

IT'S EVERY MAN'S BIRTHRIGHT TO OWN A PICKUP TRUCK ONCE IN HIS LIFE . . . . C'MON BUBBA !!!

SUNDAY TOO FAR AWAY, EVEN WHEN IT'S COMING DOWN . . . . A GOOD BLOKE AND HIS FALSE TRUMPET, MET HIM TWENTY YEARS AGO WHEN HE GOT HIS FIRST . . . . FOUR BIKES LATER AND HE'S A HINCKLEY HAULER THROUGH AND THROUGH . . . . NOW, DUMP EM OUT GASSER STYLE.

FROM THE HEIGHTS OF SUCCESS TO THE DEPTHS OF LIFE'S TURGID MIASMA . . . . IT'S BEEN A PRETTY FUCKING FREAKY WEEK ALL ROUND, MORE ON THAT ANOTHER TIME . . . . A FEW SHOTS FROM LAST EVENING HIGH ATOP THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN AND TODAY'S PURPLE PENIS CLEANING.

COME TO SUNNY QUEENSLAND, BEAUTIFUL ONE DAY, PERFECT THE NEXT . . . . PISSING RAIN, BOSS PROBLEMS, WANKERS IN FIVE STAR'S . . . . SELLING LIVER DAMAGE AND DEBAUCHERY

A MORE PLEASANT PART OF THE DAY ON THE VINO TRAIL . . . . THERE'S A KILLER ON THE ROAD

 SUPER LUMINOSITY 6.30 P.M . . . . MY WATCH AFTER AN ACCIDENTAL DOSE OF INTERIOR LIGHT

 SUNDRY COOL SWINGARM SKIRTSTER I PINCHED FROM SOMEWHERE LAST YEAR . . . . LATER, I'M DONE

SURFERS PARADISE, GOLD COAST, AUSTRALIA . . . . THIS IS WHERE I LIVE . . . . EVEN I GIVE IT A BAD RAP BUT SOMETIMES, IT'S SIMPLY SPECTACULAR . . . . RAINBOW OVER A PLASTIC PARADISE

THE PURPLE PENIS, QUIETNESS OF THE EDGE OF TOWN . . . . SIDE-COVER DOWN, BATTERY DEAD, KILLER SUNSET . . . . YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GIT WHAT YOU WANT . . . . BUT IF YOU TRY SOMETIME

MY MATE'S JUST FINISHED THE RESTO/REBUILD OF HIS 1990 GIXXER 1100 . . . . ONE OF THE FEW WHO'VE HAD IT FROM NEW, LIVED TO TELL THE TALE AND STILL HAS THE BIKE . . . . THIS THING SHIFTED THE ENTIRE CAPER AS FAR AS SPORT BIKES WENT BACK THEN . . . . HYPER SPORTS SUZI.

FRIDAY ARVO, THE THRASH TO THE MOUNTAIN COMPOUND IS CUT SHORT . . . . THE PURPLE PENIS TURNS FLACID AS THE BATTERY FINALLY DIES . . . . EFI, ECM's, ALARMS AND OTHER MODERN DAY ELECTRICKERY CONSPIRE TO TOTALLY DISABLE THE BIKE . . . . OBEY THE SIGNS

MORE STUPID STILL WAS THAT I SAW IT COMING, THE BATTERY WARNING LIGHT HAD BEEN GIVING ME THE HEADS-UP FOR WEEKS, COMING ON INITIALLY ON START UP THEN GOING OFF, YESTERDAY AS I FLOGGED TOWARD MY DESTINATION IT DIDN'T GO OFF . . . . YEP, NOTHING THAT CAN BE DONE ONCE THE SPARK BOX STOPS SPARKING, STRANDED FOR THREE FAIRLY ENJOYABLE HOURS BETWEEN THE LANES OF AUSTRALIA'S NUMBER ONE HIGHWAY . . . . ROSCOE MADE THE SELFLESS RESCUE MISSION IN THE UTE AFTER HE KNOCKED OFF AT SIX P.M ARMED WITH THE WRONG REPLACEMENT BATTERY, THE PARTS DUDE MAY BE JOBLESS COME MONDAY, NONETHELESS, GOT IT ALL SORTED TODAY AND I'M READY TO ROLL ON THE MORROW . . . . IT FELT KINDA GOOD TO BE HONEST, FIRST TIME IN SOME TIME, RELAX INTO THE REALITY OF THE SITUATION, HAVE A LIE DOWN IN THE SHADE AS THE SUN SETS, SNAP SOME PICS, CHAT WITH THE NOMADS CHAP AFTER JOHN Q. LAW GIVES HIM THE ONCE OVER AND JUST WAIT FOR THE RESCUE VEEHICKLE . . . . THE PENIS MOBILE WAS A SPORTSTER 24 FOR A WHILE.

THIS BIKE, THIS BLOKE, THESE GUYS . . . . LOVED IT SINCE THE FIRST TIME I SAW IT, TOM ZICKUHR ON A ROLL AND KILLIN IT WISCONSIN STYLE . . . . IT'S A MOTORCYCLE BABY !!

TOM ZICKUHR . . . . SIGNWRITER/FABRICATOR/DUDE . . . . DOS PISTON ROJO HOMBRE

[PHOTO STOLEN FROM 'COC' STORE]

"JOURNEY INTO SELF DISCOVERY" OR "DREDGING UP THE PAST" . . . . OR EVEN "DUTY NOW FOR THE FUTURE" . . . . SPURRED ON BY LAZ AND OTHERS I'VE ENTERED INTO THE GARAGE OF NO RETURN . . . . AND I'M GONNA CLEAN IT OUT AND UP, REVIVE THE SS125, MAYBE EVEN THE AP6

THE AP6 . . . . SITTING SULLENLY BENEATH A MOUNTAIN OF BOXES AND A DEAD TELLY

 DESERVES A BETTER OUTCOME THAN THE FAIRLANE . . . . ARROW STRAIGHT LINES 

 AND HERE IS THE '68 SS125 . . . . ONLY BIKE I'VE NEVER SOLD . . . . IT WILL LIVE AGAIN

 NOS TANK BADGES IN THE MID NINETIES . . . . TANK HAD BEEN PAINTED WITH A CHOOK'S BUM

 YES TIMMY LOVELESS, I DO OWN TOOLS AND TOOL BOX . . . . I JUST CAN'T GET TO THEM

 THIS DATES IT . . . . I USED TO RUN PENNZOIL IN MY TRUMPY MOTORS AND MOTUL IN THE BOX

 AND THE AP6 WILL BE MAKING A VALIANT RECOVERY IN THE NOT TOO DISTANT FUTURE