DIARY - Tuesday 21st August 2007 'Na then lass, I want you to do summat' The gravely voice came down the telephone, a strong Yorkshire accent brooking no nonsense. 'I want you to tell me what t' 'ell I'm doin' wrong - if owt I want you to follow me, say absolutely bloody nowt 'til the end of the day and then give it t' me straight.' I nearly choked - did the man not realise that for a woman to say 'absolutely bloody nowt' was almost nigh impossible? We met a week later on the training ground and he told me the full story. It seemed that Malcolm (not his real name you understand) had been out for a ride with his friends, some of them police bikers, when a 'jumped up little tw*t in a yellow jacket with the words 'Chief Senior Observer' on his back (his words, not mine,) said, in a smug holier than thou voice 'I am going to sit behind the group and tell you all what you'r all doing wrong' 'Tha' can p*** off' Malcolm replied. My heart sank, not a very good start, should I tell him I was a member of the IAM? Did he consider us all stuffed pompous ego inflated morons? Were sea boot socks and a Sam Brown belt the image he had of the IAM? I was relieved to note that it wasn't one of my local groups' members he was talking about but someone from another area, but still, not the image we want to give. 'He told me I wur doin this and that wrong and he didn't like it when I told him to keep 'is opinion to 'is sen, but when I calmed down I did think 'praps I wurn't so good, bloody 'airpin bends - I 'ate 'em' so I want you t' help me sort it.' Malcolm was a mechanic and a lorry driver, he had been riding bikes for the past 40 years and on his own admission his slow riding was not good, he hated hairpin bends, he couldn't keep his bike on the correct side of the road. Without exaggerating, he said his technique for turning left was to pull up at the junction, make sure there was nothing coming from the right and the left then pull out, using the whole of the road to turn. His face went grey when I explained about using centrifugal force, slipping the clutch keeping the engine revs up and riding the bike against the rear brake. 'No, No, No, I can't slip a clutch - I'd sack one of my lads if they did that in mi' lorries.' A demonstration was called for and with a simple explanation that you can't ride a bike like you drive a lorry; the old dog learnt a new trick. He practised slaloming through a set of cones, turning left and right, stopping on the rear brake, his smile and his confidence grew bigger with his new found skill. Later that day, outside the café in Hawes, bacon butty in hand he said 'y know lass, riding 'owt here is al' reet, but doing them cones on't car park is bloody great - lets go back an' 'ave another bash'.