FRANK WESTWORTH RealClassic
And it was all going so well. Immediately prior to an enforced and very welcome in-patient procedure courtesy of Derriford Hospital in scenic Plymouth (all appears well, thank you) I decided that I would venture forth to gather photos for a short riding story. It was a lot of fun. The T120V was growling along very nicely thank you, and the thirty miles I'd intended to ride easily if mysteriously increased to over fifty, simply because I was enjoying the ride so much. I am no great fan of Triumphs– as I've reminded everyone very many times – but this purple mileage eater is changing my mind, slowly but steadily. Just think, it's already as rusty as the Woodsman, so why wouldn't I use it through the handsome Cornish winters?
But it had developeda fault. A shock, gentle reader, but even Triumph twins can exhibit character as well as charm, charisma and corrosion. The brake light stopped working. I like brake lights, not least because they help protect following race car drivers and their caravans from collecting frontal impact damage when I apply the mighty conical hub brakes with vigour. I'm unsure whether that's irony or sarcasm, but it doesn't really matter. In the same way that last month I decided almost instantaneously to sort out the missing main beam,I resolved to … replace the inevitably blown brake bulb. How hard can it be?
Being a considerable fan of bright lights – if we need to have lights, they should
