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I feel that I must do all I can to keep alive the motorcycling legacy of Edgar, my dear, late Grandfather, whilst maintaining the high educational standards set for me by my Mama. I abhor naughtiness and immorality.

What's in a name?

I have been enjoying a delightful correspondence with a young American gentleman - I won't say who he is save to say he is a very Klassy person!  With great politeness, and not a little old-fashioned Southern charm, he asked if he might call me 'Camilla'.  I was very touched - and of course would be pleased for him to do so, for that is my name. I have, however, disliked abbreviated familiarities for many a year - since, in fact, I was engaged to The Honourable Charles Royston Nicks (who, incidentally, later claimed to be a second cousin of the divine Stevie Nicks).   Charles was fond of calling me 'Cammi' which I thought was because I rode my Grandfather's Model 40, 350cc SOHC Norton - the 'Cammy' Norton (see picture of Jimmy Simpson's Model 40, no.37, at the 1934 Dutch TT - my Grandfather's shoulder can be seen on the extreme right).


Later I found that it was nothing to do with my motorcycling, rather it was a smutty joke amongst his friends that when we were married, I would become Lady Cammi Nicks.  Naturally, I called off the engagement.

Grandfather, of course, hated being called Eddy.  "I was christened Edgar," he would say, "And I'll live as Edgar, thank you." He liked the German tradition of never using christian names, always calling people 'Herr' (ie Mr.) but even he had to smile when he went to see the prototype Cockmobil in Munich, and found the chief mechanic was called Friedrich Kutter - to be addressed as Herr Kutter!

Of course, some people may find the idea of a vehicle called a C**kmobil rather rude, but in those days decency ruled;  now brands think themselves clever if they call themselves something rude - like FCUK, or CNUT, or Twat clothing brands, and even a designer called Eva Minge;  I can hardly bear to write those words.  And then there is that silly woman, Susan Garden, Baroness Garden of Frognal, who has had to ask newspapers to stop referring to her as Lady Garden.  She should have ensured she married someone with a more sensible name - it's called grooming.

Well, that is enough for this year -  thank you to all who have written to me, especially Brady, Scarlet Blue and Mr and Mrs Hattatt all of whom share with me a love of Cream Horns. And to you too, Douglas......xx  

Electric Motorcycles

I was speaking with a dear old friend today when he told me that Spagthorpe were planning to build an electric motorcycle - to be called the Joule!  What wonderful news, as the Jessops have a long connection with Spagthorpe ever since my Grandfather, Edgar, test rode the Spagthorpe Lightning.  Everybody knows that only 17 Lightnings were made and few are known to survive - many having been re-engineered into Brough Superiors.  I did, by extraordinary coincidence, come across this Spagthorpe Bloodhound in the summer - at the Davidstow Racetrack Museum.

Davidstow itself is famous for being where John Coombs gained Lotus's first ever Formula One victory, in a Lotus Lea-Francis in 1954, but I don't think the Bloodhound would have negotiated its tight corners! Interestingly, Davidstow isn't far from Peter Tavy where Spagthorpes are made today. Because so many of their machines were named after dogs (Airedale, Wolfhound, Bloodhound, Beagle to name but a few), my friend Jennifer once wrote to them asking her to call one of their machines the Giant Schnauzer.  That's because she has a Giant Schnauzer, and she said it should be a suitable for women to ride in a skirt or a long dress (the motorcycle that is, not the Schnauzer!).  She was quite sure that, in her circle of friends, it would really catch on, especially if one was loaned to a properly 'womanly' celebrity. But Spagthorpe's marketing people said that they couldn't see it working.

I was quite surprised at that as I thought it would be a great PR opportunity - perhaps someone like Vanessa Feltz might say on her radio show that she had spent the weekend washing and polishing her Giant Schnauzer.    

The joy of cream horns


That charming young American boy, Brady, doesn't know what a cream horn is!  Brady, my dear, you don't know what you have missed!

It is a delicious puff pastry cone, sugar coated, and filled with cream.  Now there are many variations, but the essence of this delicacy is the horn - and the bigger the horn, the better. Then, it is filled with the lovely light cream known as Chantilly cream.  Some people put a dollop of strawberry conserve into the horn first - some people add chopped fruit, nuts, chocolate, even cheese and craime fraiche.  But for me, it is only necessary to have horn and cream. And NEVER custard - that is not a cream horn, it's a custard horn.

So, how should a cream horn be eaten?  Well firstly, one needs to hold the horn delicately, and not squash it - horns are delicate.  Secondly, and without being too personal, it depends upon the size of one's mouth.  I myself like to nibble at the end, gently. Some lick them so that the cream bursts into their mouth, and others can apparently swallow them whole - as I have seen Jennifer's Giant Schnauzer do!

Unsophisticated young girls will often be left with much cream around their face, resulting in licking and sleeve-wiping - but refined gentlewomen will dab at their lips with a moist kleenex.  However, what is NOT acceptable is to burst into a mock rendition of O Sole Mio, substituting the words "Just one Cornetto!"  The Cornetto is horn-shaped but filled with ice-cream and is therefore not a proper cream horn.

A proper accompaniment to a cream horn is a nice cup of tea.  Earl Grey is very acceptable but some good leaf Ceylon is better.  I myself like 'rooibos' - I think a cream horn always goes well with a good Redbush.

Well done Guy!

I am so thrilled for the dear boy - a 5th, a 4th, a 2nd and then finally: a WIN, in the last Superbike race at the Ulster Grand Prix on Sunday.

He is so talented, and such a lovely boy.  I am sure if Grandad Edgar were still alive he would approve of me throwing myself madly at his feet.  But alas, I fear that I am now too old for such things.  Sic transit gloria mundi.

Is dear Guy hurt?

Guy Martin was at the Armoy Road Races recently, but didn't perform quite as well as expected - no surprise really as, a few days before, he rode in The Salzkammergut Mountain Bike Trophy race in Austria!  It's 120 miles long, and includes climbs of some 24,000 feet! Dear Guy was actually the first British non-Professional rider home!

And now, it has been announced that he is to be the presenter on More4 TV's coverage of the 2011 World Sheepdog Trials.  Oh, he is a talented boy!  Actually, to be honest, I'm not totally a doggy person - more a pussy lover, and I can never see one without wanting to stroke it.  But my friend Jennifer has a Giant Schnauzer, and I am sure Guy would know how to deal with that!

The 2010 TT Film

Whilst in London last week, I went to see the spectacular 3D film about the 2010 TT races, "Beyond the Edge". I did enjoy it although the 3D effect wasn't strictly necessary - the racing was good enough.

I was very excited because my good friend Jennifer had seen it, and said that I had been filmed sitting in the Grandstand at Douglas!  Well, I didn't see myself although I think Grandad Edgar was in one of the snippets of film shown of the earlier races.

It was so lovely to see dear Guy Martin featured - although it wasn't his finest set of races and, of course, he landed up injured.  He does cut a very handsome figure, with a roguish attitude, but I didn't like it when he discussed "wa...ng"; what young men do in the privacy of their trousers should remain a mystery.

I think one of the first films to feature on-bike camera shots was produced by Champion Spark Plugs - "The Throttle Works Both Ways" - and I am definitely in that!  That was 1975, and that rascal Mike Hailwood is featured - the director gave me a copy and I still have it!

The TT 2011

It is always a very great pleasure for me to go to the TT, and this year was no exception.  Some good people let me stay in their hospitality caravan in the paddock area (as long as I prepared the breakfasts and did the washing up) and so I got to meet up with many old family friends - people like Murray Walker, who was a great friend of my Grandfather, Edgar, and little Charlie Williams who I remember as a fresh-faced young boy.

It was great to see some of the new riders too - Cal Crutchlow and that nice American boy, Nicholas Hayden. But, even though he can be a bit coarse and vulgar, my special favourite was Guy Martin.  I did so want to see him win a TT, but he was unlucky again.  Of course, last year he suffered such a bad crash, and perhaps it is his nonchalant bravery that appeals to me - it reminds me of my Grandfather's bravery when he too crashed, remounted and finished with such badly burned feet, only to then be disqualified.

Good luck Guy (but do try not to use so many rude words).

A well aimed sock.

I travelled to Oxford recently for a meeting of my women's group - neither, alas, on my motorcycle nor in 1st Class.  I don't mind travelling with ordinary people but three things annoy me:  people who put their shopping bags on the seat and stop someone else sitting down, people who put their grubby feet on the seat in front - so horrible - and people who use mobile phones, and feel they have to shout.

At Reading, a red-faced individual got on - my Mama would have described him as the 'cad type', belonging to an era of Prince of Wales check suits and correspondent shoes - and immediately started to use his phone. What everyone then received was a blow-by-blow account of his client's internet programme, and quite a lot of loose language.

Around me, people started to become fidgety, and some began to say "Shush!" in an urgent way.  The man took no notice until, behind me, an elderly man bellowed like a Sergeant-Major "Put a sock in it, man!"

What a miracle!  The offender was heard to say "I've got to go - I'm talking too loud!" and immediately shut up. The carriage descended into peace.

I say "Hurrah!"

Do young women have to say 'get'?

From a strict mother and a good school, I learned two things: always say 'please' and never say 'get'.  Today, whilst lunching in a very acceptable London cafĂ©, two apparently well-educated young women seated themselves at the end of my table. When the waitress arrived to take their order, one asked her, "Can I get the ham salad?" and the other said, "Can I get the salami panini?"   A few moments later, one of the two looked at me, pointed at the condiments, and asked, "Can I get the salt and pepper?"   What happened to, "A ham salad, please" and "Please pass the salt and pepper"?   I hope our new, beloved HRH Princess Catherine will lead the way in raising standards.  I am sure her Grandmother would be shocked if she suddenly asked, "Can I get the Crown?"


And to finish, here is a picture of my niece's pussy.