Nobody seems to be returning my calls so I’m guessing the TV adaption has died on its arse which is a pain but one of the conversations I had with the TV people at one stage was about music and I’ve been thinking about the ideal soundtrack ever since.

The Legion patching party at the end of the bike show was an even wilder rerun of that first Reivers one.

Dazza and the guys from The Brethren were there of course, it was almost as if they were our sponsors in a way. As the only one of the big six clubs with a presence in the region we could hardly amalgamate patch clubs in the area without clearing it with them. We didn’t exactly need their permission but it was a show of respect as before. If we had patched up without consulting them, it would be seen as an unacceptable affront to their authority, a deliberate insult if you like, and they would have to act to keep face. At the same time they knew that we would not want to lose face by having to ask for their permission like some little kid at school. So, it was a little game that we all played to observe the niceties and keep the peace. Like I say, good fences, and good manners, keep good neighbours. So as before, we asked for their blessing.

And Dazza of course was happy to give it.

We took a group photo of the new club, standing and kneeling proudly in two smiling rows in our new colours. I’ve still got a copy at home although I don’t put it up, it upsets Sharon too much. But there’s a framed one in the clubhouse bar that I look at every so often.

Gyppo looks particularly wild eyed and out of it with a manic grin. He was already speeding crazily by the time the photo was taken. Tiny had to threaten to clobber him to get him to crouch down long enough in the front for the camera.

Nobody seems to be returning my calls so I’m guessing the TV adaption has died on its arse which is a pain but one of the conversations I had with the TV people at one stage was about music and I’ve been thinking about the ideal soundtrack ever since.

So then there's Gyppo...

Every club is made up of two kinds of guys; those who are open to talking with outsiders, and those who aren’t. Gyppo had got his nickname from his Zorro like appearance which of course he played up to. A slim swarthy guy, about 25, with straight dark medium length hair, thick gold hoop band earrings, a drooping moustache and usually a bandana, he dealt a little dope and was always happy to say hi and let us score.

You’ve got to remember this was back in the 80s, not like now when skunk’s all around. For us kids out in the sticks getting hold of a bit of blow, usually some Lebanese black, was a bit of a big deal.

Gyppo was OK. He was approachable, he had a sense of humour and you could make a joke with him, like when he asked us to sponsor a parachute jump and we offered him 2p a mile, without worrying that he was going to drag you outside and fill your face in. He wasn’t like some of the really heavy hostile guys, the ones that gave off an aura of being unexploded bombs just looking for an excuse to go off at any second. While you had to respect him, you instinctively felt that Gyppo drew a distinction between some friendly banter and a deliberate insult that called to be dealt with.