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Funny how more and more petrolheads claim to hate Top Gear, and watching last night's latest Top Gear I can understand why - it ceased to be a car show years ago. But so what? Dr Girlie Nice-Smile and the kids laughed out loud, and it's one of the few TV experiences the teenagers will share with Mum and Dad. So perfect Sunday evening family viewing, despite leaving most 40 and 50-something blokes as grumpy as presenters Clarkson's stage personae.


But I do understand this; after years of being left alone with my love of Italian bikes in general and Ducati in particular in 1995 I succumbed to the urge to buy a 916. Fantastic bike (as long as you could take the riding position. And grumpiness in traffic...Or town. And the services costs.) except for one major failing - both the usual sportsbike brigade AND their detractors assumed I'd bought it because some magazine said it was the latest hot-shot must-have. Oddly enough if I was to buy a race-rep Ducati today, I'd get a 999 just to climb back into a hole to hide in while enjoying a bike nobody else appreciates. Like the Manic Street Preachers sang, there's a certain joy in Motorcycle Emptiness