As the wind hunts around the streets, too lazy to go round you, so it just slices straight through, a biking day it ain't. Yesterday's photo shoot spat me down the heads of the valleys road, to a bleak industrial estate. On in to pretty Abergavenny, where an unlikely duck-egg-blue lot next to the railway station provided the second location of the day.

Yesterday they were hollow and empty former businesses, locked up, cocked up remnants of over ambition and over borrowing. But someone wanted their money back and down came the dominoes. Tomorrow they'll be born again with new owners and new jobs, some glimmer in the gloom for the poor buggers who were laid off Friday.

As I sweep into the carpark, two hardy bikers braving the chill are leaning on the railings and shooting the breeze. A tricked up tart of a harley barks into unexpected life through open pipes right next to them and one jumps so high and hard that I swear I can see daylight under his feet. He see's my laugh through the visor and grins along with the joke.

A toasted bacon and egg butty with a hot sweet tea warms the cockles.

Need to head to the pub from here - strictly business of course. Hook up with a GSXR and a 2 up suzook just past the town limits and harass the A40 for the next 25 miles to Brecon as we duck, dive and drift through stuttering traffic. I'm hard on him deep into the bends, causing him to thruppenny bit the corners. Shouldn't be looking in the mirrors sonny - watch the frigging road!

Longer straights show his horsepower advantage, and the by-pass gives him a chance to show off, 130+ and the 2 up Yellow peril sneaks through between my right shoulder and the crash barrier - damn the boy's keen to get past!

They slip South over the beacons and I stay on course West. Not much in the way as the trees blur into green corridor and all focus is on the road. 100mph flip flopping and swooping through red kite country. 100% concentration, focus and rhythm, in the groove, in the zone, flash past reservoirs high in the mountains, far horizon glaring and thousand yard staring.

Ease off the noise and breathe again as we drop out of the sky and back into the fertile valley, next stop a Butty Bach with a giggling landlord, landlady stomps around the upstairs, fuming at a PC I had hoped to work on..another day then? "yeah - 'er 'eds fucked like". Fag and "I 'ad one of them" from the other ciggy outcasts outside as she tink-tinks cool.

And this is work? bring on the overtime!!!