Features

As you may have heard, there are proposals to cut the noise that a motorcycle can make from 3,400 decibels, at which point human heads have been known to explode, to 74 decibels, which is around the same as a hairdryer.

What's more, it would not only be illegal for a manufacturer to sell a noisy bike, but it would also be against the law to tamper with the exhaust and then ride a noisy motorcycle.

Under the scheme, offenders would have their bikes confiscated. It was predictable, of course, that Richard Hammond would convulse in spasms of righteous indignation at the news because he's the sort of biker who wears green and white Power Ranger romper suits and enjoys riding around on those bikes where the handlebars are all droopy and there are many vivid decals on the petrol tank.

James May is different. He rides around very carefully, refusing to overtake even the slowest moving bus. He indicates with his arms, wears Kenneth Moore goggles and refuses to deviate from a perfectly perpendicular riding position. It's almost as though he thinks he has an imaginary sidecar alongside.

So I assumed that he'd approve of the cut. But no. He was just as vehement as Hamster. It's therefore up to me to be the voice of reason. You see, I live near to one of those Cotswold roads which, whenever the sun comes out, plays host to approximately half-a-million city boys on their PQRSTTTs.

So, apart from a brief break at lunchtime when they all go to the pub for some bitter lemon and exaggeration, you absolutely cannot hear yourself think. Some days, when the weather is really good, the only way of keeping my sanity is by dreaming up new and imaginative ways I'd pay these people back.