Its amazing who you meet in bars.
The flight was delayed by a couple of hours, so I sat at the bar nursing a pint of Guinness (the alternatives were some hateful lager on tap and some dubious American and French stuff lurking in the fridge.)
An old guy sitting next to me noticed me scanning through some of the photos I'd taken. I passed the camera to him, and he peered at the photos of the parade lap, where all the classic bikes did a turn of the circuit.
"That's the one I rode" he said, stabbing a finger at a particularly elderly looking machine, "not the actual one, of course. I crashed that years ago..." and he was off, back to the 1948 TT where he won one of the races.
It might have all been total bollocks, but the stories entranced me. I wished I'd brought a tape recorder. The delay flew by.
When our glasses were empty, he ignored my protestations and got another round. I think he just enjoyed having an audience.
