Music is the food of love, at least that’s what I believe. With every great romance comes a collection of songs, some over-flowing with passion or , some poignant melodies that tear at your soul leaving you wretchedly broken and desperately reaching out… We have all been there right? And these songs remain with that romance and eventually get locked away as you move on. Then out of the blue, driving in the car or shopping in a supermarket you’ll hear them again and that incredulous love is right back inside you, making you smile or torturing you!
My all-time favourite song at the moment is which depicts my mood perfectly. Relationships break down but its odd how when they do you suddenly realise that everything else around you is broken too; your spirit, ambition and the most dismal effect of all is when it spreads to those closest to you. When pity is mirrored in their eyes and sometimes fear. Fear that you are in physical danger, or fear that they are watching your individuality fading away ( ) …
For me Titanium is my fight-back song and I think we all need one for those moments when you feel like screaming. There is nothing like that song blasting through your earphones as you run across a mountain track (preferably in the rain), leaving all your woe’s behind you!!! Try it…
You know by now, I cannot be stereo-typed so I shall have to admit to not following any artist, I simply love music! is my long-standing favourite, I adore it… I love being alone with no distractions and this song depicts that feeling. Just playing it I am wearing a smile.
Words are my biggest passion, When I’m writing I can unleash the inner me, I can be confident, witty and stimulating even, all those things that have barely emerged in such a long time. And it can even rebuild you, leading you towards finding yourself again and encouraging you with each new sentence to spread your wings and take flight.
My biker days were full of wild music and probably at a time when I possessed an absolute death wish. The death of the most beautiful guy I have ever known edged me into a truly dark period. You know I hate compliments regarding my looks because I know the most all-consuming beauty comes from within and his was undeniable. Anyway my mind refused any injection of logic, I wanted to live dangerously and can remember the moment when reality vanished and destruction set in. Yet I didn’t want out, anger grows until it erupts. Believe me a petite blonde biker with attitude gets major attention, not all of it good ( ). I maintain to have been a little wild yet even in my lowest moments I was never tempted by drugs, unfortunately it’s not always that clean-cut. Surrounding yourself with admirers of bad attitude has its repercussions; I’m still not sure whether it was luck that was on my side, or whether I have this crazy mind that no matter how influenced it becomes, retains the ability to fight. I won and got away!
So there we have it, music for every mood. It’s strange how it has the ability to enhance or destruct your person and how like an addiction you refuse to let if go. ( )
Sadly I have spent my entire life avoiding that crazy little thing called ‘love’ and proclaimed to be anti-romance.  So this song has left me reeling, it is sooh utterly beautiful and who wouldnt want to be lost in it .
My driving force these days is my campaign to save our Coastguards from closure. There can be no doubt in anyone’s mind that they are a vital force in saving lives, particularly at a time where we all pursue the adrenaline thrill. Incidents are at an all time high, not just on our seas but our shores too. With a growing population and a need to escape the confines of brick walls and stress from daily existence their demand is at an all time high. Yet unless we Brits wake up and unite to move forward and fight for what we believe in we will lose them and ourselves…




One of the earliest known Biker Gangs is the Hells Angels who originated in America in 1948.  Their name emerged from an admiration of our death-defying veterans, namely the Bomber B-17 Squadron from World War II.  This aircraft remained nameless until after its 4th or 5th mission, whereby the crew adopted the names ‘Hell’s Angels’ after the WWI Fighter Squadron movie by Howard Hughes.  It was the first 8th Air Force B-17 to complete 25 combat missions.  The Hell’s Angels clearly dispute claims that its organisation originated from a group of deviant misfit veterans and is immensely angered that those who went above and beyond in their duties should be tainted in such a manner…

Biker gangs have an almost regimental hierarchy and their structure is aimed at being impenetrable.  They are apparently dangerous organised criminal groups, I cannot comment on this but I do encourage you to consider any truly powerful organisation and then decide if corruption is indeed at their very core?

The Frank Admissions of Misti the Pole-Dancing Biker Chick!!!

Seems some people have rather an exciting image of me as a pole dancing crazed biker chick!!!  Hmm, shall I drift with that or allow you into my world of gangs and motorcycle escapades???  Truth is, as far back as I can remember the sound of a motorbike roaring past has always sent my heart pounding, my head turning and my mind suddenly there upon that bike, my body refueling with exhilaration as I move with every bend in the road…

Needless to say my early intentions of being a biker were brushed aside and instead a driving instructor was duly hired.  So I complied, passed my test and bought a motorbike, to the great discontent of those around me.  Sometimes a girl has got to do what turns her on…(Thought you might like that bit, well with those notions of pole-dancing!)

I mingled with biker gangs but refused to join.  I guess there were some parts I didn’t like, wet t-shirt competitions for one.  I have no doubt those participating enjoyed their moment of fame with their assets on show whilst resembling a survivor from the titanic but it wasnt for me.  Nor was the way some of those big butch bikers man-handled me by throwing me over their shoulder and attempting to carry me off to their tent or throw me down atop a pool table!!! Maybe you are beginning to get the picture…

I suppose I may have some of you worried about how I fared against those big bikers? Well first off, I only entered those elite biker gangs by getting to know a main character, by the time I became familiar with a few of the ring-leaders I knew I was pretty safe.  Oh and secondly really important point, don’t date any gang members though they will protect you and treat you with the respect you deserve so long as you don’t cross the line.  Girlfriends are kind of like trophy possessions but never as important as a motorbike or the brotherhood.

I was intrigued by their macho image,devout loyalty to one another and aura of power and decided to do that wild and crazy Misti thing and break down those barriers to see what was at its great epicentre.

Luck would have it that days later, I would be cruising along coastal roads in the pouring rain, on my then Yamaha 440 when it emitted a few splutters and backfired before giving up the ghost completely. Though I am no mechanic I guessed it to be one of two things, a fuel problem – even a potential lack of it (with me being blonde of course) or the spark plugs.  I’d barely removed my lid(helmet) when two other bikers pulled up alongside me.  It’s an unwritten code of conduct with bikers that you stop and offer assistance to any stranded biker.  Course with me being female and blonde I sometimes wonder whether they possess an inbuilt radar system or something.  This time however on noticing their back patches I realised that it was my luck that was in.  I had just landed myself two prime candidates from an infamous high-profile biker gang and boy was I going to work it!  Sad blue eyes on full impact I played the innocent and let them go about checking the obvious mechanical failings of my bike whilst I regaled them with that famous Welsh wit.  Twenty minutes later spark plugs had been dried out (with the use of a lighter that I just so happened to have on my person, though I don’t smoke) and we were, all three of us that is, on our way to the local pub to celebrate. Touche’ I had struck gold!

My acceptance by the gang was a long and slow process.  Though happy to meet me away from the rest of the members they were reluctant to merge me into their as it would seem Secret Organisation…

Fear is such a powerful emotion!  I could barely hear the roar of the engine above the pounding of my heart.  Blindfolded and riding pillion on a motorbike was far from my ideal.  Yet here I was risking all for an article revealing the secret truth of British Biker Gangs.  There have been times when I have put myself in some absurdly dangerous situations but this was proving to be the most terrifying.  With no-one to back me up and worse still nobody even knowing where I was, including me!

We finally pulled up and I was guided off the bike.  My date for the night, we’ll call him Al, removed my lid and blindfold then briskly reminded me to stick close by his side and avoid eye contact or drawing attention to myself.  For once this suited me, normally I am renowned for doing the complete opposite of what any guy might expect of me.  Yet one hasty glance  through my helmet flattened fringe revealed more huge tattooed and bearded bikers than I felt comfortable to be around.  Suddenly I was conscious of my vacuum packed leather jeans and torn t-shirt, though admittedly more worrying were the knives, axes and even swords that were either close at their side of in their hands.  If I was a religious sort I would have chosen that moment to start praying!

In complete contrast I was stunned to see that this was actually a family occasion with small children happily running about and their proud shiny headed biker Dads vigilantly keeping watch.  Al, wrapped one of his cave-man arms around my waist and led me into the dark and intimidating clubhouse.  I have to say that normally I would have inflicted pain on a man for such a presumptuous move but my god, this time with my knees shaking and my mind replaying all sorts of sick scenario’s, I could have actually kissed him…But I didn’t!

I tried desperately to focus on the rock band but couldn’t help my eyes straying to the weapon memorabilia on the walls.  The bikers hardly seemed to enjoy themselves, their eyes edgy and most of them huddled in discreet conversations.  Try as I might, with the rock music blasting away I wasnt getting any info.  With courage gained from my delicious ice-cold lagers, I finally peeled myself off my chair and headed for the ladies.  I figured a beating from one of the women would probably be a better option than a machete wielding madman anyhow…

I was quick to realise there was more to this place than just a clubhouse.  Armed guards stood at a doorway which I believe led to a cellar.  Relief has never been so welcoming, the ‘Ladies’ which of course its wasnt branded but instead a more degrading title, was empty.  I locked the door, and instantly realised the absurdity of my situation.  With axes, machetes, base-ball bats and gods knows what else out there, what protection was a tiny thumb lock going to offer me.  They could open it from the outside with the use of god damn coin!  Heels clattering against a tiled floor put paid to my isolation and I made a quick exit.  Biker chicks, however, are not so adept at keeping shtum, and eagerly discussed the imminent threat of attack from a rival bike gang!

Al, ever the gentleman… with me anyway, had a drink ready and waiting and even credited me with a half-smile revealing his gold tooth!   It was surreal to say the least.  Partying the night away whilst under threat of attack…

The atmosphere was charged and Al and the brotherhood’s focus was on a lone guy sitting near the door.  My mind was in a whirl, I had no idea what he had done but I knew he was for it!  I had no way of stopping what was about to happen and I can tell you I have never felt so useless in my life.  I watched as he rose, his eyes remaining averted to the guys and left the clubhouse.  They followed, weapons in hand.  I had to do something and begging them to stop seemed about as good an option as any.   But a strong fingered clamp on my upper arm forced me back down into my seat.  I was going nowhere.

Seemed like eternity before that door opened again and the gang re-emerged.  Al sank a few more beers then revealed the lone biker was a new hanger-on at the club only they’d discovered he was actually from a rival gang.  I don’t know what happened to him, when I went outside it was dark but there was nothing to indicate a fracas of any sort, and Al refused to discuss it anymore.  I should say that yes drugs were in use at the clubhouse, and women who stepped out of line bore the brunt of a slap or a punch and that there were a group of highly attractive girls in short revealing dresses who were actually the property of the biker gang and whom apparently brought in quite a good revenue…  Sadly I can’t quite say that this is different to any secret gentleman’s Club!

I continued to go on bike runs and the odd party for several weeks and earned myself some good stories from it, which incidentally were allowed with the bikers blessings.  I was  stunned as to how protected I was.  They were one huge family and with each day I was enveloped further into it.  Though some things were hard to bear, you had to understand there were rules, like thieves being taken up on stage and outed to an audience, before taking an unmerciful beating and being thrown, quite literally into a waiting ambulance.  Sadly Al, bore the brunt of his lifestyle and one such rival gang attack claimed his life!  I took this as my cue to move on, but one sure thing is that they treated me with respect, anyone who stepped out of line was put firmly back into it and yes they have their own rules and their own way of dealing with things but it works.  They have respect, they have organisation and they have devout loyalty to one another and that simply adds up to the ‘Brotherhood’!

Oh and as for the pole-dancing…  I never did get around to it!  It’s not quite my style!


The Tide Turns By Misti

The Eyes and Ears of Britain

I don’t do ‘normal’ from a small child who taught herself to read from the bible and spent subsequent years devoted to the dream of becoming a Nun.  My best friend being a ginger tabby cat who lapped up all my secrets, the one being in the world I knew I could trust never to kiss and tell!!!  I’d lay upon the grass outside our cottage as darkness would fall, watching the bats flitting about and gazing at those beautiful sparkling stars so precious in the sky.  I imagined shooting stars were UFO’s and would often jump on my bike and go racing off through the lane’s desperate to meet those Aliens us kids talked so much about.  I wanted to go to Space, to touch the stars and escape this odd world that I didn’t quite fit into…

My one wish came true… I got to escape and lots!!!

I gave up digging to Australia when I hit rock and speedily changed my focus to the ocean.  In my immature mind there would be nothing to stop me crossing it and I already had in mind an island, with palm trees bearing coconuts, long lazy days with me as pioneer exploring untouched land that would inevitably be named after, dun dun dun…Me!  I bribed my small bunch of friends into assisting me with my new challenge, building a raft! (Incidentally my comrades were all boys, sooh much easier to tempt with bribery)  I spent long hours studying maps that made no sense to me whatsoever, well I was about 7 at the time…  Several hot sunny days were spent toiling over the construction of that raft before it dawned on me that I lived too far from the sea to transport it, on foot that is.  Without a doubt I knew my parents wouldn’t help me…  Hence plan B, stored deep in our garage was a dinghy, once used on a holiday to Scotland and small enough to smuggle into the car when my naive parents weren’t looking…

My two brothers were in on my great plan and I think secretly happy at the prospect of watching me sail away across the ocean never to annoy them again.  Well, they were so obliging when it came to nearly killing themselves inflating my means of escape into a fair looking vessel!  I was sooh prepared with my bag of fruit, sandwiches that were already starting to crisp with the summers heat, bottled water, oh and Dad’s treasured binoculars…

I shall always remember my brothers wide grins as they launched me, waving incessantly whilst keeping an eager eye that our parents were still out of eyeshot.  My great adventure began…well almost!  Having no oar and knowing zilch about tides or the dangers of rocks was my first major mistake and not being a strong swimmer was my second!  Luckily for me, though I didn’t quite see it that way at the time, a Coastguard just happened to be nearby and had spotted my brothers gleefully waving out to the sea.  I don’t remember much of what happened next except for my heroic Coastguard reaching me at a crucial moment as both my head and feet cruelly met contact with a vast sharp-edged rock.  Oh and being carried off in my Champions arms to a nearby lighthouse.  And just for you all to know I  didn’t cry…

So my dreams of becoming a nun were rapidly morphing into Misti the Coastguard!!!  Except of course with an eye for mischief, I guess I was occasionally tempted towards Piracy with notions of fine treasures and enigmatic escapades…

And here began a deep-seated admiration for our Coastguards which has been rekindled with the recent knowledge that they are once again under threat by our Government…

HM Coastguard has throughout history maintained a rather dignified and almost silent presence, its apparent 200 year history has been blighted by sporadic threats to its structure, the worse it would seem the 50% station closures now planned by our Government at a time when incidents at sea,mountains and shore are at an all time high!

HM Coastguard is a world leader in maritime search and rescue which we can only be grateful for with our tendency to live our lives with a penchant for extreme activities.  I for one feel the desire to break free of modern-day constraints and embark upon pleasures such as hang gliding, mountain climbing and scrambling along deserted mountain tracks on my Yamaha DT125.  Silly girl that I am – I detest mobile phones and when I break free I do so without any viable means of contact.  So our Search and Rescue guys would have their work cut out if I needed rescuing!!

Anyway, flitting back 200 years all our goods were transported by small ships.  Each year dozens of ships and hundreds of lives  would be lost and so close to shore. It was this that brought about the formation of our Coast Guards.  Though to be precise they were originally initiated to combat the ever-increasing threat of smuggling.  Britain’s economy and security was suffering.  Though I have previously mentioned my romantic notions of Piracy and smuggling the truth is anything but…  From around 1822 it fell upon our Coastguards to protect the country’s revenue and this was without doubt a dangerous occupation.  Smugglers were keen to keep hold of their contraband and thought little of throwing our unsung hero’s off a cliff top!  Amusingly, it seems no-one was beyond temptation and ‘noble persons’ such as vicars,Lords of the Manor and others enjoyed the splendors on offer.

In the words of Rudyard Kipling:

If you wake at midnight, and hear a horses feet,

Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street,

Them that asks no questions isnt told a lie,

Watch the wall my darling, while the Gentlemen go by,

Five and twenty ponies,

Trotting through the dark,

Brandy for the Parson,

Baccy for the Clerk;

Laces for a Lady, Letters for a spy,

And watch the wall my darling, while the Gentlemen go by.

In the 1900’s with the Coastguards now responsible for life saving, salvage from wreck and administration of the foreshore they found themselves at the service of many differing government departments.  In 1918 a debate was held as to the needs of a coastal force during peacetime.  This again spun on its heel during the 1930’s when it was decided they would act as a war watching organisation.  Technology however was improved for both safety and rescues and an enquiry in 1931 led to a decreased force, as radio eliminated the need for visual watches…

All in all it seems upon researching their history our Coastguards have been the Governments scapegoats, providing an invaluable service and sometimes laying down their lives as part of that.  In the 1800’s they were called upon to act as naval reserves and deployed to combat Russia in the Crimea.  Again within weeks of Britain declaring war on Germany in 1914, our Coastguards were sent to crew naval ships, immediately putting to sea.   These ships were obsolete and on 20 September 1914 a German submarine sank the cruisers ‘Cressy’ ‘Aboukir’ and ‘Hogue’ off the Thames, resulting in the deaths of 1400 personnel, many of whom were Coastguards.  This tragedy was again added to when torpedoes sunk ‘Hawke’ in October and ‘Formidable’ in January increasing Coastguard deaths…

From the 1960’s our Coastguards have provided an exemplary role warning vessels approaching danger allowing them to take evasive action, or alert lifeboats by now powered by engines, which would quickly assist vessels offshore. Using computer enhanced radar they monitor Channel traffic and also acted as an early warning system for pollution control.  The initial loss of Coastguard stations, lookouts and personnel continues in this century.  However due to the popularity of pleasure boating and coastal pursuits such as my much cherished Hang Gliding and then wreck diving our coastguards extended their facilities to match these modern-day demands.  Rough terrain vehicles, patrol boats and the inclusion of Military helicopters increased their mobility and manpower to provide mobile communication bases.  To imagine such tragedies that will inevitably take place with the demise of our Coastguard Stations  beggars comprehension.  Anyone taking into account the facts provided by our Coastguards and the ever increasing incidents that they are dealing with, will be unable to come up with any other conclusion than that of the absolute necessity to increase Coastguard Stations not close them down!

Being a writer who loves to romanticise her work I would love nothing better than to include tales of hunky multi millionaire media mogule’s aboard their precious super yacht, namely Slipstream, being rescued or maybe bawled out by the feisty Coastguard Misti but reality strikes, as I wish it would for all those reading this article and for our Government who is seriously in danger of ridding the country of a precious force, namely our Coastguards who have met every challenge put their way and who are at this present time fighting for their very survival.  Change is welcome but not at the cost of the nations lives nor at the cost of HM Coastguard one of most heroic discreet forces and a world leader in maritime search and rescue!!

I would ask you all to not only add your name at but to also campaign that others do…