It’s for charity. The great excuse reason for getting dolled up and dragging that pristine machine out of the garage on a Sunday morning. The last of the summer warmth clinging to the tarmac. Sunday drivers destined for garden centres somewhere, leaving roads free for fun, and the fug of a thousand bikes in the Capital. Tweed, ‘taches, military jackets, smiles all round. BSAs, Nortons, Triumphs, old Kwaks and things I couldn’t identify.