The new bike has arrived and it’s wonderful.

I got a phonecall last wednesday saying that it would be delivered a week early, viz: the day following; some hasty insurance phonecalls ensued (300-odd quid, not bad at all) and Bullen gave me a lift to SPC to pick it up. An extended handover ensued – paperwork, an introduction to the bike, more paperwork, an overview of the bike hardware, how to check the oil, more paperwork, vehicle tax, and eventually wheeling it outside, with presentation of a clear plastic folder of documentation.

It gave me quite the same sense as when unpacking an iMac; I suspect that BMW are pitching for the same sort of buyer experience.

I pootled about, stopped in at work to sync-up, got home via a roundabout route and parked up. The next day Bullen hauled-out his partner’s ZX6, we rode up to White Horse Hill where we parted company – him returning home, my heading-on further towards my sister in Worcester.

I got halfway up the M5 before traffic came to a complete stop – the advantage of a bike in these circumstances is in being free to filter to the front of the queue and park behind the nice Mr Policeman in his shiny yellow and white car, with the flashing ROAD BLOCK sign in his rear window. I parked up on the centrestand and walked around in the middle lane, taking photos and enjoying the peace and quiet at the front of the queue.

Then, about 100 yards in front, a horse ambled into the slow-lane.

Ah, so that is why we’re all here.

Some wranglers turned-up and hauled off the horse, and I turned my attention to the beaten-up Jeep Cherokee with smoked windows that was parked on the hard-shoulder behind a police cruiser. A slightly chubby Prince-William-Clone emerged from the back seat, dressed in fine clothes and a Harris Tweed jacket, adjusted his belt, tucked his shirt in, and slipped into the front seat.

I don’t have a photographic knowledge of the minor royals, but this might well have been one of them – aside from anything else, how the hell do you get away with being parked on the hard shoulder in those conditions with Plod swarming everywhere? Who else of that age (in this age) would be wearing tweed and tailored trousers? In any event his front offside tyre was underpressure which I helpfully pointed-out to him, and the police shortly afterwards made a rolling start to get everyone moving again.

Droitwich, visit my sister and brother-in-law, chat, tea, depart, drop bike doing U-turn on incline (zero damage – the crashbars work) and hit the M5 again. I messed up the route and ended up going through Stow-in-the-Wold and Woodstock to Oxford. I dropped in on a friend and watched Bridget Jones over beer and pizza, and Lost in Translation over morning tea.

The bike. It is good. Very good. I have a couple of minor concerns [www.ukgser.com] which are probably just matters of running-it-in and getting it serviced. It’s heavy, the mass is low but not very low, and it tracks a line as if it was equipped with terrain-following radar.

There is so much torque that it will merrily rip a large hole in my lawn with the slightest wobble of the clutch lever. I wish that they tyres were Trailwings rather than the Michelin Anakee which were supplied; I would prefer something a little closer to a trail tyre for the use to which the bike will be put, and the conditions in which they will live.

The panniers are superb, with the single exception of the little rubber feet on the right-hand one, both feet falling off in the house, being found, and are now glued-on using double-sided carpet tape.

320 miles down. 280+ left until I can get the first service done, and begin to let it rip.

I want to get back out there.