- Posted on
There are some things in life that simply refuse to behave. The British summer. Cats. Me. And Triumph motorcycle engines from the 1960s. But if you've ever lived with Multiple Sclerosis, you'll know there’s a kind of kinship between these two bastards one mechanical, the other neurological both eager to ruin your day, soil your pants, and leave you stranded in the middle of nowhere, questioning your life choices.
So, for those nostalgic for the golden age of British engineering disasters, and those unfortunate enough to have MS riding pillion in their spine, here’s a lovingly bitter side-by-side breakdown.
| Feature | Multiple Sclerosis | Triumph Engine (1960s) |
|---|---|---|
| Origin | Immune system says, “Let’s attack the brain!” | Built by blokes with tea in one hand, doom in the other. |
| Leaking fluids? | Oh God yes. From places you didn’t know had valves. | Constant oil leaks. Might as well park it in a drip tray. |
| Unreliable starts | You might stand up. You might fall over. | Might roar. Might fart. Might just sulk. |
| Temperature tolerance | “Too hot” = meltdown. “Too cold” = rigour mortis. | Overheats if you look at it with warmth. |
| Wiring/electrics | Nervous system shorts like an angry Christmas tree. | Lucas electrics: worshipped by Satan for unreliability. |
| Stability | Think Bambi on rollerblades. | Handled like a wheelbarrow full of snakes. |
| Noise | Groans, spasms, screams (from you, not MS). | Clangs, bangs, and that whimper you make when it backfires. |
| Smell | Eau de hospital and dread. | Petrol, grease, and regret. |
| Maintenance | Pills, physio, meditation, screaming into cushions. | Spanners, gaskets, beers, swearing at God. |
| Support | Carers, NHS, forums full of other warriors. | Biker forums full of PTSD and spare parts. |
| Breakdowns | Anywhere, anytime, always embarrassing. | Usually halfway through a roundabout in front of a bus. |
| Reliability | Think weather forecast from a Ouija board. | More mood swings than a drunk ex at a wedding. |
| Moments of joy | A good day feels like flying. | When it starts, you cry and ride it like it’s 1969. |
So What’s the Verdict? Whether it's your spine giving up or your primary chain exploding, both MS and Triumphs come with the constant thrill of wondering:
“Will I make it to the toilet... or the next town?”
Both are British. Both make a mess. Both give you stories. Neither gives refunds.
But at least the Triumph didn't eat my nervous system with a spoon.
“The views in this post are based on my personal
experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”
“By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
By storm and silence, I survive.”
@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk