A long, long time ago The Hobbit got lost in the wilds of Scotland, met a comely young lass - no, met a lass; they don't do comely in Scotland - and nine months later MacFrame emerged. 

Wild of demeanour and incomprehensible of tongue, with a strange taste for antique and unreliable old Italian motorcycles and Apple Macs, MacFrame is usually found outside a bottle of vintage port, or by the side of the road ruefully examining smashed components from his Moto Guzzi. 

Addicted to track days, he has a tendency to try to get his knee down on every corner, no matter that the actual angle of lean might be minimal. In fact, his MV350 is so diminutive and the MacFrame legs are so long, that he can actually get his knee down on the MV while travelling in a straight line.

Little is known about the Clan MacFrame. A search in Berk's Peerage (sic) turned up some cryptic entries, and a web search revealed references to an obscure breed of Hebridean alcoholics.