The above is true, they're not 'avin a giraffe.
Point of interest, very loosely related to this. To be a true cockney you had to be born within the sound of the Bow Bells at the church of St Mary Lee Bow in London. However, due to the regeneration of the area there's no housing immediately close by and noise pollution now means the bells can't be heard from further away, so unless you're born in the street or a passing car it is no longer possible to be born a true Cockney.
The cafe racer culture first emerged in London in the late fifties. Bikers would meet at these establishments to admire each other's bikes and generally shoot shit. And what bikes they were! Invariably British, usually lightened with the removal of extraneous equipment, bodywork etc (many big bikes of the time had partially enclosed 'bathtub' rear wheels), low clip on bars to emulate the race bikes of the day.
A common game was to set a course on public roads and race a record on the jukebox, the idea being that if you could do so before the record ends then you had balls of steel and earned great kudos. In recent years certain historians - who doubtless wouldn't ride a moped - have suggested that this was urban myth. However, my friends Dad regales us of tales of the cafe racers, of whom he was one, and tells how he lost a friend who crashed while racing "Three Steps To Heaven" by Gene Vincent on the jukebox, and hung up his leathers after that. He still cries when he tells the story, so I'm inclined believe him.
The 'ton' was local vernacular for 'one hundred', which was derived from cockney rhyming slang. Today any self respecting Italian 125 would piss all over the ton, but back then bikes that could do the magic one hundred mile per hour were rare, even the big bikes. Few could afford biggest Triumph twins or a Vincent, so if you could coax your old English iron past the magic ton you were held in great esteem as one of that rarefied breed, the Ton Up Boys.
I don't think the community here is about recklessly risking your life racing a jukebox. I mean, come on, racing Billy Joel hardly has the same effect. Nevertheless we rejoice in our love of speed - and that can be relative - , bikes, and the style that the era inspired, and the name of the site is a salute to a fleeting period when the cafe racers ruled. Amen.