Do you believe in omens? Or are you more of a rationalist? By the way, why do rationalists go glamping? Because they don’t believe in portents. Poor tents… Never mind. Let me know what you think of this.
I’m in the market for a new motorbike and I think I’ve found one, but I’m worried that it might be cursed. That’s not the sort of detail you can check on the DVLA website, so I’d appreciate your opinion.
It all began with last week’s arrival of Ash from Australia (if you didn’t read this last week, Ash is a friend of mine, not a volcanic cloud). I picked him up from Heathrow as planned and we went to Will’s in Walton. The next morning I ventured to Epsom to view this motorbike. And on Sunday I met up with some old friends from Top Gear magazine for a reunion drink in London.
That may not sound particularly eventful to you, nor indeed interesting, but bear with me. It gets spooky.
The new bike in question was a Suzuki Bandit and the last time I rode one of those was in 2002, when I went to Holland and Belgium to report on the European Championships. Accompanying me on that trip was my friend and workmate Jim.
When I picked up Jim in Chelmsford he’d packed for a three week cruise around the Med, rather than a lightweight camping trip on the pillion of a motorbike. Half of his luggage turned out to be his sandwiches, so we ate what we could and he put the rest in his pockets for later.
About 10 miles up the road to Harwich, I pulled off for petrol and as I touched the brakes on the downhill slip road, Jim and his sandwiches slid rapidly forwards, crushing my testicles against the fuel tank and knocking all the air out of my lungs. My eyes filling with tears, I had to make a snap decision: release the brakes and plough into a hedge or forfeit the testicles. In the interests of safeguarding the trip, I manfully chose the latter (if indeed it’s possible to manfully choose emasculation).
Anyway, having spent the next week walking around various European football grounds like John Wayne after a long day on the ranch, I returned to Blighty, dropped Jim off and was preparing to return the Bandit to Suzuki in pristine condition when I dropped it on the roundabout at Tibbet’s Corner.
It was Wimbledon fortnight and there was a long queue of traffic coming from the tennis, among which was one of those liveried cars they use to chauffeur the players about. As I cruised round the roundabout, cutting a figure not unlike Tom Cruise in Top Gun, I glanced over to see if it was anyone famous in the car and when I looked back at the road ahead of me, it wasn’t there. The cops had coned it off, so I hit the brakes again and this time the front wheel folded beneath me and I slammed into the tarmac.
I haven’t ridden a Bandit since, until last Saturday when I went to the viewing. It’s a beautiful bike, good value and perfect for my needs (if perhaps a little overpowered for popping into the high street for a cinnamon bun), but there are signs I feel I maybe ought to heed.
Number one: I’m looking for a new bike because my old bike recently expired. It was a Honda Dylan, which I inherited from the aforementioned Will about 15 years ago. Number two: the aforementioned Jim was the design sidekick of the aforementioned Ash, neither of whom have I seen for over 10 years. Number three: the Bandit I crashed was acquired for me by my aforementioned friends at Top Gear, who I also haven’t seen for years. Could all these coincidences coming together in one weekend be a sign that I shouldn’t buy the Bandit? Is history predestined to repeat itself? Can history even be predestined?
Please send your answers via the usual channels.
