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#1 Jul 26, 2019 4:14 pm

New Historian

My first bike accident

Not, I’m ashamed to say, on a real bike, but on a scooter. I knew a guy at school who was selling a Lambretta all kitted out with chrome-plated fog lamps and other bits and pieces. I said I was interested, but told him I but had to take it for a test ride first. He was dubious. He had every right to be: I didn’t have a cent to my name – I just wanted a ride off his scooter!

“You know how to ride?”

“Of course I do, I ride my brother’s motorbike all the time.” I had never ridden a bike in my life. He should have twigged when I asked: “Er, how do you change the gears again?” Yet he still entrusted his chrome-plated steed into my care for “a slow test ride”.
I zoomed off up the road. Shit, I thought, this is fast! I rode up to Stanmore Station then turned around to come back down the hill. I was so busy waving to all my friends that as I approached the corner in front of school, I was going faster than I had anticipated. Much faster.

Like a slow-motion horror movie the corner rushed at me with frightening speed, and with my complete lack of experience I lost control of the scooter. The front wheel hit the kerb and I went sailing over the handlebars, hitting the ground face first. Then blackness. Later on I heard that the owner of the scooter came running over, jumped over my prone body and shrieked:

“You bastard! Look what you’ve done to my BIKE!!”

When I came to I was propped up on the low wall in front of college. I felt no pain, which I thought was good. What was not so good was everybody’s reaction when they saw my face. I kept asking what they were so shocked at, but no one would answer me. Someone said call the ambulance and I said “No, I’m fine!” Because along with the ambulance, would come the police.

I looked down at my feet. I was wearing desert boots, tan-coloured ankle-length suede shoes that were all the rage. In my befuddled state it took me a while to realize that my left shoe wasn’t tan-coloured anymore; it was blood red. I moved my left foot and felt a squishing noise. I lifted up my sock and saw white, of my ankle bone.

“Call the ambulance.”

Two boys half-carried me into the school to wait for the ambulance. I got the shock of my life when we passed a mirror. Now I know what everyone was recoiling at! The whole left side of my face was one huge bloody scrape, from forehead to chin. There was blood where my nose should have been, with gravel embedded in every cut. I was inconsolable; I’m gonna be scarred for life - and still a virgin! The shock wore off as the pain wore on. My ankle, face and entire left side was a searing mass of fire.

The ambulance arrived by which time I began to seriously lose my mind. Shock is one hell of a thing; I couldn’t even say my name, I just shivered uncontrollably. They laid me on the gurney and wheeled me into the ambulance; feeling like I wanted to die. I had done a lot of damage to this guy’s scooter and had no means of paying for it; and worst of all: my father was going to KILL me!

They took me to Edgware General Hospital, since been closed down – which probably was the best health service it ever provided.
ad and Joan came a couple of hours later and were remarkably sanguine about the whole thing. I guess seeing your son all banged up on a hospital bed has a softening effect on even the hardest of hearts. The doctor stitched up my ankle and treated my face with some blue ointment which made it swell up even more; then left me to my own devices. This was now a few hours after the crash and despite all the painkillers, my entire body hurt. The nurse left a bedpan in case I needed it; just call for help. Never, in all my life, have ever I held in a pee for so long!

If I was feeling bad about myself, that was nothing compared to the poor sod next to me. He had tubes coming out of all parts of his body, connected to a machine that sucked and wheezed as though it was doing the breathing for him – which I guess it was. Despite all the machines he still couldn’t breathe properly and kept making this horrible gurgling sound.

Around midnight the noise stopped. This must have triggered an alarm because the nurses came pretty quickly, but they took one look at him and just shook their heads. One of them wrote something on the chart at the end of the bed and that was it: dead.
Thanks to all the drugs they had dosed me up with; I fell into a lovely dreamless sleep. I awoke late the next morning, dying for a pee. I tried to turn around in the bed and – ouch! The sheet had stuck to all my open cuts.


She came over eventually; there’s nothing nurses hate more than being summoned. A no-nonsense Jamaican matron came over to my bedside.


“Nurse, all my cuts have stuck to the sheets – ouch!”

She looked down at me, kindly.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do …”

Yank! Like a matador, she expertly hauled off the sheet, taking all my half-healed scabs with it – ooouuucchhh!!! She asked if I wanted to use the bedpan. I did but couldn’t stand the thought of Attila the Nurse’s hands on my gonads, so I declined and shuffled off to the men’s room myself to painfully pee.

When I got back there was someone else in the bed next to me. I felt like a bit of mischief so I leaned over and told him that his predecessor had died in the same bed, just the night before.


The matron came over again.


“Nurse, I don’t want to stay in this bed anymore; someone died in it last night!”

“Oh, and which bed would you rather stay in? That one over there?”

“Yes nurse, thank you.”

“Someone died in that bed, the day before yesterday.”

He stayed put. I was discharged later that same day, and despite all my superficial cuts and scrapes I am pleased to say that my face made a complete recovery to its current handsome state!

Last edited by New Historian (Jul 26, 2019 4:32 pm)


#2 Jul 27, 2019 11:45 am

Beautiful Bradly Bolton

Re: My first bike accident

I felt every bit of that. Great work! I bet you can still feel all that to this day, obviously, since you write about it so well.


#3 Aug 01, 2019 9:13 am


Re: My first bike accident

"   Ha,ha,ha,ha
I had to say something of  ' the  scooter story '

.... ah gotta admit , a little loss for words....lmao

So I gine just post this ::
>  The one thing I remember about Christmas  was that my father used to take me out in a boat about ten miles offshore on Christmas  Day , and I used to have to swim back .
It was a ritual
Mind you , that wasn't the hard part  . The difficult bit was getting out of the sack.

..... John Cleese


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