We were nearly caught out once or twice but the parents on both sides seemed reluctant to go there, even though we could have used some frank advice, particularly about contraception. What did they think would happen as they slept? It’s strange to me now to think they’d let embarrassment get the better of them, when you think of the likely consequences, but back then we were thankful they left us alone. We were seventeen and tantalisingly almost beyond their reach, flushed with daring and excitement.
Nowadays I creep off to do a little night time pee and return to lie in bed restlessly. I tell myself off for wandering around the overpriced shop of worry, in the motorway services of midnight, as my little family sleeps in the fast lane. If I don’t get after them soon, they’ll get to Wake Up Junction before me and then I’ll be knackered for the rest of the day.
The basement I mentioned is a couple of hundred metres away from the site I will be visiting this afternoon, which is the reason for this fit of nostalgia. I’m not in 2011 anymore, I’m in 1980 and just the memory of the excitement of sexual awakening has got me in a fidget. It’s one thing to imagine Jimi Hendrix and Kathy Etchingham tripping through the streets of London [TBB 6.1], quite another to conjure up your very own ghosts.
I thought I would ride over on the Black Bullet, as I think this was once even a dream of mine. That one day I would reappear on that driveway, a knight in shining armour on rampant white charger, to sweep my pining princess away. It’s raining though, and I don’t remember it raining in the dream. Indeed, the grown up version of the dream is a disappointment on many fronts, not least that it features, by necessity, some old bloke in fluorescent jacket on a, er, rusty Bullet, ready to vibrate his by now middle-aged ex-girlfriend to the Bird in Hand for half a cider. But you get the picture, and the very thought of it brings me back to 2011.
Yesterday I parked up on a visit to the Oxford Wine Company and was drawn into an army surplus shop. I realised that the gear in there was very much the type of thing I could use to kit myself out for a trip, on a tight budget. I will revisit this but for now I bought a small (five litre) Czechoslovakian Jerry Can which could be strapped to the side of the bike to increase my range. I will need some help to fashion a bracket for it and, luckily, I know just the man.
