Maurice crashes Honda and scrapes more than his pride.

I have crashed the bike.


Infuriating. All the more so because I could do absolutely nothing to prevent it. I was doing less than 30mph and turned off the main road into our road and suddenly, without any warning the bike disappeared from under me, the front wheel sliding away to the right because of gravel on the road. Bloody council. It hadn't been there the day before. A great bank of large loose gravel, left over and not tidied after foot path works I think.

Anyway the bike went down, trapping my left foot. Then as the bike stopped moving I continued onto my hands and knees, twisting back my little finger and scraping my knees, then my helmet chin bar whacked into the ground. If I had been wearing an open face helmet.... (shudder). Three cars stopped during the next minutes which was reassuring. I got off lightly, especially since I was only wearing jeans and shoes. I didn't even rip my jeans. But the handle bars are bent and the side is scraped. The engine bars did their job, minimising damage nicely. If I had been riding a Goldwing it would have been a very expensive night out.

I reported it to the police, who advised the council (Ministry of Works) but they did not clear it until 8am today. Have photographed the scene and will be making a detailed complaint to the Ministry of Gravel Death Traps first thing Monday morning.

Today, Saturday, there was a fund raising gala at the Baptist church. My host was offering rides in his classic cars for a small gold coin donation. I was honoured to be able to drive the MkII Jaguar (which is 50 years old in December 06). Distinguished English drivers for distinguished English motorcars.



However, when we first began, everyone wanted to go in the open top Triumph (one of the 2 convertibles on offer). The Jag didn't get a look in. So I had to drive people in a 3 litre BMW Z3 (M-spec) with Tiptronic/auto gearbox. Hard life. Speed limits observed at all times of course, it was all about acceleration. 10 year olds are easily pleased. And so am I. The Z3 may be the rich hair dresser's alternative to the salon apprentice's MX5, but I wouldn't have to think too hard about owning one.



Enough for now. I am off to put more cold peas on my fat hand and draft up some polite litigation for the Ministry of Jerks.

And no, I do not think yesterday had anything to do with the fact it was Friday 13th.