Jogger's Bum.

So there I was. Riding down the High Street on a sunny Sunday morning. Jacket zipped right up to my Adam’s apple. A borrowed bike beneath me. Only three gears. Heading for the park and the path around the lake. Not too many people around yet. So it’s up and down with skinny legs. And before long, I’m getting some speed up down the hill and ringing the bell for effect. Must have looked like a right idiot. Look out - junction! I let my eyes follow a jogger’s bum as far as the charity shop on the corner. Then it’s up from the saddle slowly. Breathe hard. And mind the pigeons!

Ten minutes later, drakes are chasing ducks across the lake, as I pass through park gates with a head full of naked. The shingle path shakes some sense into me. But not for long. I’ve got that song in my head. ‘Razzle in my pocket’. More like a rocket on a short fuse. So I sit for a while watching rats running over tree roots and rubbish bins. A squirrel stares at me from a bench. I stare back and a bloke walking a big dog gives me a funny look. Three more times around the lake and I’m off home. Riding down the High Street with an un-launched rocket in my trousers. Mind the potholes!

So there I was. Opening the garage door and standing the bike against the lawn mower. Fumbling with keys. Alarm off. Door open. I’m in. Ignoring the mail, I make straight for the draw under the bed. Brilliant. Jeans off. Head in a cloud. The doorbell rings. Shit! I stand up too quickly. And that’s why I’m sitting here in the A&E department of our local hospital. Countdown aborted. My Mum’s talking to a doctor. I try to lip read. But the only words I recognise are ‘stupid boy’. A nurse walks passed and gives me a smile. My face turns the same colour as the bump on my head. Mind you…

She does have a nice bum.