The short ride home

I'm staring it in the face. The beauty that I had already made my mind up was going to be the best purchase I'd ever made in my entire life (apart from Eilish's engagement ring).

The geezer I bought it off was really nice. He and his wife both had Vespas that they were selling and he offered me the choice. While I preferred the colour of the other one, it actually looked in slightly rougher shape, the brakes felt a bit softer, and the black one came with the official topbox. The black one was a bargain, the green one was a bit more of a risk. I didn't want any bloody risks buying my first Vespa from a private buyer.

Bloke handed over the scooter on the DVLA. I quickly taxed it, insured it, and could literally drive it away.

I brought all the gear with me. £500 worth of the most protective swag I could buy. Jacket, boots, gloves, jeans, helmet and my ugly, sticky L plates.

It was going to happen. I hesitantly pushed the Vespa off the center stand. I peeked out of the road to come out. No cars. I'm off. I'm absolutely fucking ecstatic.

My directions were on my phone, to which I simply pulled over to check. 5 mins in and I've taken 3 wrong turns already. I didn't bloody care. I was on my way! I'm fucking moving! I'm holding the grips like my life depends on it! I'm shitting myself and having the time of my life at the same time! I WAS LIVING THE DRE- what is that oil light?

What does an oil light mean? It's solidly on, so I think, does that mean it's got oil? Bit silly to have it on all the time. Bike sounds and runs fine, but what the fuck do I know? I better pull over and ask Google.

Well fuck. Fuckety fuck fuck fuck. Shit.

Have I bought a dud Vespa? Does it just need some oil? The more I bloody dug into the issue, the scarier it sounded.

Fuck.

Right, so I'm about half-way between Alderley Edge and Sale, so scooting home is a no-go.

Eilish said Lucy and Jimmy live round here, I could leave the scooter there and come get it tomorrow?

SHIT!

My misery is exemplified when a guy pulls up right next to me riding a proper bike that sounds absolutely glorious and no-doubt runs like a dream. No doubt he's pissing himself inside from this mug who couldn't even run a bloody 125cc scooter.

"Excuse me mate, don't suppose you know anything about bikes?" I pleaded, hiding my desperation.

"I know about bikes, but not scooters."

FUCK!

"Let me call my mate," he says. "He knows about these scooter things, rides them all the time."

By this point, I'm considering ringing breakdown cover. I go onto my emails and check Swinton insurance to find the number. When I do, something jumps out at me.

That's weird. I thought it was the 17th June… It is the 17th June… I'm not insured…

What dumb cunt takes a policy out for 2 days in the future?!?!!

I tell you who, someone who's useless with this sort of shit. Someone who has a history for this bollocks. Someone who was so stupidly excited to get on his little scooter he rushed the whole fucking process to get on the road as quickly as possible.

Couldn't be me.

Motorcycle man then comes to me with a lifesaver. "I actually own a bike shop across the road, you can park it there for the night if you want?".

The prospect of parking it there sounded a lot nicer to wherever Lucy and Jimmy lived. I was saved in a way. I could have kissed this man really, but my mind was still crushed by my own stupidity.

"That would honestly be brilliant mate, thank you," I mustered.

"In fact, I have a van. You might be able to get it in the back and I'll take you home."

Is this man an angel? Jesus, it felt like I'd not seen this kind of kindness in such a long time. Why is that? There are bloody kind people out there, I just don't feel like I've ever seen the benefit of it. I'm not thinking woe is me at this point. I'm thinking this man might be the nicest bloody man I've met in my life.

"You don't know how much I'd appreciate that," I said, hardly containing my hopelessness.

"Yep, come on then, let's see if it fits."

We lifted the scooter into his van. It bloody fit. It's a bloody miracle, and this guy was my saviour.

Mike was a 50-odd-year-old mountain biker. He had owned some semblance of his bike shop for many years. He'd lived in Wilmslow for a super long time and he didn't sound like he was leaving anytime soon.

He told me how his son was a landlord of a pub in Whitechurch at the ripe old age of 24. Pretty bloody impressive if you ask me, even if Whitechurch is a shit hole.

Mike himself didn't drink or watch football, which is a shame because that's basically all of my blokey chat out of the window in one fell swoop.

He also endeavoured to explain how he wasn't bothered about driving me home as his wife and daughter were getting battered in the pub all night.

He was an absolute legend.

We got home, and so concluded my less-than-ideal journey home. We exchanged numbers and told Mike if he ever needed some advice on websites'n'stuff to give me a call.

Turns out there wasn't even a problem with the bike. Found a Reddit post simply saying to let it idle for 10 minutes. It turned off after 8. Livid.