nunoncastors

I took a bit of a gamble over the weekend and chose to cycle down the old railway line near Sneinton. The reason it’s a gamble is because it involves running the gamut of tracksuit-wearing cocks who – f or reasons known only to themselves – like to loiter about on waste ground and shout at people. Still, it was a sunny day and I went for it.

I was not disappointed.

As I pedalled leisurely down the old track bed I saw, with eagle eyes, a group of ‘gangsta’s’ milling about up ahead. They spotted me and, curiously I thought, ducked into the bushes.

Now, I’m a cynic by nature and my response was to assume they were about to a) mug me b) jump out at me and shout ‘Boo!’ or c) enact some other tedious shit I could do without. I considered turning around and heading back the way I’d come but then I thought, ‘fuck ‘em’ and sped up instead. I was doing about twenty miles an hour by the time I drew level and, as the first chav jumped out, he met my fist coming the other way with the force of a thousand eagles.*

Crunch.

Twenty-four hours later and there’s a part of me that’s ashamed, even a little concerned for the poor lad who, judging by my hand this morning, has one hell of a headache. It’s a small part. The overriding feeling from the rest of me is that he deserved it and that if you’re going to leap out at people from undergrowth you shouldn’t be surprised if they react badly and clock you one.

On reflection it could have easily gone wrong, I could have been stabbed or beaten unconscious, I could have come off my bike and ended up dead. As it is, maybe next time they’ll think twice before acting like wankers. Though, realistically, they probably won’t.

*Which is quite a lot of force when you think about it.