You have your Ipod blaring tinny music into your ears, you are wearing those trendy sunglasses with the big bits at the sides so you can only see forwards. You are concentrating on listening to the latest pap about living in the ghetto, churned out by musicians who take a limo to the studio.
This is when you enter the ‘Dance of Death’ with your world firmly closeted around you, you step off of the pavement straight in to the path of my 600lb motorcycle.
The (luckily for you) very loud Fiaam horn breaks through your bubble to inform you that the rapidly approaching object WILL KILL YOU!
Thus begins the ‘Dance of Death’, forward onto the left foot, then back onto the right, repeat this action faster and faster so you end up looking a bit like someone from Riverdance, but with no style. As indecision cuts in, fear starts to push harder and harder, which way will the bike go? Which way should I go?
Paralysed, you just freeze as the front end of the bike dives hard, the rear wheel starts to leave the ground and at the last second I flip the bike around the back of you and skid to a halt.
What is your reaction? You start shouting abuse, swearing and flipping me the middle finger, it then dawns slowly that the bloke you are giving all this abuse to is walking towards you, wearing an armoured jacket, denim cutoff, black crash helmet and wearing armoured gloves, people on the pavement start taking bets on your survival rate. Your heart rate goes through the roof, the fight or flight adrenaline takes over and your survival instinct cuts in, you run away, and in those stupid trousers that hang lower than your knees, you run like a girl.
I raise the front half of my helmet and laughingly bow to the audience on the pavement, one man starts applauding, within seconds 15 people are clapping and laughing, one even cheered, what a great start to my day.
Stay safe out there