the village bike

“Look, I am not getting on that bloody thing with you.”


Charles was stood in Green Park, looking at a machine that seemed likely to cause his death. Stood holding the contraption was his friend Edward “Clapper” Clapton. If you can imagine the outcome of the genetic crossing of a green bean, with a particularly lanky human, you would be somewhere close to visualising Clapper in all his six foot eight inch glory.


“Oh come on Charlie, you said you wanted some adventures this summer. We could try and make it to your country place. Look it has places to carry a tent and things.” Clapper began frantically pointing at various metal protuberances, which unfortunately meant he let go of the machine and it clattered loudly to the floor.


“This wasn’t the adventure I was hoping for. I was thinking more late nights and to be honest, some women.” Charles sighed as he helped to pick up the machine, it was darn heavy.


“There’ll be plenty of time for women old boy, Papa says you’re married forever, so we should enjoy our freedom now.”


Charles wasn’t sure freedom was being stuck on the back of a bicycle with Clapper steering.

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