Ben Grader
Junior Member
Total Posts:
60
Joined:
Sun Oct 24, 2004 11:24 am
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The holiday time approaches again, but I shall not be celebrating. I have lost too much and can only sorrow and think of what might have, could have, been.
It started in a most unusual way, I saw my love first when walking down through the high street of our small town. Smart was not the word, polished would perhaps be better. ?Oh baby? I thought ?I wish you were mine? Older than I was, I suppose by a couple of years, but not so old as to be an impossibility.
I walked across the street to make myself acquainted but before I reached the other side a rough looking chap in leathers came out of the shop next to where she stood. Giving her a rough caress, before I could get there they were gone.
I knew that I had never seen her before in our district so could only think that the odd couple were visitors. I asked around; I could give only a very approximate description of the man but maybe I waxed eloquent about her to the extent of boring those of my friends to whom I poured out my heart.
My sister was rather scathing in her replies as to if I had seen either her or the man ?You will never get enough money the way you go on, to be able to afford that type? she sneered ?As fast as it comes in you spend it. If you could you would even spend it before you got it? she added.
I know that I was a bit profligate in my money habits but resolved there and then to reform. The only times that I went out were not to go off to the pub but to scour the surrounding villages on my little two-stroke scooter in the hope of catching sight of her or the leather clad man. Overtime at the factory where I worked ? which I normally turned down ? was accepted readily in order to help the ever increasing money in my bank account.
I was resolved it was her that I wanted and her alone, I would take no substitute I was deep in love and her absence, as they say in the old maxims, only made my heart grow fonder. I knew in my mind that if I could only gather enough funds to make a show she could be mine. Then I was told by a workmate that he had seen her, still with the leather dressed biker passing him in the nearby city.
I began to get jealous and this was my downfall. We were talking at the factory during our dinner break and one of my work-mates was boasting of his achievements in horse-racing wagers. 'I know a cert for the big race this week-end' he was saying, he named the horse, ?I put my money on early and got good odds.' he added ?The price is shortening now every day but anyone who put it on today would still get 10 to 1 odds, by the time the race starts I reckon it will be odds on. The stable lads have all bet their shirts on it as well. That must be a good sign?
I had saved almost ?1,000 and I had the thought, if I risked ?500 at 10 to 1 I would get back ?5,000 and my stake. This would bring me up into a class of spenders with whom I could compete. After I finished work I contacted the local bookie and asked the odds. ?15 to 1 at the moment? he said. I did not hesitate I dashed to the building society and drew out the lot. I made my way back to the betting shop and slapped down the cash, taking from him the betting slip and putting it safely away in my pocket.
I knew that if the horse won I would be almost bound to achieve my desire. ?16,000 total would be impossible to resist, although I didn't think that I would need that much. If I started to flash ?10,000 around in cash that should be enough to do the trick.
When I got home I foolishly spoke of my hopes to my sister who snapped ?A fool and his money are soon parted. There is no such thing as a dead cert, on the racecourse. I know for a fact that your mates mother was complaining only last week that he loses so much betting that he couldn?t pay her his lodge money only a month back?
I felt a bitter taste in my throat, why had I been so gullible? I had taken him at his word and lost all chances of reaching my target; all I would be able to do was to admire her, if I even saw her again, from a distance. What made it worse was that my sister, always ready to poke fun at me, had told her friend next door and the news was all around the factory within days.
I faced taunt after taunt, ribald remarks about never getting a ?ride?. Supposed commiseration about my having lost all my money and then to make it even worse, a friend, the same one who had told me about viewing her in the city, told me he had seen the leathers chap going into a house and gave me the address.
I had sleepless nights and when Saturday came I was just about at the end of my tether. I had received a phone call from my friend to tell me that she was anyone?s who had ?11,000 to show. I was glued to the tele and in spite of my sister wanting to watch some sentimental old film I insisted on watching the racing from Newbury on channel 4. The race came on after seeming ages of time-wasting preliminaries. I sat further and further forward in my chair until my sister complained that I would be inside the set before I knew it.
I WON. I WON. I could achieve my longing I dashed around to the bookies and drew my winnings in beautiful ?50 notes. I tucked them away with great care; there was no way I wanted to lose them. I went out and started up my little scooter which was all that I had in the way of transport and set off to the city. Blue lights were flashing behind me and I heard the sound of a siren, I slowed down. I knew it was not for me, it was not the police but an ambulance, which overtook, and then ahead I could see a cluster of vehicles stopped.
A police sign was posted with the words POLICE SLOW on it. As I passed I could see a leather clad figure lying in the road being attended to by the para medics. It was HIM. I rode up on to the grass verge and parked, then hurried back. There she lay on her side, no-one was seeing to her. Grieving I made my way over, I could see at a glance she was done for. All the police or medics were concerned about was the stupid leather clad idiot who had caused her demise.
?What happened?? I asked a bystander.
?He came round on the wrong side and went straight under the lorry? was the reply. ?The driver didn?t stand a chance of missing him?
My heart throbbed; what use was my win when I had lost my hearts desire? There in the road she lay, no chance of any future life, her front forks twisted like a pretzel, her engine fins, those magnificent ribs upon which one could play a tune, broken; the alloy casing smashed into fragments, her frame bent beyond any possible repair. The dazzling BSA B34 Gold Star - the bike which had an exhaust which whistled when she ran. LOST, LOST, LOST.
The holiday time approaches again, but I shall not be celebrating. What good is money to me now? Idly I pick up my latest Vintage & Classic Bikes magazine. There inside the front cover, what is this? A Ducati, I had always admired and lusted after a Duke. How much? P.O.A. it said.
I reached for the telephone.
Born and bred a country yokel
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