“Whoopsadaisy!” yelled Matt, as the Honda CM 125 reared up in the dark, and described a perfect backward somersault.
“Perhaps Si should ride it back?” suggested Will.
“YIKES!” shouted Antony, flying over the handlebars of our new E-bike, and slithering down lane towards home.
I had just received one of the most joyous phone calls of my life – a dream come true after two decades of failure.
Will and his two mates – best friends since they first met at prep school over a decade ago – had been visiting The Forest Inn at the end of our lane, for a drink and a game of pool. Matt, wearing a bandeau, had gone there riding Will’s scrambler, and the other two were on the E-bikes. “We’ll be back about nine to cook you a steak!” they shouted merrily, as we passed each other in the lane, my horses remaining remarkably calm in the general milieu.
I was a bit worried that they might upset the locals and my B&Ber who was dining there, with their posh, loud, excited voices.
The call was from Will saying, “We’ve joined up with Si, Rob and Jez, and after a bit more pool we’ll all be coming back to the Bothy to chill. So I’m afraid we won’t be doing your steak.”
It’s taken twenty years, but finally, unbelievably, at last, thanks to our jolly pub up the road, Will seems to have been accepted as part of the local community.