K8 the GR8

Today is a day for mooching around.  I mooched a sandwich together, and began farting around in storage boxes.  We have many ‘coudn’t be arsed unpacking this because sure we’ll be moving house soon anyway’ boxes, and to my delight I found an old diary of mine dating back to 1990.  I was ten years old.  Every single day was filled in, which is pretty unusual for me.  I had doodled little pictures on every page, and written addresses at the back relating to very old kid’s tv shows.  One of which was the address for the ‘Risk-a-Crisp’ competition on a Saturday morning kid’s magazine show.  The idea was that you were to package a single crisp (potato chip if you prefer) with as much padding as possible, then post it to England.  If it arrived on the show in tact (it can’t be a Burger-Bite or a Monster Munch because obviously that would be cheating and technically those are corn snacks as opposed to crisps), you won a prize.  Pure genius if you ask me.

I mooched through the pages looking for clues as to what I was up to on this day 17 years ago, and found this entry:

Only eight more days to my birthday!!! Daddy went to work.  I got up early.  I watched TV.  I watched “STRANGERS” again TWICE.  I went to the shops to get a paper, and a can of drink for mummy.  I met Maria, Sharon (her cousin) Karen (her cousin), and Laura Byrne.  I came home.  Daddy came home with Mr. Munelly.  With THEM, was mummy’s new motor bicycle.

*Bless*

I was delighted to see this entry, as I never get tired of ragging Ma about this bike.  It was less of a motor bicycle, more of a moped ‘bedoing-ga-mobile’.  It was blue, and came with full leathers.  The purpose of this moped was to give mum a bit more independance and mobility.  She’s never owned a car, nor does she have a licence, as a jippier motorist you will not meet.  Some people have the skills and temperament to drive, others don’t.  Simple as that really.

The moped sat in the front porch in a menacing stance for a long time.  I would sit on it wistfully and imagine bombing up and down our road on it, making brrrm noises and bouncing up-and-down.  It was such a fascinating piece of machinery to a young kid, accessible in ways that cars could never be.  I nagged mum about it, begging her to bring me for a short hop somewhere, but she was having none of it. 

Finally one day, the planets aligned into position, and mum jumped out of her seat and ordered me to get her driving gear.  Delighted beyond reason, I ran to fetch the cycling helmets and gloves, and hopped onto the moped behind her.  We drove at 8mph to the local supermarket on the footpath of our quiet suburban road without complications.

Upon reaching the carpark of the busy supermarket however, mum’s disposition changed.  A car had entered the carpark a few yards away and was circling towards us.

“Oh good mother of… oh fuck!  Fuck.  Mary and the saints preserve us!  Jesus!” was muttered in panicked tones from underneath her helmet.  Maybe those weren’t her exact words, but I know my mum and stressful situations so let’s presume it’s accurate.  She came to a halt in the centre of the carpark and froze.  I nudged her and pointed out the gathering posse of cars behind us, but to no avail.  She was panic-stricken.  My moment of glory had arrived!  We swapped positions, and I finally got to take control of the moped, scooting it around the gathered traffic and into a parking space.  

Despite my protests, we left the poor moped in the carpark and walked home.  Mum sold it as soon as the valium took effect.

She didn’t complain about lack of independance and mobility for a long time after that incident.