Thursday, June 10, 2010


OK so, bit of drama. It started with a pack of Chili Heatwaves. Then it turned into a cup of tea. Next I'm offered damaged cakes from Thunders. get there at closing time and they go for a quid. Then BAM, I'm eating Crème brûlée which, strictly speaking I don't like. Like, I would never order it, but I'm a good guest so whatever. So what I'm saying is my quick visit lasted longer than expected. And then in the five minutes it took Jane to get some milk, these pikies had made off with my pride and joy, my Bike, my birthday and Christmas present for the next four years.

SO we leg it down the road. And some kindly youths tell us which way they were headed. I prayed they wouldn't figure out the back pedal breaks and would get fucked up on Collins Avenue. No such luck. We regrouped back at the house and jumped in Jane's Opel Vectra. Just us "Charlie's Angels" mind as "boys always attract trouble". Cruising around Larkhill, staring youths on bikes ourra vit. The best bit was when she warned me to forgive her foul language and cover my ears if we caught the boys as she would not be responsible for what she would say...

GIVING up on the chase. We went back to the base camp. Depressed, I walked home. Swinging by the Garda Station to confirm they'd heard of the theft. The biggest crime in out leafy suburbs no doubt. And there we met the friend of the fella arrested for bike theft. Charming lad, menacing presence, hickey and tattoo on neck. He now knows our names and address. Way to go, Garda Síochána- mixing victims of crime and accomplices. Cheers.

AFTER a sleepless night concocting lies to keep the parents in the dark, I was in no mood to do anything. Not without Bike. But then, I shook myself. And said, "Fuck this. I'm getting my Bike back". With Bad M, her on her ma's bike. I on her baby sister's. We cruised Larkhill. Scowling at ten year olds and grannies. With no luck, feeling dejected we headed to the scene of the crime. We placed ourselves in the mind frame of a cuntish scumbag. It was easy enough. Retracing their steps, we looked for clues. Maybe Bike's green tartan ribbon had got caught in a privet hedge...And then Bad M saw something. A bike! I muttered, "That's not it. It's gone. It has a basket? No, its not mine...Couldn't be"

OH wait, it was. There it was. Bike. Perched up against some hedge. Only the kicked in back wheel cover showed the trauma he'd been through. The tartan bow was still in place. Sure the basket was a little askew but wow, we'd actually solved a crime.

ON the way home we smiled at ten year olds and grannies. I called in to the Garda Station. The Officer seemed perplexed as I told him our adventure.


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