Half Life – 18 – The Beast
February 26th, 2021
Cancer is not recommended, but the toys that come with it are fabulous. A whole world of inventions and gadgets, previously hidden from mere able-bodied mortals, opens up when you start hunting. Combined with the remarkable array of fun looking things to buy, while propped up in a chair in the evening, having passed the point of wine consumption when credit cards should be taken off you, are the equally remarkable actions and responses from people. A large majority, including many I don’t know, stun me with the generosity of their time, care, support, good wishes, unexpected gifts, and desire to help.
My latest toy arrived crammed into the boot of a nice long BMW belonging to an extraordinarily kind old school friend. The Beast, so named due to it bearing absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to the ridiculous vehicle the President of the USA insists on taking on every trip abroad, slid gracefully out of its transport, was unfolded, quickly reassembled, and became a pub going chariot of great potential joy. As a cabriolet mobility scooter, it will be ideal for the summer when it comes, although my research into all-weather covers and other toys to add on it started within minutes of getting it.
Researching the finer points of mobility scooter command, I discovered that The Beast is allowed on the road, if I am brave enough, at 8mph, but, when I am on the pavement, I am only allowed to run people over at half that speed. Clearly inspired by a bumper-car, there is no brake, and it stops of its own accord when you let go of the power. The virgin drive was less skilful than it could have been, although I am one of those rare male humans who admits to not necessarily being a very good driver. Once Noah has finally parked his Ark on a nearby hill and the rain stops, the second outing will follow; a practice run to each of the pubs in The Village in turn seems to be in order. When Boris lets the country out of mass detention for enjoying Christmas too much it will be important to know just how long between drinks I will have to endure. According to websites I am not entirely sure I should trust, you cannot be drunk in charge of The Beast or its kin, which suggests a whole new market opportunity for those living in the country who don’t mind scootering home more slowly that their usual high speed, beer fuelled, wonky driving.
People, unfortunately, are not always very kind or forgiving to the disabled, or as considerate as my scooter donating friend. The same day The Beast entered my world, while I was running some errands using my uniped friendly automatic car, I pulled over into the bay of the bus stop next to the post box in the centre of The Village. Stopping there, even for a moment, can generate a selection of hard stares from the authoritarian Paddingtons who have a self-appointed mission to ensure rules are maintained, however ridiculous. Usually, a stare is all you have to put up with, or perhaps a little audible tutting and head-shaking. Buses, on a good day, are meant to turn up four times a day at times which are, conveniently, openly advertised on a post next to the bus stop. Otherwise, the bus stop is empty and unused. This minor piece of data is, however, unable to be digested by those who live in hope that, at any moment, a random additional bus will turn up to whisk away those optimistic enough to have chosen to stand at the bus stop at the wrong time.
Blue badge flashing in the windscreen, crutches artfully manipulated out of the car, letter held delicately like the best gundog between my teeth, I started the three-metre hobble to the post box. Leaving the car door open as a further sign of the brevity of my mission, I failed to see an eternal bus optimist lurking behind the bus shelter. Springing from where I suspect she’d been hiding all day in excited expectation of such a moment, I was confronted verbally for my temerity to park my car in the under-utilised bay. The few minutes hobble, an hour before of any potential bus might need to have a rest, was unlikely to cause a major public transport incident.
Despite the array of information indicating a disabled person posting a letter was not a harbinger of societal breakdown, the unimportance of my parking was lost on my verbal assailant. My winning smile failed, as my lack of a mask became an additional point of correction. Had she not wandered deliberately over to me, we would have remained far further apart than the two metres of anti-social distance she had chosen to accost me from. To her credit, she was wearing a mask throughout the verbal diatribe on my lack of civic awareness and loutish disregard for the sanctity village bus stops. The predictability of buses cut no mustard in my critic’s eyes either, as she expanded on my multiple personal failings; her fury shifting to my blatant disregard for the double yellow lines my car was resting on. She didn’t thank me for increasing her knowledge of the world by pointing out that blue badge holders can park on double yellows for up to three hours, as long as they are not causing an obstruction. On reflection, it probably made her day worse.
Swearing at pompous older people with an air of sanctimonious self-importance is hard to resist. Almost managing it, with my letter successfully deposited in the gaping red mouth and nearly at the end of my short journey back to the welcoming car door, it might have been better to have not done it. In many ways she deserved it, although accusing her of discriminating against disabled people was a little harsh, it was the comments about her being a small-minded local national socialist with a need to discover greater meaning in life which may have been over the top given the situation. Not to be outdone, as I left with my errand completed, she made sure I had no doubts about her view of me and her desire to have the boys in blue pay me a visit. Since no fully qualified police officer has been seen in The Village for several years it is probably not going to be high up on their to-do list.
The Boys are desperate to have a go on The Beast; they will be better at it than I am, as with the TV, the broadband, and the rest of the gadgets in the house. I wonder if an underage driver parking a mobility scooter, they clearly don’t need, in the bus stop while they pop into the shop will cause any further friction in The Village? Only one way to find out.
Karma will do its job on her
Mate, I've just acquired my Dad's old scooter, fancy a Friday night out?