I was heading over to a mate's place on the Mottingham Estate (Kent) one afternoon. Kev was a very young biker (18 or 19 to my 21 then), but the Italian bike bug had already bitten hard; his pride and joy was a Guzzi V50 Monza. Now, for those of you that haven't ridden one, they are a delightful bike; soft, torquey engine (for a 500, of course), lovely sounds if one fit naughty pipes (as he had done), and handling that, although somewhat pedestrian by today's standards, was always precise and very stable. Kev's bike, in common with many V50s, had brake problems; the callipers utilised by the V50 were at the bottom of Brembo's range, and had a tendency to lack bite, power, and fade badly, especially when in need of a service/rebuild.

As with all Guzzis, a firm boot applied to the foot brake often worked wonders, thanks to Guzzi's strange brakes (none of yer Honda linked brake sophistication here, the rear brake pedal operated one front disk and the rear, while the front operated one of the front disks). They were always a favourite with female bikers; dark rumours abounded of a V-Twin vibration pitched at exactly the right rate and pitch ...

It being a rather moist afternoon, I left the 750 Turbo at home and proceeded with the dispatch CX500EC; the CX had the distinct advantage of being virtually indestructible in normal usage, as it tended to simply slide down the road on its substantial engine bars.

So, I entered the estate, noting the fact that said estate's roads had been resurfaced using the "hot laid cinders" process; i.e. spray the road with hot tar, then chuck down a load of gritty cinders ... I resolved to take it easy ...

Approaching the final 90 right T junction into Kev's road and tipping in, it became rapidly and disturbingly apparent that I hadn't taken it easy enough: the back of the CX broke away on the loose debris and the bike made a spirited attempt to highside me ... this tactic only works for a bike if one cares more for the bike than one does for oneself ... I didn't give a fuck for the CX in real terms, so simply lobbed myself off to the inside of the corner and laid low ...

And then, the CX righted itself, as riderless bikes sometimes do, and careered straight on ... I was dimly aware of some poor sod, running up the road, freezing in horror as he looked up at the oncoming, riderless bike, then deciding rapidly to lob himself over a nearby low hedge (a leap of only a couple of feet or so) to escape.

The mad CX was not to be denied, however, and munched its way through the hedge and threw itself with gay abandon onto the poor wretch beneath ... I had visions of local police being told "that bloke's bike tried to kill me!", so I laid low and feigned injury in the road ... said bloke was now partially trapped by said CX ...

Enter Kev, at a similar running pace to the one shown by the now "pressed by CX" bloke lying in the garden opposite ... he hesitated not at all, but instead threw himself onto the bloke and, with vigorous kicks, began to coldly and calmly kick the shit out of said bloke ... I leapt up, thinking Kev had misunderstood what had taken place, and began screaming "NO! NO KEV! IT WASN'T HIS FAULT!"

"FUCK THAT!" came the reply, "THAT WANKER'S JUST KICKED OVER MY GUZZI FOR A LAUGH! FUCK HIM!"

I left Kev to it and walked the 100 yards or so back to his place. My CX, bless it, was forever after known as "Christine"