Well, it had to happen. The dogs took me out for a walk the other night, and we met the bunch of yoofs that spend their evenings sitting on my neighbour's fence (1) (and slowly destroying it) as they "hang" there, shuffling their feet and decorating the pavement with patches of spit (why?). As I walked up to them, my way was blocked by a yoof on a scooter - a legal one this time, all decked out in racing stickers and L plates. The footpath has big fences either side and there was no way I could pass a scooter at 45 degrees across the path.
As the others made room for me and the dogs shot through their legs, running for a lamp post, Scooterboy finally let me catch his eye and grudgingly rolled forward a few inches to let me through. As I had to stop while he did this, the dogs came back to round me up and move me on. Scooterboy suddenly found he had Bigdog (Rascal, a Heinz foxhound) resting his chin on Scooterboy's leg, looking up at him to allow his fine dentition to be admired. Scooterboy froze, without having made a gap big enough for me to pass through. Littledog, (a Heinz shaggy bearded ginger Jack Russell/Corgi confusion) ran and jumped the back of the scooter and came to a halt with his front paws on my belt - that's full stretch for him, not bad for a dog with a leg length of ~7 inches.
I rumbled a grumble at Bigdog, who stepped back from Scooterboy's lap and grinned his way round the back of the scooter as it rolled forwards. Then I grumbled at Scooterboy, as I was going past, about riding on and blocking the footpath with his tincan. He blushed to the peaks of his zits ( sort of reverse Dalmatian in red and yellow ) as his mouth distorted into the sneer reserved for old farts like me. I raised an eyebrow at him (in the way that makes Kiran jealous) and walked past his back wheel. He said something to me that I didn't catch, but his mates seemed to find funny. I turned around and stopped about 6 feet from the back of the scooter, with all the yoofs then in front of me.
Bigdog went into action, trotting between the lads, sniffing hands and nosing crotches ( it's a dirty habit, even for a dog ) and their whole attention was on him while I asked Scooterboy what he had said. He raised his voice and said something about sitting where the fuck he wanted. I replied ( in me best Geordie growl ) that if he didn't clear my path when I returned in 15 minutes once the dogs had been round the park, I'd throw him and his scooter into the middle of the road where they belonged. His eyes bugged and he uttered his disbelief in my ability. I took a step towards him and growled "Dee yee reckon Ah waddent, like?"
His mates all took a step in then and Bigdog came to stand beside me. I really thought it was going to turn nasty - I mean I've done a bit in my time, but my back is crocked atm so I doubt I'd get a kick off without crippling myself. I scanned them and marked out my first targets in case it kicked off, when one of them asked, "Are you a Biker then?" And yes, the capital is intentional, that's how he said it. I stood there in me black MA1 with the AIMCC rallybadge embroidered into it, in me scruffy black jeans and CB750 oil-soaked boots, goateed and stubbled, hair in full effect with wood dust and oil in it, spliff in me gob. I opened me eyes wide, unkinked me neck and stretched me shoulders, loosely crossed me arms, leaned forward and said "Why's that? Are yee fookin' Mods like?"
They stopped and teetered then. A muttering and shuffling took place.
Bigdog nudged me then. I looked to where Bigdog was looking and saw that Littledog was into Phase III of his battleplan. I'd spotted him sniffing the rear wheel of Scooterboy's appliance, but he had obviously got a positive olfactory response and had moistened the wheel - in fact, a bit more than moistened. They always build up a good bladderful for the evening stroll, in readiness for posting their messages on the doggy newgroup on the trees and lamp posts, see. Well, this was obviously Scamp's first wee for a while, as the puddle was rapidly spreading across the path, towards the front wheel.
As I watched with mingled horror and hysteria, Scamp hopped forwards on three legs (as he does) in order to wet the dry urinal as far and as high as possible (as you do). Well, this was Phase III. You see, Scooterboy had evidently placed his lid on the ground beside himself when he stopped. Now he'd rolled forward 18 inches, his lid was by the back wheel. Now, you see where this is going ... so did I. I mutely watched the little golden stream move from the wheel to splash onto his lid - and inside it, through the wide-open visor.
The yoofs followed my fascinated stare and started to holler - Scooterboy looked at his right heel, yanked his foot away from the target area for Phase IV and rolled forwards, cracking into three of his mates and coming to a rest leaning heavily on the fence. Scamp looked up and bounced, grinning, off the left rear indicator of the scooter, causing a further slide towards the ground, then yipped a bark of command and fucked off into the park with Rascal at his heels.
I was left standing, looking at Scooterboy's lid sitting in the middle of a steaming puddle, Scooterboy desperately trying to hold himself and his hairdryer up, and three yoofs all holding parts of their lower anatomy that the scooter had impacted. I cracked up. I fucking howled. I told them that they really didn't want to fuck with me after a little dog had done all that damage to them and how if ShitHeadScooterBoy hadn't been on the path nowt would have happened.
So we ambled off, leaving them with open gobs, hurty knees and hurty pride. And a very wet and no doubt smelly crash helmet. They had vapourised on our return.
Scamp never stopped grinning, but never managed more than a few more drops for the rest of our walk. He got an extra biscuit when we got home. I swear the shaggy little bastard is a reincarnated biker.
(1) When they're allowed to by their Mums and my neighbour isn't threatening them with his petrol strimmer.
