On being old(er)

It’s taken weeks; a few bruises and a sprain or two but eventually I ventured out into the wide, wild, world. Don’t make a fool of yourself I thought as, grasping the electric unicycle between my shins, I glided down the footpath - not quite like a ninja.

And they said I should get a mobility scooter; this’ll show ‘em. I flicked right, around the bollard, a nifty move with nary a wobble. I’m da man. Across the park dodging the soccer nets, flying like superman my inner child cries, THIS. IS. SO. COOL.

I don’t usually like being the centre of attention, but past the supermarket I’m turning heads. “What’s that?” I hear. Just the coolest dude in town, I think. “Whoa, Sick” says one lad to another as I cruise past (I think that’s good, it’s hard to tell these days).

The dip down the curb with a bad camber ends my day-dreaming glory-ride, but fortunately I land on my feet. Maybe that looked deliberate? I hope. Getting up on the wheel again takes three goes - with something approaching panic rising up inside. But then I’m off again, wobbling my way towards home.

Well, the bald-old-coot turned a few heads today, and no doubt left some wishing that they could have such a cool ride. But, best of all, it was the most FUN you can have while wearing a helmet and padded in body armour; however old you happen to be.