The Jousting King Of London

“Well, how many today?”

“You say first.”

“No Paul, we said we’d be honest. So go on. How many?”

“Three!”

“You bastard. I only did one!”

“That’s cos I’m the jousting king of London. I make it that I’m now four ahead with only two days to go. You better pull your finger out my son or I’m gonna spank your arse.”

Jimmy laughed.

“Still plenty of time. Let’s see how it goes when we count up the totals in two days’ time.”

Jimmy put the phone down first. Paul had a big grin on his face. He was the jousting king and Jimmy wasn’t going to catch him. The bet was fifty quid. Fifty quid would come in handy this month. It was all he needed to go with the money he’d already saved and would buy him his Holy Grail. The AGV black Corsa helmet!

State of the art these fuckers were. Besides, they also looked the bollocks.. Five hundred quid retail but he knew a guy that could get one for three fifty.

The jousting tournament had started four months ago between him and Jimmy. So far he’d only lost in one month. Even then it was close. Jimmy won by one wing mirror. Didn’t matter that Jimmy had the bigger bike, a Kawasaki 500. His little Honda 125 was quicker and could weave through the traffic much easier. When the hit was complete he was off like a rocket.

The game was simple and so fucking easy to do. You’d drive at speed on your bike down the outside lane so you’re close to the oncoming traffic, then you take your right hand off the steering and touch the wing mirror of the car that’s coming towards you. It smashes. The poor geezer in the car has no idea what’s happened and then you’re off at speed. Jousting they call it. Great fun.

Today had been such a laugh. He was on his way home when he saw in the distance a small white van coming towards him. He revved up the bike and got in position. Just as the van got close he leaned over to his right and SMASH! The little white fuckers wing mirror was dead. He glanced back. The van swerved a few times then came to a halt. He never knew what hit him.

The Jousting King of London. That’s what fucking hit him!

He was in bed early. Tomorrow was a big day. Promotion day if he played his cards right. The Office Manager at Canary Wharf was leaving and he was in line for the job. Another ten grand a year would be very welcome.

He left his house at six thirty and was doing sixty down the A13 on his way into London within ten minutes. He thought about jousting but not this morning. This morning was all about the job and the extra ten grand. He kept out of trouble and cruised down the inside lane.

He felt a push on the left hand side of the bike. He tried to correct the steering as it went out of control. He couldn’t. The bike flipped up in the air, then landed. It skidded for a full two hundred yards hitting numerous cars along its way. It stopped when it finally went under a seven ton lorry.

PC Davenport was first on the scene. He pronounced the rider of the Honda 125 dead at the scene at 7.12am. An ambulance was on its way.

An old man approached him. Obviously in shock.

“I never saw him. I swear I never saw him. I pulled out of a side turning and he was just there. Came out of nowhere he did. I never saw him.”

“Okay sir. Calm down. Tell me exactly what happened.”

“I know I should have got it fixed but there was no time you see. It only happened last night.”

“What did sir?”

“My wing mirror, that’s why I never saw him. Someone smashed my wing mirror last night on the way home.”