Waiting for quad

Yesterday I spotted this almost demonically self-fulfilling headline on the BBC website: "Are nervous women cyclists more likely to be killed?". The main problem for nervous drivers is the vicious cycle of being permanently liable to panic and do something catastrophically stupid, and the knowlegde of this making them more nervous. The BBC suggesting that the grim reaper is in the passenger seat can only lead to ladies across the country hysterically veering into oncoming traffic, off bridges and through busy zebra crossings.

I speak as a nervous driver myself. I don't remember if it took five or six attempts to get my license but, however many it was, the process beat out of me any residual enthusiasm for motoring. I did vroom about for a while but hung up my string-back driving gloves after an ill-judged trip through match day traffic to see a Nottingham Forest game that left a car full of schoolmates visibly ashen. I've not turned an ignition key in anger for about 7 years.

Luckily, one of the many ways in which living in London retards maturity is eridacting the need for a car but there's a revving, chugging cloud on the horizon. In November I will be at a stag do where the eyebrow shaving and mooning will stop for a brisk bout of quad biking. I couldn't be more uneasy if the BBC ran the headline "Are nervous Gareths more likely to be ground into the mud by the enormous chassis of an upturned quad bike?". It's inevitable that I'll perform the full Brian Harvey and run over my own head. And if by some miracle Saint Jeremy Clarkson answers my prayers and I survive, the relief will be short lived as within hours I'll be having my balls shot off in a hail of paintballs. Which idiot invented the stag do?