by Nathan Davey
I couldn’t believe it. I just kicked Simon Grant in the balls! I thought with much shock, and I nicked his mate’s bike. Now I’m not one to encourage stealing. I feel that it’s important for you to know that this was my first time at stealing. In this case it was different because, as I said before, Adam was a nasty git like Simon and didn’t deserve the Moped in the first place.
We kept on riding through the town. We rode past many houses. Soon we were no longer in our own district. We were riding by the homes of those better off then us. These homes were made of cleaner brick, wood and many had their own garages and conservatries. In the driveways were parked many beautiful looking cars including Austin Martins, Mini Coopers and Fiat Puntos. The lights flooding through the floral curtains looked warm and humble.
This was the world I missed out on. Then again, thinking about it, I don’t think I’d want to be one of those people. People who can afford to have everything they want and when they want it. If I had the ability to have whatever my heart desired, I don’t think I would have any concept of worth. When I saw those houses it assured me of one fact.
We all have a place in this world. It is not our job to ask for more. We can dream towards ambitions and dreams, maybe even succeed them. Nonetheless we shall always be part of our roots. Where you came from and how you were brought up, are the things that shape you as a human being. Those people were brought here to live in posh houses, with posh cars and have posh lives for a reason. It’s just the same as I was born into a council house with the bare essentials, for a reason. What that reason is I don’t know. What I do know is this: when I find out the reason for my roots and upbringing, my life will be bloody brilliant.
All of these thoughts went through my mind as we rode past. Soon the posh houses were behind us and we were then rushing through some country lanes.
Both sides of the road were lined with hedges, wooden fences and gates which whizzed by in a collective blur. Beyond the masses of darkness I could just about see the Farmer’s fields. We passed fields of wheat, hay, vegetables and just plain grass for animals to graze on during the day.
This was another world that I missed out on. In fact, if I could exchange my life for any other I would go for the life of the Farmer. On the fields you work for your own food and get fantastic exercise at the same time. You’re always in the heart of nature as you live out in the open. You’re away from the tight spaces and dirty air of the Towns and Cities. Also, at the end of each day you go to bed feeling that you’ve really accomplished something.
Once again this was not a lifestyle I was born to experience. I was happy with my lot as I knew nothing else. I tried hard to not to think of different lifestyles other then my own. I was determined to be content with what I had. So I shook my head and the thoughts shook away from my mind along with it.
The road ahead was pitch black. The headlights shone the next few meters of the road. As we drove further up the country lane, more of the road was revealed to us bit by bit. It was rather frightening, as in front of the few meters of illuminated road was just a wall of black. I couldn’t see anything beyond that wall of darkness. This was a one way road. If someone was going to come out towards me, I wasn’t going to be able to see them. I gripped tighter on the bike handles and expected the worst. This was if something did happen, as then I wouldn’t be as shocked and I’d be able to avert the disaster easily.
Lizzie had kept silent for the entire time. If it wasn’t for the tight grip she still had around my waist, I would have forgotten she was even there. Trees zoomed past as we went deeper into Farmer’s country. It was then that Lizzie first spoke since we left the housing estate.
“Where are we going?” she asked, shouting over the noise of the Moped’s engine,
“Don’t know yet!” I yelled back, “I’ve always loved this bike, I’m not going to give it back just yet!”
“I can’t believe you kicked Simon in the bollocks!” she yelled, “That was well good!”
“Thanks” I replied with a smile, “I was pretty happy with it myself!”
“So where are we going?” asked Lizzie again,
“I already told you, I don’t know” I replied back, trying to talk while at the same time keeping an eye on the road, “I thought we’d just see what was at the end of this road, and then decide from there”
“Alright!” called Lizzie, hugging me tighter and resting her head on my back, “You’re the boss, Mr. Connor!”
We rode on down the skinny road. We stopped occasionally to allow rabbits to hop across before starting off again. I’ve never been down this road before so I had no idea where it led to. Nevertheless I was determined to find out. Lizzie and I didn’t talk for a while as we watched the different fields go rushing by.
Finally we arrived at the end of the country lane. There was a fork in the road. Both roads to the left side and right side were lined in hedgerows. In-between the two separate roads was a sign post. The headlight from the Moped reflected off of the fluorescent paint. The sign which pointed to the right said “St.Ians” and the sign to the left said “London”.
I stopped there in the road and stared at the signs. Lizzie peered over my shoulder to have a look as well. We both read and reread the road signs in silence. Both of us knew that there was a choice to be made. Neither of us could stay in St.Ians and live the lives we wanted to lead. I wanted to be a graffiti artist. Lizzie wanted to be a writer. Staying in St.Ians wasn’t going to allow those dreams to bloom.
I was then reminded of a fairy tale I was once told as a littlen, Dick Whittington and his Cat. The story told of a young man from the olden days that came from Gloucester. He travelled to London to seek his fortune. He defeated the evil King Rat. He married Mr. Fitzwarren’s beautiful daughter Alice and eventually became Mayor of London. All of that was accomplished by Dick Whittington following his heart. He knew that Gloucester had nothing to offer him and his wide ambitions, so he made off for new places in which to accomplish his dreams.
It was only in that moment, striding a yellow motorbike in the dark of night, that I realised the real wisdom behind that tale. At this point of my journey that wisdom had so much relevance. Lizzie was breathing deeply behind me. She leaned over and whispered something in my ear:
“It’s your choice, whichever you pick I’ll be right behind yah”
I nodded silently, not taking my eyes off of the signs. I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes. I turned the hands to the right. Lizzie sighed and sat back down, ready to get moving again towards home. Then, I suddenly changed my mind. In one quick sweeping movement I brought the hands around. The front wheel was now facing towards the left hand road. I revved up the engine again. Lizzie leaned over my shoulder and kissed me on the cheek.
“You know it makes sense!” she said with a sweet smile.
I kept revving up the engine, let go of the brake and soared down the country path. We passed the usual signs of the countryside, before finally coming out of the other side onto a main road. We got into one of the four car lanes heading towards London. We were grinning from ear to ear as we travelled along. Suddenly we both just belted out:
“WHOO-HOOO!!”
CHAPTER SIX
Cars, Motorbikes, Coaches and Lorries drove alongside us and all around us. All of their lights were on, which made the road ahead shine in a mixture of yellow headlights, orange indicator lights and red brake lights. The wide road was lined with grey iron fences, tall lampposts with small yellow lights, hundreds of green road signs and many off road service stations.
After a few hours into the journey, we pulled into one of these road service stations to rest. On the way to the car park, we saw a road sign that said “Welcome to Essex” in large, friendly letters. Other than the B.E.N representation of “Chavs”, ITV has now put Essex on the map but unfortunately for all of the wrong reasons. They created a new stereotype for people who live in Essex, which in my opinion is just as bad as what B.E.N had done to British teens.
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I’m pretty sure that you know of the stereotype I’m referring to. It makes out that all people from Essex are extremely vain, uneducated and seedy. Stopping off at this service station would be my first time in Essex and, other then what I’ve learnt from the ITV television programs, I didn’t know anything about these people. I assumed that, like everything else on telly these days, it was over exaggerated and not to be taken seriously. When I saw that sign, I was instantly intrigued. I was interested to see if other media based discriminations were just as false and harming as the ones that have affected me.
It was quite late at night, so the car park was practically empty. There were only a few cars, a coach and two Lorries parked there. We found a good space near the front. I kicked down the bike stand. I climbed off first and then helped Lizzie down.
As our feet hit the tarmac, we could feel our legs wobble like jelly. This was our first time out on a Moped, so our legs were not used to the experience and didn’t know how to adapt. Before going into the building, we stood our ground and waited for the feeling to come back into our legs. Once we were confident that we could walk, we went towards the main building.
The main building was a large glass dome like structure. Just outside of the building was a large pole. On the pole were large illuminated signs which featured logos of food chains and shops which were to be found inside: KFC, Burger King, WHSmith and so on. Directly next door was a motel which was simply a square building with lots of tiny rectangular windows. This place wasn’t exactly grand architecture, then again most of England looks as crummy as this.
We went inside through the glass double doors. Our bodies were warmed instantly by the fantastic central heating system. The doors behind us shut, keeping out the cold air. Inside it was like a miniature version of a shopping centre. There was a large selection of food establishments to choose from. Luckily, as I hadn’t taken off my jacket since I came home from school, I still had my wallet in my pocket. This meant that, for tonight at least, we’d get a decent meal. After this we’d have to think of some way that we could earn some money for food.
The entire service station was empty expect for one table in front of Burger King. The owners of the cars outside must had been in the motel or something. At the table were a group of men in their early twenties. They were dressed stylishly in skinny jeans, leather jackets and rock n’ roll t-shirts. They were like the drippy band at school, except these guys actually pulled off the look. One of them had a black guitar case leaning against their chair, on the guitar case was a sticker which said: Purple Skull.
Lizzie and me got some burgers and sat down on the table next to the lads in leather. They were moaning about something. As we munched away hungrily on the fatty foods, I couldn’t help but listen in. It turned out that these blokes were a band and Purple Skull was what they called themselves. I found this out from the back of one of the lad’s t-shirts. He wasn’t dressed like the others, obviously a technician or something. He wore a black shirt which on the back said: Purple Skull – UK Tour – 2012, it then listed all of the venues that the band would be visiting. The argument they were having was over the fact that the bassist, Stewie, had just bought a new bass that wouldn’t fit into the van.
“You could’ve at least told us about it!” said a band member, with black hair and tanned skin,
“I did tell you!” insisted Stewie, getting aggravated, “the old one broke on stage, remember Stan?”
“Yes I do remember” piped in another member, who was twiddling a drumstick between his fingers, “but I also remember that it was you who broke it!”
“We’ve told you before Stew” said Stan, looking rather serious, “the reason that The Who could smash up their instruments, was because they had the money to buy lots of spare instruments and hire lorries to store them all in. We told you not to do it, but you went and did it anyway!”
“I just thought it would be cool” explained Stewie, “that’s all, didn’t know it would turn out to be such an issue”
“The problem is” said the man with the drumstick in his hand, “that you went and bought a monster of a bass guitar, that doesn’t fit in the back of the bloomin’ van! You said that you’d meet us up here because you were going into town to get something. If I’d known you were going for that, I’d have dragged you up here”
“We need to get to our next venue” said the fourth member, who had been sipping at a straw this whole time, “we need to get settled in, find our hotel and get ready for the gig in the evening. So, let’s stop squabbling and figure out how we’re going to transport that guitar”
“What if we strap it on top?” suggested Stewie,
“You crazy man!?” said the drummer, “if that comes undone during the journey, not only will it fly off, but smash through the windscreen of the car behind us and kill the driver! Haven’t seen that movie The Decent? Do you want that to happen?”
“No” answered Stewie, “it was just a suggestion”
“It was a daft suggestion wasn’t it?” added the fourth band member, “what we need is a second vehicle, but we don’t have one do we?”
“I can help” I piped in all of a sudden, surprising Lizzie as well as myself, “if you need a hand. We’ve got a Moped outside. We could strap it on and ride alongside you”
The band and the technician in the black shirt turned around in their seats to look at me. They looked me up and down. Of course, because of my appearance, they were not sure whether or not to trust me. I could tell by the way they were glaring at me and curling their lips, that they were wondering if I was planning to steal the guitar or not.
I wasn’t really sure why I spoke up when I did. In fact, I still don’t know why I did it. I and Lizzie had no plans on what to do with ourselves after running away from St. Ians. We had nothing on our schedule and these blokes needed a helping hand. We had an overwhelming amount of time on our hands so, I just thought, why not? It would give us something to do. It certainly would put a nice start to our little trip.
Lizzie nudged me. I turned to her. She gestured with her hand for me to lean in, so she could whisper something to me. I obeyed and leaned towards her. She put her mouth to my ear and said quietly:
“What’s your game?”
“I just thought these guys might need our help” I answered coolly, “if we go along with them, then at least we’d have somewhere to go. I’d rather do that then ride around mindlessly on that bike, vaguely in the direction of London, until we run out of fuel.”
“I suppose it makes sense” said Lizzie, still unsure, “but like, what if they ditch us?”
“Then we’ll find somewhere else to go” I said with a smile, “this will be the starting line. The first step, if you like. Then we can figure out what to do from that point onwards. What do you think?”
“I think your mad” said Lizzie, “but then again, being mad is better then being normal and boring”
“That’ a girl!” I replied, giving her a wink.
I could tell that the band members still were not sure about me. This wasn’t just because of how I was dressed. In Britain, it’s considered weird when a complete stranger offers you help. We cannot offer help to our fellow man without being accused of being some sort of freak. I was pretty keen on the idea, but I was also worried that the band would think I’m some sort of nutter.
“Why would you want to help us?” asked Stewie, “who are you anyway?”
“My name is Aaron Connor” I said, as calmly as I could, “I overheard you guys and I just thought that you might need a hand. Before you even suggest it, I’m not going to try and nick it. I’m not that kind of guy. I stole the Moped off of someone, but mind that was my first time at stealing and the person who originally owned it was a bastard anyway. Other than that, I promise you that I’m a trustworthy bloke. So, what do you guys think?”
“Still not sure mate” said Stewie with a scowl, “can’t trust you bloody hoodies. Once our back is turned you’ll rampage our va
n and be off with everything! Why should we trust you?”
“On my word” I said,
“It’s weird” said Stan, raising an eyebrow to me, “you dress like a chav, you have the accent of a chav, but have the vocabulary of a scholar. What happened? Is like, your Mum Vicky Pollard and your Dad Stephen Fry!? It makes no sense. I like you though. Sure, you can carry the bass for us”
Stewie darted a nasty look towards Stan. Stan ignored these looks. Even though this was a long shot and Stewie’s guitar was on the line, there was something about me that he liked. I don’t know what it was. Maybe he could tell that I wasn’t the massive dick as my appearance would suggest. I knew I was going to get reactions like this wherever I go. Nonetheless I was adamant to changing my look. It was comfortable, it was durable and it was practical.
It was then that I made a key decision which would change the course of this entire road trip. I was fed up of people grouping guys together and guessing how they will be based on how they look. My plan was this: by the end of this trip, I wanted to change the attitudes of a least a few people. To make them think differently about their preconceptions of blokes like me. My plan, as impossible as it may have sounded at that point, was to abolish the word “chav” once and for all. I wanted to get rid of that word, or at least change what it means.
The idea was that I was going to change people’s minds by being a good guy. I was going to help as many people as I could. I was going to add something to society, whether or not I knew the people I was helping. I must have been mad to think that that alone would help to abolish the word “chav” or change its definition. Then again, as I said before, I had no real plans for the future in the usual sense. I’d liked to think that I was going to spend the time I had here on this Earth doing some good, maybe even making a difference. Even if I don’t make a difference and nothing changes after I leave this world, it’s the thought that counts. Stan’s open minded nature was my ticket to beginning this mission. Stan, if you’re reading this book, cheers mate, I owe you one!
