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By Paddy

Paddy's Throbbing Helmet

   Bike thieves and horse thieves have one thing in common. They deserve to be hung. No trial no statements and no witnesses. Just a strong rope slung over the branch of a stout tree. Stand the villain on the pillion with the knot tight round his neck, put a rough rider on the front seat, rev up and ride off. Watch the bastard swing.

   A far-fetched story? Not if you’ve had your bike nicked it’s not. In the gut-wrenching few minutes after I opened the garage door and realised that my Dyna Lowrider was missing I was capable of hanging, gassing, garrotting, shooting, stamping and beating to death with a crowbar the mangy, stinking, low-life reptile that slithered into my life and sloped off with my pride and joy.

   Before you know what’s happening you are phoning the law. A week later some pimply youth with a big blue tit perched on his skull wanders up your front path to take a statement. You offer him a cup of tea while he tells you there is zero chance of you ever seeing your machine again. Resisting the urge to take his truncheon and implant it up one of his dewdrop dripping nostrils you take your police reference number and see him out.

   The call to your insurance company is a nightmare all on its own. You get through and press 1 for this option and 2 for that option. Round and round you go in a never ending circle of selecting options broken only by bursts the Rolf Harris Stylophone version of ‘Greensleeves.’ Eventually, another of the world’s endless supply of gormless, spotty kids answers from some vast, call centre in Stoke-on-Trent.

Pat's Bike "Hello, you’re through to ‘Dontgiveafuck and Robyou’ Insurance Company, my name is Sharon, how may I help you?"

Patiently, you explain.

   "Sorry, how are you spelling Hardly Davyson?" asks Sharon sweetly. She goes on, "And how many wheels does the motor cycle have Mr Dobbinson?" "Did you leave it locked or was it parked with the keys in it and the engine running while you went for a wander round Moss Side on foot at midnight?"

   Each stupid question is followed by another more stupider question as if you were taking part in the world’s most stupidest question fest. It’s like trying to explain the Otto cycle of a four-stroke engine to the village idiot. You grit your teeth. ‘Keep cool,’ you tell yourself, ‘Don’t upset the bastards and risk a good insurance payout for the relief of giving the stupid moronic cow a blistering stream of foul-mouthed, vitriolic abuse!’

   Two months later you wondered why you bothered when a cheque for £17-08p drops through your letter box. Suddenly, that £10,000 policy excess doesn’t seem like such a good idea. You are about to go to the pub and piss up your windfall when a voice floats out of the kitchen.

   "Don’t forget that £20 you owe me for all those phone calls to the insurance company!" shrieks the missus.

   On second thoughts.......hanging is too good for the bastards! Let’s add a bit of drawing and quartering for good measure.


    Do take out a policy with an AGREED VALUE for you bike

    Do fit the best burglar alarm you can afford to your garage/shed

    Do shackle both wheels with a ‘U’ Bolt

    Do shackle the frame to a hardened hoop sunk in concrete

    Do etch security marking on all major parts


    Don’t load your policy with the false economy of a big excess

    Don’t expect good service to go with cheap premium

    Don’t expect the police to attend the crime scene in the same week

    Don’t think it won’t happen to you

    Don’t think they won’t return in 6 months for your replacement




P.S. Do have a look at Paddy's more detailed Security Article.

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