I live on the edge of a quiet village so it’s quite rare for me to hear loud sounds. But there was a terrible racket the other day. It sounded as though my owner was treating his lawn mower in a very bad way. But then I realised that we’re still in January. He doesn’t cut the grass until the Spring. So I looked out of the side window in our kitchen, and there outside our gates were three scary-looking humans sitting on gleaming motorised bikes. And these machines had strange words written along their sides which read “Ducati”, “Triumph” and “Honda”. The three of them looked like they were part of a gang, and they were shouting to each other over the noise of their engines. It seemed that they had taken a wrong turning and were lost. So one after another, they turned off their ignitions and removed their helmets. And I had quite a surprise. Because these weren’t three adrenaline-filled tearaways. They were three old men, in their seventies or eighties, with big pot bellies and snow-white hair! Yes, I’d suddenly discovered a brand new sub-species of human that I’d never seen before. “Biker Geriatrica!” They may well have been on their way to a local Age Concern meeting, and the three of them probably had hearts of gold.
