One of the main men in our gang of four was Bowl-Cut Ben, so named (not to his face, obviously) for his choice of haircut. The 90s were cruel in so many ways. But I considered Bowl-Cut Ben to be my best pal, even though he clearly considered me as an acceptable acquaintance, at best. His pals all lived on his street, and they went back years. Daz and Four-Eyes, in particular, were his main men. I couldn't help feeling a bit ripped off because I lived all the way out in the forest, nowhere near the action that went on in their hood on an hourly basis.

By the time we were eleven, Ben and his homies had so much history, so many inside jokes, and so much more banter than I could ever hope for, that I felt like I didn't really belong in the gang with such a popular lad. Having said that, I was in the gang, and that was more than many could ever hope for, I had innocently assumed.

Since all Ben's pals lived on his street, there was hardly ever a need for him to stray as far as the next one, let alone come all the way out to the sticks, to hang out with me. And besides that, Ben's room was stuffed with every toy Argos had in stock, and my somewhat sparse quarters, although more wholesome, in reality, did seem a little boring, by comparison. For one thing, I didn't have a Playstation, and for another, I didn't have a weekly allowance that, by today's standards, could run a car. All this amounted to Bowl-Cut Ben only visiting me once, in the years I knew him. But balls to Ben, because just down the hill, in the grotty projects we had fled from, lived Ray, and he had a Mega Drive.

At some point, one of the local scumbags had stolen or vandalized my bike, and I’d received a little racing bike to replace it. Not being the cool choice, I hadn’t been thrilled by the gift, but once I tried it out, and realized nobody would ever keep up with me, a smile started to form. That thing was rapid, and as light as a feather.

One day, Bowl-Cut Ben and his right hand man, Daz, had decided to visit me. I’d been excited to receive cross-town guestage, and when they showed up, I felt like I had to show them everything I had – you know, to keep them dazzled, so they wouldn’t get bored and want to leave. They weren’t impressed by my technical Lego (apparently, I was a bit old for it, they politely teased, for the following year). My PC only had a few basic games, and that was lame. Hm. What else? Ok, I’ll be honest. They were already bored, and I was hoping they’d stick around at least half an hour, before making their excuses and leaving. But, they did find a football in the garden, and, being of high intellect, found it fascinating and exciting, without end. Day saved.

When the light started to fade, and Daz whispered something to Ben, they decided they were ready to leave. I’d walk them to the bus stop. But I had one last thing to show them, before they left, since I knew they’d never come back. My racer.

Although unimpressed by first appearances, Daz had a go round the block and when he came back, he pulled the wrong brake, since they were the wrong way around, and I’d forgotten to mention it. He almost went over the handlebars, but managed to save it with what we cleverly called an “endo”, which entailed staying upright on the front wheel, while the back wheel was off the ground – the higher, the better. It looked awesome.

Unable to shake the epic stunt, I gave it a few tries, while the lads walked on ahead, towards the bus stop, and after a few minutes, I felt like I had it, and called them to look. They turned around and I slammed on the brake, a little too hard. I had hoped to pull the perfect endo, and now, I was just hoping not to land on my face. But to everyone’s surprise, the bike flipped right over, I flew off, did a forward roll in the air, somehow landed on my feet, and the bike rolled up next to me. I casually waited for the seat to reach my hand, and gave a bow.

It was the ultimate accident.