Shepherd's Bush is a bit like the kind of post-Apocalyptic world as seen in films such as Mad Max, but this afternoon it was even more so. As I crossed the road on my way to play tennis I became aware of the screeching of brakes and turned to see a hard looking man on a quad bike pulling up alongside a black cab that had stopped at the lights. A quad bike isn't something you often see on the roads of London and the man was bald and dressed in leathers and clearly angry about something. I imagine he had been cut up by the cab somewhere along the road, but maybe he had just been transported through a dimensional distortion and travelled back from the year 2025 where London lies in nuclear contaminated ruins and is ruled by a band of mutants who have quad bikes and access to petrol.
"Have you got a problem?" he bellowed at the cab driver. "Do you want a problem?"
The cab driver initially tried to ignore the bellowing baldy, but this was hard. Violence was in the air and not for the first time in the lawless society that is the Bush. As the hairless man kept yelling the cab driver egged on the egghead by giving him the finger. This isn't what I would have chosen to do in the circumstances. He could pull out a laser weapon at any point and turn him into a charcoal brickette.
I was safely across the road and glad I was because as the lights changed the angry man sped off on his quad bike (are they allowed on the road?) perhaps foolishly deliberately putting himself into the path of the cab. There was no collision and the bike and the biker both roared off into the Shepherd's Bush afternoon. Luckily no blows of fists or lasers were exchanged.
Just as the man disappeared into the distance a couple of policemen turned the corner, having totally missed the incident. I saw one of them looking off in the direction of the departing motorbike with a look of confusion of his face, which he quickly shook off. Had they turned that corner a minute earlier I might have had a much more interesting story to write about. If time-travelling, post-Apocalyptic bald men are not interesting enough for you. Your standards have got too high for me.
I won at tennis, despite being hungover. I am skill.
