Scooby Died

When you learn a lesson in one area of your life, there is absolutely no reason why this lesson can`t be applied to other parts of it too.

From my last foul relationship, I learnt a lot. I learnt that hanging desperately on to something that is constantly trying to hurt you is extremely dangerous. I learnt that depending on something that is going nowhere is silly, and that if it has to be kick started every morning there`ll never be a point where you don`t expect it not to kick start at all. I learnt that if you can`t tell where something is going you`re probably not supposed to go with it, and if you have to beg it constantly to function you probably shouldn`t be with it in the first place. I learnt that if you spend more time and energy worrying about when it`s going to fall apart than you do enjoying the fact that it hasn`t yet, there are better things you could be doing, and if you`re constantly tensed for the end then you`ll never enjoy the beginning. I learnt that if something is trying to kill you it`s a good idea to walk away before it manages it, and if they have a deep dark hole in them that you can`t see but know is there then there`s absolutely no point in trying to block it up because you can`t. And I learnt - perhaps most importantly - that if they`re old they`re old, that it`s not a good thing if you look closely and find that they`re going bald, and if you ignore it they`re just going to get older and balder.

All of which can also be applied to my scooter.

Scooby did his best, poor mite. He has gamely carried me to and from school for nearly three months: dealt with all sorts of bad driving and rough country stones and ash from volcanos. But it has been clear for a while now that it was never going to be a healthy relationship: that every single morning it was extremely debatable whether or not he was going to wake up again, no matter how hard I kicked him. He has one mirror. He has no speedometer, which isn`t actually a problem because he can`t go any faster than 30kmh but it still doesn`t bode well for this general health. He`s had five flat tyres in three weeks, and he won`t stop indicating, except that he changes his mind every three seconds about what direction he plans to head in. He has, as of this past weekend, no light, which means I can`t take him anywhere at night-time, he coughs for the first 20 minutes of every ride, and his tyres are so sleek and smooth I can see my face in them. And you`re not supposed to be able to see your face in tyres. It`s very dangerous.

Normally, of course - if I was the Old Me (this is how I now refer to the Me who was a bit of a walkover) - I`d wait and I`d wait and I`d wait and I`d hope that somehow, magically, he fixed himself. And even though I`d know that it was pretty rare for scooters to fix their own tyres and brakes and front lights and indicators, I`d still hope. I`d get on that damn scooter and I`d continue whispering please please please continuously, and hoping furiously that it didn`t get fed up and decide to kill me just to shut me up. And then, even though I`d know, deep down, that it was inevitable, I`d wait until it was too late and he fell apart completely and stopped functioning and then I would cry and cry and cry because I`d be totally screwed and probably in pieces too.

Luckily, I`m not the Old Me anymore, and the New Me has learnt her lesson. I`ve been secretly prowling around scooter shops when Scooby wasn`t looking for weeks and weeks now, and last night I finally found something that Will Do: a scooter that actually functions. It`s not my perfect scooter - it`s not the cream and brown leather Italian Vespa I`m going to end up with one day - but it`ll get me to and from school for the rest of my time in Japan, and I can pimp it up nicely enough to make it acceptable to myself and to my students. So I bought it. I handed the money over on the spot and I bought it: both on impulse, and on sensible consideration. And I have one week to wait before he`s ready to start his next relationship and we can begin something new together.

This morning, minutes after coaxing Scooby awake, he died. In fact, he chose the most dangerous possible time to fall apart, just as I knew he would: at the exact moment I pulled out in front of a large lorry. The back tyre exploded, Scooby made a very sad little sound and gave up the ghost exactly two thirds of the way across a main road, and I just about made it to safety before the lorry forced me to give up the ghost too. And as unsentimental as I am, now, (the New Me, not the Old Me), I`m ashamed to say that I swore, left the dead Scooby on the side of the road and got an incredibly expensive taxi to work. And I may have stuck my finger up at him as the taxi drove past.

So I`ve finally learnt my lesson. Just. I learnt my lesson about 12 hours before I would have had to learn the same lesson all over again, except this time with a lorry smashing me up instead of a boy. And it still cost me 25 quid in taxi fees.

When something is broken, there`s no point wasting your time and energy and money trying to fix it: get another one. Don`t wait until it leaves you a mess on the side of the road. And if the next one isn`t perfect? So be it.

It`ll help you to get to the one that is.