When I was 15, I had a boyfriend who was a couple of years older than me, and had his own scooter. My mum and dad would have gone ballistic if they had found out that I went everywhere on the back of that scooter, but fortunately they never did. Or at least if they did, they chose not to mention it. As a parent of teenage girls, I can now see things from their point of view, and would lock my daughters in a cupboard if I ever thought that there was a chance of them riding around the country on the back of a scooter.
But I loved it. The smell of 2 stroke, the ring a ding revs, the roar of the engine, leaning in on the corners and riding along as part of a procession (in my head). I think I was 15 when I went to my first scooter run to Great Yarmouth. I had by then moved on from twinsets and ski pants, into cami trousers, baseball boots and denim jackets, and Motown was something for kids. I had saved up pocket money, and told my parents I was staying at my friend Jo's house for the weekend. They were never quite sure where she lived, and she didn't have a phone so they couldn't speak to her parents to check, and I thought it was unlikely that I would be caught out. I was so devious, but I was so desperate to go that I felt it was worth the risk.
I slept in a tent with my friends and in the morning, brushed my teeth with stale lager and toothpaste. I only did it once, because it was so foul, but it just seemed like a rock n roll sort of thing to do. And we went to an all nighter and danced for hours to my favourite music, and the whole experience thrilled me. I loved everything about it, the cheap burgers with vinegary ketchup and burnt onions, the noise, the leg pulling and the raucous laughter. It was fantastic and I wanted to go again and again. I was a member of a scooter club called The Choirboys (even though I wasn't even old enough to hold a driving licence, I think they may have been short on members!), and was always one of the younger ones. I loved being part of a big group, and was very well looked after. I went to about 7 or 8 rallies over the next couple of years, until I reached 17 and it lost its appeal and I didn't want to sleep in a tent which drunken lads had weed up the night before, or stand for hours waiting by the side of the road for a van to come and pick us up when we broke down. There were a few last straws - one of them was skinheads attacking Desmond Dekker on stage at a rally, in Great Yarmouth or Morecambe, I can't remember which. And the other was a very long ride back from Weston Super Mare on the back of a scooter. I was so tired I was hallucinating and ended up falling asleep, only waking up when we were pulled over by the police.
Following the Sunday morning discussion with Mr C when he asked me if I was a mod, and if I wasn't, then what exactly was I, I told him I was half soul girl and half scooter girl. I had a t-shirt which bore the legend 'Scoot Life, it's the only life I know'. What more proof do you need?
I did only wear it a couple of times, as I never had a scooter, although I did own a Honda Express when I was 16, which was the cause of much hilarity. But that's another story for another day!
Mr C is a few years older than me, and has always had scooters and was a huge fan of the music, although by the time I got into it, he had moved on. But about 5 years ago, he decided he was going to buy another scooter, and he started going on ride outs with a big crowd of old blokes, some of whom I had known when I was 16.
He wanted me to go along with him, and I did go for a ride around the block on the back of his scooter once, and that was enough! I still love the music, and still love scooters, but for me, there was a time and place for it all, and now I would rather be at home with my kids and my dogs and my slippers, and just look at the photos. I do still like a dance though!
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