Picture the scene. It's 1979, and me and my old 380 Suzuki are lodging in Southwold, an old fashioned town on the Suffolk coast, not usually known for being a centre of motorcycling.

I stroll out of my digs, dead cool in my black Bell lid, leather jacket and boots, and cross the road to my bike, which is parked at the kerb. No disk locks or heavy duty chains needed in Southwold - I just relied on the steering lock, but as I didn't like the way the bike looked with the wheel pointed into the kerb, I used to lock it with the bars straight ahead.

A nice autumn evening, perfect for a ride, so off I went. I started the bike, and rode off down Cumberland Street, turning round to the right at the end of the road, and riding back past my digs. Past the brewery, then I turned right again, intending to go for a quick pose up the High Street, on my way out of town.

I wanted to take the next turning to the left, but the bike wasn't having any of it. I tried to turn, but it went straight on - The front end went through the door of the chip shop on the corner, and I lost my balance and fell in a heap in the doorway. The queue looked on, waiting for their cod and a portion. Somebody said "You all right son?" I mumbled something non-committal in reply, grateful for my full face lid and tinted visor. I undid the steering lock, which was the cause of the problem, hauled the bike backwards out of the chip shop, and rode away with as much dignity as I could muster, and let me tell you, that wasn't very much. A minute earlier I had been Joe Cool, rebel biker in a town full of fossils - Now I was the black prat, laughing stock of the town.

Still, we learn by our mistakes don't we? Or do we? I fell off for exactly the same reason a couple of weeks later. I had been taking a mate out for a ride. We left his house, turning right, and everything went fine until I tried to turn left. Over we went. We just lay in a heap in the middle of the road, laughing fit to bust.

Still, that day, I wasn't the only one with egg on my face. After we had stopped laughing, and picked the bike up, we rode down to the local bike shop, and parked across the road. There, one of the wrenches was collecting an XS650 twin to wheel over to the shop for a service. Cool as you like, he rocked the bike off its centre stand and rolled it backwards single handed. Unfortunately, the bike started to fall over away from him. The wrench hung on to the handlebar grip as hard as he could, but ever so gently the grip slid off the end of the bar, and the bike fell on its side with an expensive sounding crunch. You know the situation - You can see what's happening, but there's nothing at all you can do to stop it.

The wrench stood there, staring at the bike, one hand still holding the grip, trying to work out how much it was all going to cost. I know we shouldn't have laughed, but it was hard not to, as we helped him pick the bike up. It was just nice to know, having made a complete prat of myself, that the professionals could do just as good a job!