Pasty Paradise - The Joie of Findin' T'Last Un!

Hasty on the pasty

It is kudos to the last pasty that caused this scene. © Devon Live

My attempt at a Devonshire accent in the title, most likely falls flat, even my Brummie birth accent cultivated in Walsall, barely gets a try.

This is one of those stories that should have ended up as a quip on Twitter or Threads, but it makes for interesting reading just because it is impossible to decide whether to laugh or cry.

It could well feature in the Odd World section of any village rag, but Bideford in North Devon, England with a population of about 15,000 or so, finds notoriety in the actions of one truculent freewheeling pensioner.

The said pensioner had rolled up to a bakery on his mobility scooter only to find that someone had paid for and made off with the last pasty. Devon, which borders Cornwall to the east, is part of the Cornish peninsula and why, I do love a rich and meaty Cornish pasty, and for that love much can happen if you are beaten to the last pasty. [Devon Live: Watch as Devon pensioner runs down man for 'buying last pasty']

A nasty for the pasty

So, waving cane and revving his mobility scooter, as if mounted on horseback and lance in hand like the cavalry of old, the pensioner ran down the man with the last pasty. The clatter and crash left pasty-man on the ground behind a shop sign ‘Kudos’.

I am undecided as to whom should receive the kudos; however, the bigger question is where did the last pasty end up? Other formalities regarding the fracas and the law notwithstanding, the morale of the tale is you are an endangered species if you are aiming for the last pasty.

It is like crossing a busy road, look right, look left, look behind you, and look all around you and far enough to be sure that with prognostication, premonition, and gut instinct and no regard for your hunger, that an old-age pensioner is not nearby ready to break your legs with a mobility scooter. That last pasty might be the last thing you do.

In danger of becoming endangered species

Take my rage and give me peace

I have no rage, no, indeed I have no anger, if I had to curse; it would be the sound of clearing my throat to call to attention ears to my words.

I patently cannot stand people who have scant regard for road usage especially within traffic, this is even worse if this is also displayed on the cycle paths, many which traverse Amsterdam.

These cycle lanes are clearly marked especially those that allow two-way traffic, so it was with utter bewilderment bordering on panic that a man in oncoming traffic on a scooter came round the bend and much as I tried to avoid him, seeing that he was on my side of the cycle path ran straight into me.

It is by circumstance of good fortune that though he fell off his scooter, I came to no harm, but my front wheel was bent out of shape.

A drunk with a weapon

It was obvious for all to see that not only had he approached the snake bend at speed, he had not reflexive control of the scooter.

Evidently, the man was inebriated that when I mentioned police he was off at speed again, I only hope no one else got the brunt of this reckless behaviour.

I for one could not find an expletive to blurt out since they never feature in my expression. However, I noticed I had no concern for the fact that he having fallen might have come to harm.

Therein is the hardening of the libertarian, we speak up for people’s rights, but lose out when people exercise their rights without due consideration of the fact that they do not exist in a vacuum.

I had no presence of mind to take the registration number of the scooter, but then with the experiences I have had of the police, my subconscious could have intimated my intuition about ignoring the essential.

How a drunken man can be in control of a vehicle that could do 50 kilometres an hour and then get away from an accident he caused, with impunity, irks me no end.

Technically, I became a victim of a hit-and-run, I have no time for vengeance, I have time to get on with my life.

Ease my pain

Two nice ladies came to my aid, to soothe me, to calm me, to sympathise with me and encourage me, having witnessed the episode – like I did just about 16 months ago [1] – I was thankful, I walked away from this – the bicycle, I can repair, as long as I have spirit and body in wholeness and wellness to do so [2].

It is just annoying that I have to pay for damage caused by a run-away drunken twerp. That grates, I’ll get over it.

I put my bike in the bike-shed, got advice about how to get it repaired and then walked 6 kilometres back home – that was my healing, the cure that allowed me get home and not have trembling fingers, breaking out in sweat and hyper-ventilating because of another chance encounter with a cretin.

Far be it from me that I begin to develop the feeling of being an endangered species in the Netherlands. As I get home, scooters whizz past with that horrible whining sound just after 4am. Sometimes!

Related blogs

[1] Couscous from a bicycle

[2] Bottling anger