According to the Road Vehicles Lighting Regulations of 1989 (amended in 1994 and 2005) this makes "the use of front and rear position lamps compulsory on vehicles during the period between sunset and sunrise".
And by vehicle, they mean, any non-living form of transport, including, (according to Wikipedia), floating tree trunks and icebergs.... So a car is a vehicle. A bus is a vehicle. A floating tree is a vehicle. However, a cow is not a vehicle. Nor is a donkey. Neither is a horse.
But a bicycle? Well, with two wheels, a frame, and a wicker basket up front, I think we can safely say a bicycle is very much a vehicle. And is therefore covered by said lighting regulations.
So who forgot to tell the lady, who ploughed into me and the Furball last week, that when it is dark and you cannot see where you are going, you need to illuminate your bicycle accordingly. This way, you will not end up with a punctured front tyre, buckled spokey dokeys, and a rather surprised face-shaped indentation in your blood spattered, wicker handlebar basket.
There we were, Furball and I, gaily trotting down the hill to the railway station, taking time out to urinate on lamp posts and other vertical conveniences. Sniffing the odd dog's bottom, that sort of thing. (FB, not me, you understand? Urinating's ok , but I draw the line at the sniffing)
We arrived at the road, looked left and right and then left again, being smart and safe, as taught to us by Mr Alvin Stardust in 1976. (How times have changed! Can you imagine the government making a road safety film now, starring a man with leather gloves, enormous sideburns and a bad wig, who sidles up to unsuspecting children, as they are about to cross the road? I'd take my chances with the traffic!)
Anyway, there we were at the roadside, watching a car in the distance, headlights on, coming our way, and we took the joint decision that we had enough time to wee, sniff and cross in a safe manner. So we did.
Only to be met by a screech of brakes. Hers.... And a screech of shock. Mine....
As I somersaulted over her handlebars, I could just make out the look of utter horror on her face. "Sorry!" I screamed, in a typically British fashion, as I landed head-first on the tarmac road surface. "I didn't see you!".
The Furball, whose lead I had dropped on impact, and who had been following my airbourne progress with some interest, came over to see if anything edible had dropped out of my bag during the show.
I crawled to the kerb, trying not to swallow my dislodged teeth. "I'm frightfully sorry" I said. Actually, because of the sudden loss of my molars, what I actually said was "mmpphfll sssozzzfulllll pllbb". "But you have no lights on your bicycle".
She leapt off the machine, and dashed round the front to check the wicker .... carefully examining it for tooth marks, small pieces of scalp, etc. Once reassured that the hand woven, basket work was still in tip top condition, she turned her attention to me, on the ground, frantically dropping handfuls of broken teeth into a bottle of raspberry flavoured drinking yoghurt. (Well, I'd read that if you accidentally lose teeth, you can keep them temporarily in milk, until you arrive at A&E, where they can put them back in. And I didn't have any semi-skimmed on me).
She regarded me in the same way a small child who has just pulled all the legs and wings off a fly, would, with what's left. She turned back to the bike.
"I do hope you haven't damaged it" she muttered, as I lay in a buckled, twisted heap at her feet. I attempted to staunch the arterial blood, spurting from my body, with an ankle sock. Thank God I got my First Aid badge in Brownies.
Finding my mouth was now free, of almost all my teeth, I tried again. "I really didn't see you. YOU HAVE NO LIGHTS ON YOUR BIKE". I was angry now. Bruised, spurting, toothless and angry.
I continued "YOU... ACCORDING TO THE ROAD VEHICLES LIGHTING REGULATIONS OF 1989 AMMENDED IN 1994 AND 2005, ARE SUPPOSED TO HAVE LIGHTS ON YOUR BICYCLE WHEN IT IS DARK. VERY MUCH LIKE IT IS NOW, IN FACT!"
She rolled her eyes and shrugged, holding up her hands as if to say "but what can you do?" And with that, she took hold of the handlebars, and pushed the offending vehicle, off into the night, without even a backwards glance, at the crumpled bloodied, gummy splat, that I'd become.
"You can get some bloody lights for your bloody bicycle, that's what you can do!!!" I yelled after her, into the gloom, feeling slightly smug that I had remembered the correct year the regulations and amendments came into force. And that the Wicker Woman, would now know I was a force to be reckoned with.
I dragged myself to the nearest lamp post, and sat, leaning against it, dazed and grazed, highlighted in the yellow pool of artificial light. One of the fallen.... But, regardless of my injuries, feeling blessed that I had survived, and relieved because it could have been so much worse.
Furball, who had up until this point, been regarding things in a quizzical, but non-committal sort of way, padded over to the street light which was supporting me....
And cocked his leg.
THE TWILIGHT ZONE....
Nautical twilight - when the Sun's centre is 12° below the horizon, meaning it's really dark. Dark enough in fact, to be unable to find your bicycle and therefore also unable to climb aboard in a carefree manner and run over a person and a small brown dog.
Astronomical twilight - when the Sun's centre is 18° below the horizon, is when it is truly dark, and you are asleep. Dreaming no doubt, of those happy days before 1989, when you could brazenly leap aboard your bicycle at dusk and happily mow down people and dogs, without any lights, whatsover.
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