Many moons ago, when this column was a vivacious young slip of a thing, I had an almighty lash at a certain sector of the road-using fraternity, Kilian Doyle
They were described herein as "unfortunate adult males still clinging to their pathetic boyhood outlaw biker fantasies." Nice eh? There was more, lots more, but I'm not dragging up old hurts.
The motorbike couriers of this town were not amused. A horde of them arrived at the offices of The Irish Times, Salome-style, demanding this renegade preacher's head on a plate. To say I was thrilled is something of an understatement, like saying I would be a bit sore if I was run through by a narwhal tearing down Westmoreland Street on rollerblades. "Success!" I thought. "Now I know how Myers feels!"
I scoffed at the time, feeling invulnerable in my ivory tower miles from D'Olier Street. Apologise, moi? Never. I would continue to heap opprobrium on the heads of greasers and their ilk as and when I deemed them worthy of my attentions. But then I got paranoid. What if they found out where I lived, what route I took on my bicycle each day? The old peace of mind was shot for weeks as I envisioned being corralled on Thomas Street by a murder of couriers and forced down some laneway, emerging hours later with my bicycle dangling from somewhere a bicycle should never go.
It taught me a valuable lesson. Never pick on someone who is likely to pick back. I turned my ire instead towards Seamus Brennan, our erstwhile transport minister. Nice chap, but he's much smaller than me. See the cunning logic? Now, years later, my feelings on couriers are neutral. I don't bother them, they don't bother me. Everyone's happy. Imagine my surprise, then, at my reaction when I read of the predicament couriers are now in. Is that a pang of empathy I feel? Am I going soft?
Bike Ireland, which, oddly enough, represents Irish bikers, claimed last week 1,500 couriers could be out of work because one of the only insurance companies that will touch them is pulling out of the market. Hibernian says it's losing money hand over fist because of compensation claims from bikers and their passengers.
Amazingly, 70 per cent of bikers are on provisional licences. And many of them carry passengers, which is illegal. And, illegal or no, if that passenger falls off, the insurer is liable under EU law to cough up. Hibernian says 90 per cent of all pillion passenger claims come from those who've come a cropper off the back of some provo's bike.
Some are no doubt legit. But it largely stinks of scam to me. Jump off the back of your teenage mate's moped at 5km/h, run screaming to the hospital claiming horrible whiplash, find a solicitor and bang, you're €10,000 better off. Great for you, but it leaves couriers, who are, after all, just trying to make a living, in a right old pickle. I have sympathy for both sides - couriers who can't work without insurance, and Hibernian who are getting fleeced.
Anyway, dear readers, this is where you come in. Even if you care not a jot for the couriers, think of yourself. Who will deliver your dinner?
So, good people, time to stand up for the pizzaman and do your duty - next time you see a bumfluffed little shyster on a moped, wait till he's stationary and then nick his back wheel. If there's some fat little fake-tanned girlfriend in tow with her G-string so far up her back she's at risk of being garrotted with it on the back of the bike, so much the better. Let them both walk home. (We also need to keep them apart before they start breeding.)
A quick note to those couriers who remained unconvinced by my sympathetic tone and still harbour a desire to see my smug face smiling up at you from a silver platter: The chap in the above photograph isn't me at all. It's just some poor unfortunate whose photo was culled from a medical textbook of grotesque facial deformities. Note the misshapen head, the unaligned eyes, the concave chin? The poor lad's mother must be mortified).