Life is a Zero-sum Game

An evening supping ale in front of a wood fire, a good meal, and then off to bed would have most people marking a plus in their diary.  But not when some careless parker (I can think of a different spelling for that) knocks over the companion's motor bike.  "Can you help me pick it up?" says the phone. 

"Well," I say, " just give me time to rub out this plus, and I'll be up on my big white charger and round, as the Americans say, 'momentarily'."

"Oh," she says, "have you been down the pub?" 

"Only because the Sun came up this morning" I retort: I know how to keep my dignity.

She tells me she can get the RAC, who can apparently be contracted to pick up motorbikes whenever they fall over.  But chaps of my age and upbringing need to give the old white c. an outing now-and-again: especially after they've been down the pub.

"It'll be quicker if I come round: five minutes."  And round I go, and up the bike is picked.

Of course, it's been damaged: lights, mirrors, clutch lever, gear change pedal.  So the dreaded RAC is still going to be summoned to tarnish the whiteness of my charger.  I consider the possibility of running repairs, but it is apparent to me that 'an evening supping ale in front of, etc., etc.', and running repairs on sick motorbikes don't go together.  I have also, actually, discovered that 'an evening supping ale in front of, etc., etc.', and picking up sick motorbikes don't go together too well either.

She arranges for the RAC to waft the sick bike off to its garage first thing in the morning, apparently something else they can be contracted to do.  I am acutely aware that the white charger is running on empty.

"Let's do that," I say, grandly, as though I had decided it.

"So," I think, "'evening supping ale, etc., etc.' – plus; careless bastard knocks over motorbike – minus; opportunity for white c. outing – plus; motorbike broken – minus; RAC contracted to waft bike, etc., - plus.  That means we're ahead, so let's quit."

So I do.  But on the way home, I fall over in the churchyard.  "Oh well," I think, looking up at the church, "Life's a zero-sum game".