Punctured

I thought it was my bad riding making for the wobbles but at the top of a hill, four miles from home, the puncture became obvious. I rolled the bike back into a village, hoping someone would ask me what is wrong. A friendly builder did so and brought me a pump it didn't hold the air though. And so I called my neighbours, local scrappiest, for a lift. In fifteen minutes two vans showed up, scrapped BMW on the back of one of them to which my gs was tied. Later I bought them six chocolate eclairs.