Wheelchair bound

Wheelchair bound, who needs legs when you can fly around on wheels? I take the world by storm, rocking over pavements and rolling over pathways like a broken racer. But a racer just like anyone. Give me a helmet with a visor and I'll take you on anyway, young rookie. You'd wished you'd never asked.

Age is just a number and I'm wiser than you sonny boy, you can snigger all you like but the things I've seen, the things I've done - you've no clue. My life is in the past but now I'm a racer, and a bloody good one at that. I race to bingo because I like to conform to stereotypes sometimes, but then I race to the co-op to buy alcohol so I can get bloody silly drunk. Too old to drink my arse, I'd beat you at a boat race Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday - any day kid!

Maybe when you're older you'll understand why I am so batty. Why I never slow down as I whiz along the footpath, regardless of old folks or women with buggies. I'm old kid. It happens, sometimes, but you gotta keep racing. Never jog, never take your hands off your wheels, because it's not over til the fat lady sings. My friends fat and she's not a singer, no sir she ain't that at all.

See me riding, cut me some slack for the wrinkles on my face. I never put them there I'm telling you. But I'd still take you on the final lap of a Grand Prix, and be home in time for my supper and coronation street on the box.