I spent hours hand stitching my school skirt hem: meticulously shortening it exactly 1cm shorter than "regulation" length.

I was an absolute master at bending the rules just enough, so THEY couldn't really, justifiably, get hold of me.

So, you would think then, that I would continue my life, steering well clear of authority.

Well, I did. Until now.

I woke up last night, screaming - cold horror curdling my veins, hoping it was a nightmare but it isn't!

I am travelling across Africa with one of THEM!!

 The Head Girl!

10,000 kilometres, across desert and jungle - me and my bike. And now HER!

I blame the fact, that her middle name is Gigi. For godsake!  What sort of self-respecting Head Girl, has a middle name Gigi!

It all came about quite unexpectedly:

It’s a rare thing to find another woman that can hold a conversation about motorcycles.

• [Note - I said woman. You know?! The type that waxes regularly, frequent wine bars, know the difference between equities, equality and equilibrium and generally prefer men to be the dominant species. NOT to be confused with the creature that anatomically MIMICS the female species, but generally has the wardrobe of either a plumber or a harlot, is addicted to Coronation Street, smokes fags  and say 'OUSE, when they mean house!]

But it was her HEIGHT that cinched it for me: I can't remember the last time I didn't have to perform a hunchback manoeuvre, in order to look another woman in the eyes: "GOD YES!" I thought, three months of travelling with a girl that will make me feel NORMAL!

Ok, it did help that she, like me, was born in Africa.

The fact that she hadn't been on a bike since she was 16, didn't ring any alarm bells. Nor did I think that the little-schoolgirl-manner, with which she subconsciously straighten her skirt when she sits down, was of any consequence. Surely even HEAD GIRLS mellow out as they grow older? Surely even they, eventually, break a few rules…?

Boy, was I wrong!

I got my suspicions when she ordered a SOYA Latte at Starbucks. Then, when I told her proudly that I power-walk a mile every day, to get fit - she snorted with amusement, and informed me that she runs 5 miles a day, for fun. Uh-oh!

I knew I was in trouble, when she told me that she had a library card...

"A library card.", I repeated after her, my face suddenly feeling numb. A frigging library card??!!!

It didn't get any better, when one day, she positively bounced over to me, grinning widely: "Look what I've found! Its PERFECT for our trip - we ABSOLUTELY must have it"

Motorcycle leathers, with automatic airbags incorporated in the back, chest, legs and arms.

Oh boy. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.