. . . and did I mention that I find him very handsome, in an unconventional sort of way? I’m pretty sure I might have done, but just in case I didn’t – he most definitely is.
I was a little disconcerted at first to have him take over from me so completely on this particular venture, but then I’ve had my hands full with Veganthropy Foods and Hempawear, so it didn’t trouble me too much.
The next thing I heard, about a week later, was that Nolan had arranged for us to shoot a short promotional video for Uncle Kev’s electric bicycles, as a proof of concept. This video would then be strategically posted to all the main social media sites, to gauge audience response. Joseph would be the man to do the filming, and Amisha would then upload her husband’s video as soon as it was edited.
I genuinely thought I’d play no further part in proceedings.
Until today, that is – the day before the shoot.
‘You want me to what?’ I splutter.
‘Be in the video with me and Kevin,’ Nolan replies. ‘I think it’ll be for the best, don’t you, Joseph?’
Joseph nods slowly. This is the way he tends to do everything. He’s possibly the calmest human being to ever walk the face of the planet. The man is so deliberate and considered about the world, it’s like someone’s shown him his entire life story up to the point of his death, and he knows there are no nasty surprises coming. ‘Yes, I’d say so,’ he agrees.
Ellie Cooke does not say so. She does not say so at all – largely because she has no idea what her life story looks like, and is terrified of nasty surprises. Something like a bamboo prototype electric bicycle has ‘nasty surprise’ written all over it.
‘Um, I’m not sure I’d be very good on camera,’ I say, in a deeply worried tone. ‘I might do something silly.’
Joseph pats me on the shoulder with one big hand. ‘You’ll be fine, Ellie. We won’t do too much, I promise. Just some shots of you guys on the bikes, with maybe some GoPro footage of you cycling about a bit. Nothing too strenuous.’ His smile is very reassuring – as if he already knows that things are going to be absolutely fine.
‘Yeah, I’m sure you’ll be great,’ Nolan agrees. ‘And really, you’ve got to be in the video with us. I’m hoping this will be a good calling card for Viridian PR as much as a promotional test video for these bikes. It can’t just feature a scruffy bloke like me. Having my fantastic and beautiful second-in-command in it will sell us far better!’
This morning, I elected to wear quite a lot of foundation and concealer, as I’m having some issues with chin spots right now. Thank God I did, because it’s harder to see that my face is flaming red with embarrassment.
Nolan just called me beautiful.
Fantastic and beautiful.
I’m self-aware enough to know that I am blessed with some attractive features (though, to be honest, the only thing on my face I really like are my lips – the rest of it I can take or leave), but to have someone say I am beautiful is a concept quite beyond me.
And the only thing I’d say about myself where I can comfortably use the word ‘fantastic’ in a positive manner is that I am fantastic at Pictionary.
Every time Christmas rolls around and I go home to my parents’ house, everybody tries extremely hard to be on my team when we play it. Sean goes as far as bribing me with cold hard cash.
I always win. It’s become a family tradition.
And I’m not even a good drawer. I got a C in Art at school. It’s just that, for some reason, when you stick a timer on me, pop me in front of a whiteboard and tell me to represent a water bison, I can do it in ten seconds flat, with an accuracy that’s almost scary.
I am the Rain Man of Pictionary.
What I’m not is someone who takes a compliment easily, especially when it comes from the man who pays my wages.
‘Oh, well, I don’t know about that,’ I say, coquettishly. This is most definitely the first time in my life I’ve done anything that’s approaching coquettish. It’s making me feel light-headed. I’m not even sure I know what ‘coquettish’ means, but if it’s got anything to do with being embarrassed and awkward in front of two men, then I’m your number-one coquettish girl.
Joseph gives Nolan a look that I’m far too shocked to decipher, before returning his gaze to me. ‘So, are you happy to do it then, Ellie? Sounds like we need you in it.’
‘Um. Okay,’ I say, still processing.
Does . . . does Nolan fancy me?
Or is he just buttering me up to get me to play along?
Does he really think that I’m beautiful? And if so, what would that mean for our working relationship?
Hell, what would it mean for my working relationship with everyone else in the office? If Nolan starts to give off the impression that he’s attracted to me, won’t that have a negative impact on the way people treat me around here? Especially because he’s just promoted me?
I do not want anybody to think I got this job because of anything to do with the fact that I’m a woman and he’s a man. I did not get promoted via the medium of sexuality.
Okay, yes, I did flash my hemp knickers at him, but nobody else knows about that.
No . . . there was nothing underhand like that going on, at all. I did not use my feminine wiles to score a bigger pay cheque! I got the job the honourable and proper way: by lying through my teeth about being environmentally conscious.
Good grief.
There’s every chance I’m just overthinking this. Nolan is probably just being nice to a senior member of his staff, to get them to cooperate with his plans.
Yes.
That sounds about right to me.
Nothing more to it than that.
Nothing.
Speaking of nothing, I have nothing appropriate to wear for cycling. The last time I got on a bicycle I was fourteen years old and 84 per cent uncoordinated limbs. I’m not that sure I’m much more coordinated now, nearly twenty years later, to be honest.
I eventually elect to wear a pair of black leggings, a grey sweater, and a pair of Adidas I bought for the gym – and have therefore only worn on three previous occasions.
I look kind of sporty. Sporty-ish.
Good enough for this silly video, anyway.
Let’s hope it doesn’t take ages to shoot. I could do with getting back to the office as soon as possible, given that Mordred O’Hare has decided the script for the Veganthropy radio advert doesn’t contain enough information about how the leeks they are now using are ethically farmed, miles away from any unsuspecting Alliumaris lepidoptera colonies. I’m sure he’s happy about that, but I’m not convinced that telling the public at large about it is necessarily the right way to get them to buy the leek, butter bean and roasted cauliflower stew.
I arrive at the park close to Viridian PR’s offices, to be greeted by Nolan, Joseph, Joseph’s extensive array of camera equipment, three bamboo bikes, and Uncle Kev.
Uncle Kev’s full name is Kevin Flounder, and in a display of near-perfect nominative determinism, he does indeed look like a fish. One of the bug-eyed, thin ones.
He’s also dressed a tiny bit like Worzel Gummidge, in a tatty pinstripe suit jacket and equally threadbare red corduroy trousers. You can tell he’s the eccentric English inventor type from a thousand yards away. The hair is nowhere near as bushy or grey as Mordred’s, but it could give it a run for its money in the flyaway department.
The park is largely – and thankfully – empty. We should be able to do a few nice, brief shots of us riding around the car park, and the path around the park, without drawing too much attention.
‘Morning, Ellie!’ Nolan says happily, as I walk over to where the three of them are standing. ‘Say hello to Kevin and the Cyclocity 5000!’ He indicates the bikes and their inventor, who gives me a little wave.
Hmmm.
We’ll have to do something about that name. Cyclocity 5000 sounds like something out of 1950s America, not twenty-first-century Britain.
The bikes themselves are
the type with small wheels and a high seat and handlebars. Kevin’s obviously designed them to mimic your average foldaway commuter cycle. The small electric engine sits above the pedals in a chunky section of the frame, which is clearly made out of bamboo, as it is quite a pleasing stained light-wood colour.
For a bicycle that someone’s knocked up in their own shed, the Cyclocity 5000 is quite an impressive piece of kit. To have made at least three of them already is even more impressive. There are a few small differences between each of them here and there, and if you look closely you can begin to see imperfections on all of them, but I am nevertheless amazed by Kevin’s talent and skill. Looks like Young Adrian might have been on to something after all . . .
‘Hello, Kevin,’ I say to the inventor, shaking his hand as I do.
‘It’s extremely good to meet you!’ he tells me enthusiastically. ‘Really looking forward to seeing how you get on with the bikes!’
‘Great. Us too,’ I reply with a smile. ‘So, how is this going to work?’ I address this second part directly to Joseph, trying to get the show moving before the park fills up with locals ready, willing and able to gawp at the awkward thirty-something woman in her second-best pair of black leggings.
‘We’ll get you lined up first for a nice opening shot,’ Joseph rumbles. ‘Nolan will introduce you all and the bikes, and then I’ll get you to ride around a little in here, before we try the bikes out on the road.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Nolan says, and takes the middle bike by the handlebars in both hands.
I sidle over to the one on his right, while Kevin Flounder stands next to the one on the left.
With his camera rig set up, Joseph tells us he’s ready to proceed. I’m exceedingly glad Nolan is doing all of the talking. He did offer me a few lines, but I figured it would be better for the company’s owner to be the speaker.
This is the right decision, as Nolan is clearly a natural at talking on camera. Once Joseph presses record, Nolan drops into a perfectly timed spiel about how marvellous Kevin’s green bikes are. He seems to have very much done his homework on them, as he’s very knowledgeable about how they work. His confidence on camera is quite a thing to behold. He doesn’t put a foot wrong with his speech. I’d have been stumbling all over the place, but he gets through it with no issues whatsoever.
By the time Nolan has finished introducing Kevin and his bikes, even I’m excited to see what they’re like to ride. His sales pitch has been quite magnificent.
‘Right, let’s get you all riding together past me for a nice establishing shot of the bikes in action,’ Joseph says to us. ‘If you all start at the entrance to this car park and ride to the other side, that should do it.’
The three of us wheel our bikes the short distance over to where Joseph wants us to start. Once there, I take a breath and plonk myself down on the bike’s seat, ready to get going.
When I was at school, I was told that diamond is the hardest substance on earth. Clearly my teachers never had to sit on a bicycle seat designed by Kevin Flounder.
‘Fucking hell,’ I gasp under my breath, as I stand back up off the seat and look down at it. It doesn’t look like a giant razor blade, but it sure as hell feels like one. Kevin has elected to put quite racy-looking saddles on his bikes – long, thin and scalloped. Combine that with the fact they’re apparently made out of a substance harder than the average human tooth, and I know I’m in for a bad time in the next few minutes.
I look over at Nolan, who is sat on his bike seat and is gamely trying not to look like he’s being cut in half. I have no actual idea whether hard bike seats have a worse effect on men than they do on women, but Nolan’s expression tells me that it certainly isn’t a bowl of cherries for them any more than it is for us.
Kevin Flounder is sat there with a massive grin on his face, and is actually jigging up and down on his bike seat with excitement. I’ve never met anyone with concrete genitals before. I wonder if he requires any medical supervision.
‘Okay!’ shouts Joseph from his vantage point about fifty yards away. ‘All three of you jump on, and just come riding past me, down to the other end! Then turn around and come back, just using the electric motors on your bikes! I’ll give you a count of three!’
Yikes. Can I make it that far?
Only one way to find out, I suppose.
I remount the bike gingerly, and put my foot on the pedal. Pain and discomfort immediately set in around my nethers. I wore my second-best pair of black leggings because they are comfortable and hug my bottom in a pleasing manner. I clearly should have turned up today with my winter duvet wrapped around me like a giant nappy. I may not have looked quite so cute, but I would surely be better off on this bike than I currently am.
As Joseph starts his brief countdown, I look again at Nolan, whose expression is quite inscrutable. The gritted teeth may be due to pain, but could also be down to determination to get the video footage in the can.
Kevin looks like he’s on holiday at the seaside. There’s no way the man has any children. His scrotum must look like tenderised beef steak.
‘Three, two, one, go!’ Joseph cries out, and we all push forward on our bikes.
If sitting still on this saddle is bad, then riding along on it is a whole new level of horrible I can barely express.
Furthermore, the centre of gravity on this bike is awful. The little wheels and high handlebars make it pretty damn unwieldy. I’m wobbling around more than a bowlful of jelly in an earthquake.
Best try to get up some speed, to counteract the wobble. There’s not much I can do about how painful the seat is, but maybe if I go a bit faster, I can stand up on the pedals.
I’m not that successful at either gambit, but things do improve enough for me to no longer fear that I am immediately going to fall off. Nolan and Kevin have both got ahead of me a little, so I pedal harder to catch up with them. Nolan’s teeth are still gritted as we pass Joseph, and Kevin is now giggling away to himself like a madman.
I try my hardest to look happy about the whole situation as I fly past Joseph’s camera – this is supposed to be for a promotional video after all, and I want Nolan to see that I’m trying to do a good job of it – but my manufactured look of enjoyment is absolutely unbelievable, as I am not a raging masochist.
All three of us reach the other end of the car park more or less together, and turn around to come back in the other direction.
In Nolan’s introduction, he gave a very clear and easy-to-understand description of how the Cyclocity’s electric motor works, so I have no issues flicking it into life with the small white button on the right-hand side of the handlebars. There are three separate speeds available, via a toggle switch, but I leave the bike on the lowest setting, for what should be extremely understandable and obvious reasons.
The instant I hit the button, the motor kicks into life.
Wing, wing, wing, wing, wing, wing, wing, wing, wing, wing, it goes, somewhat louder than I’d like.
Given that these three bikes are all prototypes, all three motors sound different from one another.
Wong, wong, wong, wong, wong, wong, wong, wong, wong, wong, Nolan’s goes, while Kevin’s is Wang, wang, wang, wang, wang, wang, wang, wang, wang, wang.
Not only are the bikes’ motors quite noisy, they are also intermittent in power distribution. Well, mine is, anyway. One second the little motor is pushing me forward, the next it cuts out completely and my progress instantly slows.
I am therefore jerked along in painful fits and starts.
If Nolan and Kevin are having the same kind of issue, it’s not immediately obvious. Maybe I’ve done something wrong?
Well, you got out of bed this morning and came here to ride this bike, so I’d say that’s an affirmative, wouldn’t you?
Again, all three bikes pass by Joseph and his camera – winging, wonging and wanging their way back to our starting positions.
When we arrive there, I breathe a vast sigh of relief and immediately
jump off the bike – much to the delight of my reproductive system.
‘Woo hoo!’ Kevin exclaims, still sat on his saddle. ‘That was so much fun! I haven’t had anyone else ride the bikes with me so far!’
This does not surprise me. There can’t be many people in the country with cast-iron backsides.
‘Yes,’ Nolan says, also looking very grateful to be off his Cyclocity 5000. ‘They certainly are interesting bikes to ride!’
Interesting in the same manner than visiting Chernobyl fifteen minutes after the meltdown would have been ‘interesting’.
‘What did you think, Ellie?’ Nolan says to me, with a slightly desperate look on his face.
Oh no. He wants me to be positive.
We should just hand these monstrosities back over to Kevin Flounder and beat a hasty retreat, but I’ve known Nolan long enough now to know that he’s not that kind of man. Bless him, he wants to make the best of this. And he’d clearly like me to do the same.
I don’t want to let him down, so I plaster on a smile and blink a couple of times.
‘Yes, definitely interesting. A unique experience,’ I agree, trying not to look Nolan or Kevin square in the eye.
‘The e-motor works well, doesn’t it?’ Kevin asks, in a manner that suggests he’s just incredibly happy to be out in public with other human beings.
‘Er, yes. You . . . certainly know when it’s working!’ I tell him as I pop the bike on its kickstand.
Joseph then trots over to us, holding three cycle helmets. All three of them have GoPros strapped to the top, and I can tell from these that my day is about to get infinitely worse.
‘Great stuff,’ Joseph says as he arrives. ‘That’s a nice establishing shot done. Now we’ll get some shots of the three of you on the road. The GoPros will cover things from your perspective – and I can cut that with the chase footage I’ll get from the dashcam on the van. The streets are quiet at the moment, so we shouldn’t have too many issues with traffic.’
We might not have issues with traffic, Joseph, but we’ll be having issues with the continuing assault upon my private parts.
Going Green Page 11