A little way up the road, I saw blue flashing lights and heard sirens, and, as usual on the Old Kent Road, went Oh-God-I-bet-it's-a-biker.
It was. It was the guy on the Burger - or, now, off it and lying in the road next to his scooter.
I didn't stop to administer First Aid for Motorcyclists as there was already an ambulance with two medics in attendance, although the incident must have been less than a minute old. I just rode on, thinking: but he was right next to me. Pootling along perfectly competently, in his jacket, perhaps on his way home to his wife and a nice dinner, and now...Jesus fuck I want some gin.
I hope he's OK, and hasn't been frightened off his bike for good. I know it's in the nature of accidents that they happen quickly and unexpectedly, but the space of time in which the ride home can turn into a ride to Casualty still freaks me out.