Today I'm taking the big fella in for a service before work. Service done, into central London, park, go to work, leave work, set off, bike feels funny. I ignore it for a bit because I often get paranoid about imaginary mechanical defects and 'it just feels funny' is a favourite delusion, but it gets rapidly worse and I find a safe-ish place to stop (traffic hooting at me as I round a corner at 2mph with my feet down) to discover I have a rear puncture.
I do have a repair kit but in the cold and dark, at the side of a major road, with a bike so immobile I can't even get it on the centre stand, I ring for help.
The AA is at full stretch and can only send a recovery vehicle rather than a repair dude, so the bike is recovered to my home address. I haven't investigated the puncture yet; that can wait till it's light. now is for gin and wailing.
Of all the lousy luck!
I have no bikes!