I reckon over the last three decades I must have easily driven a couple of hundred thousand kilometres on the main road to town from the suburb I live in.
Naturally, over that period, I've seen some interesting sights.
These have ranged from a woman walking along balancing a large upright urn on her head to a couple in the throes of passion around 3am at one of the bus stops along the way.
The graphic nature of the latter event is somewhat blurry to be honest so if it was you don't fret, your secret is safe.
I was doing the dressage walk home (three steps forward, two sideways and one backward) from a rather pleasant night out at the pub and while I saw plenty, a face was not among the body parts on show.
I think the rosy glow of embarrassment all round would have kept that bus shelter warm for a while.
Anyway, last week I was heading into town when I saw my mate Top Tiler running along - in his socks.
Now this dude is a bit of a character so I wasn't hugely surprised at the sight but I thought I'd stop and offer him a ride. if nothing else i was looking forward to the explanation.
And what a tale it was.
It seems Top Tiler, or TT for short, was off to an appointment at the doctor.
Last time he'd been late, missed his slot and had to wait an hour before he'd been able to be fitted in. This had caused mayhem with his work schedule, unhappy customers etc so he'd decided he'd be on time for his next appointment.
Unfortunately, on that particular day, the day I picked him up, TT had slept in.
He'd plugged the designated alarm time into his new phone but woke way beyond it to discover he'd set the alarm for the evening rather than the morning.
TT had then basically hopped out of bed, hurriedly dressed, raced out the door and hopped in the car.
Then he struck disaster No. 2. Flat battery.
He had no idea how it had happened. He didn't really have any time to think about it. He needed to get into town.
At the back of the garage was his old bicycle. I say old. I really mean unused. Apart maybe from the five or six times he used it four or five years ago when he bought it intending to get into cycling.
Naturally the tyres were flat but he quickly pumped them up, threw on the helmet that was still hanging round the handlebars and hit the road.
All was going well till he got a puncture. Problem No. 3.
With no time to lose TT made a quick decision. He picked the bike up, put it behind a hedge on the route and started running.
Now 20 years ago TT would have flown over the route like a gazelle and arrived having hardly broken a sweat - he probably would have had enough breath left to chat up the receptionist too if the truth be known.
But nowadays things are a bit different, the gazelle-like stride has been replaced by a elephant shuffle and he drags his feet.
And that's when Problem No. 4 occurred.
The sole of his shoe decided to rip itself apart from the body. So he took them both off and hurled them away.
And that's why he was running along in his socks when I picked him up.
I must admit I was struggling to sound sympathetic to TT's woes and the short drive to his appointment was an exercise in stifling a good belly laugh.
Luckily I got him there and as he raced inside I said I'd wait.
He was back quite quickly as it turned out.
That was problem No. 5.
His appointment was the next day.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to email@example.com.