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sprinted along the verge, carefully judged his moment, and took a flying somersault onto the main road, falling beyond our sight and into the arms of a fate unknown.
    â€ 
    â€œSir Kay. Under the passenger seat you will find a pair of binoculars. I would be grateful if you would assume the role of look-out.”
    â€œAt least we’re still heading west,” said Sir Perceval between mouthfuls of hamburger. “We should look on the bright side.”
    â€œBright side?” said Sir Kay, removing his spectacles and focusing the binoculars. “This is a total debacle!”
    â€œAt least it’s a debacle going in the right direction.”
    â€œCan’t this museum piece go any faster?”
    â€œIt is a classic car, Sir Kay, and a severely overloaded one at that.”
    â€œAnd we know who to blame for that, don’t we, Perceval.”
    â€œNo, we don’t. Perhaps you can look it up in your new guidebook, Mr I Need To Pack My Entire Bloody Library?”
    â€œSir Kay, please, the binoculars,” I tried again.
    The Master stirred in the passenger seat next to me. He had responded to the recent spectacle and its implications with a remarkable degree of composure. A magazine was open on his lap at a picture of a fetching female film star, and his gaze had taken on the rheumy-eyed appearance that characterised the onset of another trance.
    â€œWhere are we? What are we doing?” he asked.
    â€œWe are
en route
to our destination, sire, attempting to retrieve Sir Pellinore.”
    â€œAh, Pellinore! That good knight! Forged on ahead, has he?”
    â€œIn a manner of speaking, sire.”
    The Master smiled like a wistful uncle. “Pellinore the beast slayer. Did I ever tell you about the time we fought the Wild Boar of Wales?”
    â€œPerhaps later, sire. Sir Kay, can you see anything?”
    The road started to rise into a gradual incline, the dual carriageway full of traffic moving in both directions.
    â€œNo. Hang on… yes. Got them,” said Sir Kay.
    With my naked eye, I too could just make out the caravan on the horizon, the bike gaining on it by a series of reckless manoeuvres.
    â€œPellinore’s up on the caravan roof,” said Sir Kay. “Looks like he’s trying to hack it open with his knife. Gawain’s overtaking vehicles at quite a lick on the bike… and… hmm. That’s weird. There appear to be two serpents fighting each other in the sidecar.”
    â€œGive me those.” Sir Perceval snatched the binoculars from Sir Kay and refocused. “Those are Lancelot’s legs, you dolt. He must have landed in the sidecar upside down.”
    Several cars had pulled over on the hard shoulder to avoid the bike. Angry drivers shouted into their mobile phones. “Can’t see the caravan anymore,” Sir Perceval continued. “Gawain’s almost at the top of the hill. He’s in the fast lane, but the traffic’s slowing him down. No, he’s gone.”
    By this time, Sir Lancelot had managed to right himself in the sidecar, and was later able to fill in the gaps in our version of events. Sir Gawain, frustrated by their lack of progress in the crowded fast lane, decided to cross the central reservation
via
a turning junction, driving directly into the face of the oncoming traffic on the other side of the carriageway. As we cleared the brow of the hill, it became immediately apparent that there would be little need for the binoculars. Firstly, because most of the cars ahead had pulled over to let the bike pass, leaving the downhill road open to our view. Secondly, there are some pictures that have a way of searing themselves instantly and permanently onto the retina. A bike speeding towards an oncoming oil tanker I would place firmly into this category.
    Sir Gawain spurred on his steed, hell-bent on his wild shortcut, hunched forwards over the handlebars, while Sir Lancelot tried to wrestle back control of