they went like this : mam a teacher 's daughter , dad the son of a mechanic , mother in a rush to leave home and home 's regime sees this leather-clad young buck straddling a purple-tanked triumph come roaring with his desperadoes into town , one of those small places with leaky roofs , father with a cigarette behind each windy ear and a third wagging in his lips as he talked , conversation modelled on elvis movies , slouch on jimmy dean , mam totally head over heels for this fast bad person , hot for his motorbike , dad only too pleased to take her for a ride , mother - before she even knew it - with those high-waisted knickers round her white-socked white ankles and flesh-padded not foam-packed leather between her bandy legs , father yet to slow down , motoring like crazy , this his first time but he 'd never admit it , blood spotting the flattened grass , fake ladybirds beneath the sycamore tree mam had carved her initials in the weekend before , linking them with jg , jg the boy she was quietly , patiently hoping , despite herself , would turn into something other than a ridiculous plump baker 's boy , the same that was sitting in the tree while the biker and the saturday shop-assistant swapped fluids , dad grunting now , worried about grass stains on his knees , how cool or uncool they would look to his buddies , coming with a stiffening of the spine just as the boy jg landed on her hair and his jacket , mother screeching and father unplugging to rise and crack the interloper on his pug nose , eliciting a toylike squeak that mother would never forget , jg fleeing the woodland arena and his nameless rival to spread the tale of the teacher 's daughter and the escaped lunatic , her ruination and his branding , a host of fathers and brothers to scour with rusted shotguns and polished implements of garden and shed sharp at one end , mam and dad making a run for it , life in his bike as they sped off into a corpulent sunset ... and that 's how you were conceived ?