Tippex, Progress and Parking Fines

Some erudite, some intelligent. Some, perhaps even, knowledgeable about rugby

I am going to try a new tack. I am going to start interviewing people and write it up in the blog. Some erudite, some intelligent. Some, perhaps even, knowledgeable about rugby. And a few friends of mine who don’t fit into any of those categories.

But, rest assured, I will be continuing with my high-church ranting and gutter-low observations. I enjoy the catheteric (sic) nature of my writing too much to let it slide. My first interview will be with… erm, someone who will not shout at me for pestering them.

One thing is for sure, it won’t be the annoying git from across the road who, despite knowing that he has to have a resident’s parking permit to park in the street, WON’T PAY THE MONEY AND GET ONE. So, being the snide little Scorpio that I am, I harangue the traffic warden number and dial 101, 192 (bit quiet, that one), 911 and 118118 as well, in an effort to get him booked. I should point out that not bludi once has any be-capped, fixed-fine-form-pad waving bugger made an appearance after my calls. Not One. But, hurrah; someone with more influence than me (possibly a tramp or an illegal immigrant) HAS got through and The Git has had two parking tickets. I only hope he has paid th… What if he has given a false address?! Should I turn him in? Will there be a community action reward? Will it be much? Enough for a round? Or should I just pour tippex on his bonnet…

No, that would break the law and, as such, be morally indefensible.

And, he might catch me.

So, it won’t be The Git. It might be an ex-Welsh international. Or a retired London Welsh scrum-half. Or a chap from the back bar in the Albany. Who knows, eh. Might even be The Mrs…

So, brace yourselves.