10 years. I’ve been driving for 10 years along the same bloody road to the same bloody office and back again. And in all that time I’ve never once, not once, complained about the arse-wipe thought police that see the solution to traffic congestion as being to make things even more difficult for the motorist.
I can imagine traffic planning meetings as being like something from the crisis meeting room in that Dr. Strangelove film with Peter Sellers….
It’s happened – I’ve gone mad with power!!!
‘Right ladies and gentlemen, the traffic situation is becoming worse. Too many people trying to get to work and go shopping. SOMETHING HAS TO BE DONE!’
‘I’d like to hear some suggestions people’.
‘How about improving the road layouts’.
‘You know, maybe we could make it easier for people to drive into the town centre and…
(Withering stares and a tumbleweed floats passed the miscreant that dared suggest such a strategy)
‘Are you mad?’, screams our would-be neo-fascist, anti-progress leader.
‘Are you seriously suggesting we should encourage the capitalist swine that dare to use their motor vehicles to get around? Invite them to come and spend their money in our town? Help them contribute to the local economy?
(He is now doing a pretty good impersonation of Basil Fawlty attacking that bloody silly Morris 1300 with a twig).
‘No, you fool. We need to discourage them. We don’t want them here. We want to sit here in splendid isolation and sneer at them…
‘But Lord, we need their money. Our expense accounts won’t pay for themselves’, whispers a minion…
‘Mmm’. A bead of sweat appears on Lord Bollock’s upper lip. An eyebrow twitches…
‘Got it!’, he growls. ‘We’ll fine the bastards for everything. Bus Lanes. One Way Streets. Restricted access. No stopping zones. No left turns. No right turns. One legged wheelchair users only. Cars with two wheels and a walking stick on a Sunday morning only’. We’ll bleed the bastards dry.
Now the jobsworths start getting into it.
‘We can flood the town with parking fine robots’.
‘We can make signs and warnings deliberately confusing so no one will know whether they are flouting the rules or not’.
‘We can just act like terrible money-grabbing tossers!’
‘Excellent, excellent’. (Imagine now the leader has morphed into Mr Burns off The Simpsons)
…And so, to cut this ranting ramblage short, I received this in the post, many years after the evil plans described above.
You see that’s me in that car. Sitting happily waiting patiently.
For this heinous crime I had to fork out £65.
‘What crime?’, I hear you whisper to yourself. My crime was stopping on that stupid yellow hatched box. Arseholes.
You aren’t allowed to. Of course I know this. But I also remember my Highway Code enough to recall the general rule of the road that ‘you have to make progress; don’t dilly-dally. And arsing around waiting for a clear run across that bloody yellow box would mean I wasn’t making progress.
I hope my £65 buys a nice bottle of champagne for the Dear Leader and that he chokes on it.