Panic is blooming in Preston Park. First, it was the delivery of one-person-sized recycling wheelie bins for every 25 people. Then, it was the advent of permit-only parking in our road. The monsters we all now fear lack fangs, or needles in their head, or machetes; instead they just spit out our new parking permits into the hellfire – taunting us with brand new signage that smells of cynicism and non-functioning pay-and-display machines.
Somewhere, in the belching belly of the sorting office, sits our permit. So we keep calling, trying, frightened. In the meantime, the machine stays stoical, disapproval and contempt oozing from its coin slot: have your stupid, obsolete, round pound coin back, stupid... [read more]