Outlaw

After driving round in the behemoth for half an hour trying to find a parking space to fit the ton of junk the night before I went down to clamber up and drive the loathsome pece of junk to the renters – only to find I had a ticket.

I have never in my life had a parking ticket before. Cars are not the friendliest pieces of machinery and I always take care to drive carefully and not block driveways or park in places I shouldn’t.

In San Francisco the traffic police drive around in ridiculous three wheeled trikes and hand out tickets left right and centre. But I had parked carefully I thought.

Then I read the ticket – I had parked more than 18 inches from the curb. This was patently bollocks, I was carefully parked so close to the curb you couldn’t have slotted a wafer thin mint between the tires and the side of the road. It took until Sunday before I found out why.

D from the Formula One club explained it to me. I had parked facing the wrong way on the road. The parking spot had been on the other side of the road but I’d swung into it without turning the tank the right way. Over here you have to park in the direction the traffic goes on your side of the street; therefore I was about eight feet from the right curb.

It’s a good thing they don’t allow guns in this town.

I did however manage to get the clothes rack built. Ikea have thankfully put all their instruction manuals online. Guess they aren’t so bad after all.