Public Enemies*

Deciding that the vacant bit of street with no yellow lines near his house is for his car only, a local fuckwit purposely blocked us in the space directly outside our house to teach us a lesson about locals versus tourists. We wanted to go to the Tate Gallery in St Ives today so we wandered around town looking for somewhere nice to have a meal with Larissa's friends on Saturday in the hope that he'd call us on the number I left on the note I placed on his windscreen.

He didn't call.

After I'd had enough of wandering around town waiting for the call, I decided to go back and start taking pictures of his car, prompting him to come out of his house to start his scripted complaining.

"The police were knocking at my door!" he cried.
"Pushchairs can't get past!" he warbled.
"I work night-shift!" he wailed.
"You can't park here!" he sniffed.

People tend to be very protective of their little spaces I find. They tend to get upset quite easily too. I tried to keep as articulate and professional as possible but with him full of attitude and me full of contempt, this proved a difficult task. To make matters worse, he was stripped to the waist, proudly displaying his alpha male beer gut, no doubt to compensate for his five-foot-five-ness.

A quick phone call to the wife (who was shopping) and thirty minutes later both cars were parked side-by-side, phone were numbers exchanged to avoid future problems and everyone was very happy thankyouverymuch.

Much better to be a lover than a fighter I guess.


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* is rubbish