My own fault though. I went to get a sandwich (because I was bastard starving) and the woman in Gregg's worked at 2 speeds. Slow and stop! Suffice as to say when I got back to the car, the ticket was being made. Parky was nice though and not a smug arrogant cunt like you'd expect, "I'm sorry sir, I've already printed it!" And he seemed genuine in his sympathy for me.
That's a lovely £40 gone. All because of a fucking slow cow who was as confused with a cash register as Doris, the Alzheimer's sufferrer at any old peoples home.. somewhere, with a laptop computer trying to boil an egg.
No, nothing to do with me at all, it was all her! Yes siree!
After that I took my car to Haze's, 15 minutes behind schedule and was greeted by what I can only describe as a round man at Haze's door. I'm not shitting you, you could roll this fucker about the place and it would be like one of them balls you see kids in on lakes in theme parks and shit. I wouldn't normally take the piss out of something like that if it wasn't for the following.
"Your late!" It quipped. Who's this fat cunt to talk to me like that? I've ever met him before, and I'd remember! Still I was polite and thought of the bigger picture: this guy is waiting for me to give me a parking permit for the day and is probably someone important to Haze... So don't even think about calling him what a dog wouldn't lick Steve! And I didn't. But this did further my mood!
I felt like Mike Strutter after taking some of his Viaggro pills.
Then it was off to South Wimbeldon tube station to make my way to Piccadilly Circus. I was already pre empting the "where have you been?!" scenarios in my head.
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