Park Smarter? B******s

This morning I have mostly been experiencing a very severe case of Tourettes. 

Why? I've just been paying my parking charge that I picked up nearly two weeks ago for parking outside my favourite bakery in Chesterfield. It was the point at which my year without supermarkets began to become expensive - cue lots of joshing from my lovely friends and colleagues about how it's free to park at Asda.

And yes, I have left it nearly two weeks to deal with it. In the words of one of my favourite literary heroes of all time, 'for I thought it was a matter of some delicacy and requiring of immediate attention'.

Okay okay, I've been putting it off. But if I'd left it for a further 24 hours it would have risen from £35 to £70, which is just ridiculous for a loaf of bread, so this morning I tackled it.

The ticket directed me to a website called parksmarter.co.uk, which immediately got my blood boiling.

"Park smarter? PARK SMARTER?! Well you can just f*** off you smug-faced f******** t***** bunch of f******** t********* w********s," I hissed at my computer screen. Who wants to be told to park smarter while they're coughing up £35 for a two-minute stop to buy a loaf of bread. B******s.

Then of course I'm into one of those automated, click this box, accept these conditions, fill your address in here, oooooooh go back a space, you didn't fill in your email address, put your card details here, epic fail you forgot your three digit security number, faffing about.

And of course I was swearing at my laptop like a sailor at sea the whole time. At one point the cat trotted in, meowing in alarm as I reeled off a string of obscenities, to see what all the fuss was about.

But she headed out of the cat-flap in disgust when I broke out the dreaded (and most unladylike) C-word after being asked to complete a short survey on my customer satisfaction experience after making my payment...... "Satisfied? SATISFIED?!! Why you.........."

I then ramped my anger levels up further by paying for my tax disk online immediately afterwards.

And it's not as if my car even deserves this kind of money spending on it. For the last couple of months we've not been getting on because its been giving me electric shocks every time I get out of it. I don't know what its problem is, but every time I step out onto the pavement after a drive and try to close the door it zaps me.

My neighbours must think I'm crackers, because I've taken to easing myself out of the driver's seat really carefully, then standing on the tarmac glaring at the car with a mixture of fear and trepidation before extending a single, trembling finger and very gingerly trying to tap the door closed, then jumping back with a squeal as it shocks me and hopping about in the road in annoyance.

So there we go. The combination of my evil car, a nice loaf of bread and avoiding Tesco has cost me £150 this morning and I'm not a happy camper.