Craic On

I’m incandescent with rage. It might be more accurate to say that I’m florescent with rage because I can feel my colour rising. It’s not that a lack of access to an on-street parking permits will result in the towing away of my hugely expensive car. I don’t have one to tow away. I’m much more concerned that my friends will stop popping in for cups of tea and even the odd glass of wine because they are afraid their old wrecks will be towed away on the back of a council truck and that it will cost them more to get their cars back than their cars are worth. I’ve just been onto the new web-based “renewal of permit” site that my local council have provided now that they seem to have closed all their offices and shut down their phones. It’s a public health initiative that has sent my blood pressure rocketing. I had to log in three times before the system would let me complete the form. Luckily for me the form was pretty much filled in and with screen magnification on I could see that this was all in order. But w