JAMES SPRATT .org

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My blood is boiling and there’s nothing I can do to calm m’nerves.

I guess my life is pretty bloody easy really if this is a bad start to the day:

I got up today at 0715, much earlier than normal as most the time I don’t need to be in work until 1030. Drove over to Acton, where a Parcelforce consignment was supposedly waiting for me. Morning traffic around the Hanger Lane gyratory is permanently unfunny. I parked in the road opposite on this industrial estate, ran in to pick up my parcel that the woman on the phone yesterday had confirmed would be there. Pressed the bell, waited, couldn’t press it again as there was a sign saying “PRESS THE BELL ONCE ONLY”. After about 4 minutes of waiting, I broke said rule and rang said bell again. 30 seconds later, postie man came into the office and with the height of diplomacy didn’t mention the 2nd ring. He went away with my delivery card, came back after about 10 minutes saying he didn’t know where to find this kind of parcel. His colleague then explained to me that as a favour they would redeliver it to my address before 10 tomorrow morning once they found it. So I agreed and went on my way. That isn’t the actual story, just the preamble.

Returned to my car to find it had been clamped. Funny. Really funny. Asked the smiling Renault Garage parking attendants if they could unlock the clamp, they said I have to pay £40 for me to have my car back. I was invited into their booth to discuss this matter further. Saw a set of keys, tried to grab them, was ‘man-handled’ by the security guy. Wrong set of bloody keys anyway. Told the guy I didn’t want to pay and that if he continues to push me about I’d call the rozzers. Walking up to the garage down the road I called the old bill, asking them to come sort out my dispute, the guy on the blower seemed equally obstreperous but eventually said a cop car was on its way. Withdrew the £40 because by this time I was resigned to the fact that I’d be coughing up. Got back to the Renault (stupid bloody cars) forecourt. Now the manager was in on the game, I handed him the money and he told the guy to unlock the clamp. But the attendant wanted to play with me now. So I happened to call him a monkey and as I said it I regretted it. I call lots of people ‘monkey’ for lots of different reasons, generally to do with monkeying around. This guy happened to be black and happened to take it in the way it really wasn’t intended. More fool/ less pc me. The filth turned up at this point, firstly questioning me, then him, then me, this process took about half an hour. After much b*llshit and me acting particularly subserviant, I was allowed on my merry way, back into that most fluid of roads, the A406.

Should I just have handed over the £40 in the first place? Where did I go wrong? (other than parking in the wrong place). Grrrrrr.

Have just picked up a vmail from the postie woman who said I’d have to return tomorrow morning to pick up the 3 packages (not a clue what the other 2 are). Am already looking forward to that trip. So what’s in the one parcel that I do know about anyway? A f*cking £60 bin that I bought on eBay and was being sent from Germany. Yes, I spent £60 on a bin. Priorities James. But I was just bored of having a carrier-bag hang of the door handle in the kitchen. And you’ve got to admit it’s a pretty darn nice bin, as bins go.

Still feeling uncool.