Mar 17, 2019: Park

Words cannot express my anguish this afternoon.

But I am going to try.

We went over to visit my mum, as Carole was worried we hadn’t seen her for a while and that a dutiful son should be seeing her more often and things of that nature. I did some of her jigsaw while I was there, carefully unconnecting all this bits she’s put together wrong.

And on the way back I wanted to swing by work because the customer toilet light has gone and we had to romantically light it yesterday with camping lanterns and battery-powered candles. I found a spare bulb, but there was no way I was going to start shinning up a ladder and farting about with lights in  the dark.

So I figured we could swing in today and do it. Carole even volunteered to shin up the ladder – for whatever reason she fears the thought of me on a ladder. Or, more correctly, off a ladder. Falling. Aided by gravity.

So we went into town, drove round work until we found a parking spot. And had to pay for parking because it’s a Sunday and the council are mean. It’s 50p, the meters don’t give change and all I had was a pound. So I was already dejected by being 50p down on the whole thing from the outset. I considered not even doing it because I didn’t like the idea of giving the council extra money. It just seemed wrong to me.

Oh, and because I’m tight.

So we pay for parking (double, in case you weren’t keeping up).

We leave the car.

We walk down towards work.

I reach into my pocket for the keys.

Pull them out.

They’re not my keys.

Carole’s keys.

Which is great to get in and out of the house with. Really bad if you want to get into work, as she does not have the key.

I have the key. But my keys were at home. Mocking me from a distance.

I spent a pound for us to park for approximately one minute.

I am absolutely gutted by the whole thing.