The Saga of the Parking Permit (contd)...

We thought we had done it online. All paid, thanks. Permit in post. A day or so later, said permit arrived. Except it wasn’t said permit. It was a letter saying we hadn’t paid the correct amount and owed them £11.50. Apparently the category that our car has been in for years has changed. But there was no way of finding the partly completed transaction and paying the extra online.

This morning, I took a deep breath and rang the phone number on the letter. I got a long spiel ‘Press this button if you want… blah blah’ When I got the desired department, the Parking Permit Renewal Department, I was informed that this was now CLOSED. Presumably they meant the telephone transactions, not the Department. Why then did they include the phone number in the letter?

So there was nothing for it, but to gird my loins and go back to the scene of much frustration last week. Maybe they’d fixed the numbering system. Maybe they’d got all the counters open...

But no. Same bits of paper with big numbers scribbled on them. Same queues. But three people manning the six counters this time.

I had the Metro to read while I wasted part of my life. But on one side of me was a fully grown adult person, blowing chewing gum bubbles and popping them. On the other side was a man coughing his lungs up (blochering- with the 'ch' as loch - as my mum used to say). It was not a pleasant wait.

Eventually I got to the counter.
‘Have you got your V5C document with you?’
'No. Never heard of it.'

Apparently they’re now counting CO 2 emissions and not CCs. I paid. Before I started screaming. I got the new permit.

As I came out waving my Parking Permit triumphantly in the air (not really, but felt like it), this man was nearby making a dog of sand. It wasn’t a particularly good dog, but I gave him £2 anyway. He was Romanian, and his English wasn't very good (but better than my Romanian!). There was a crowd of men, hassling him I think, in Romanian. Maybe not, maybe they were just jesting about his artistic endeavours, how rude. He didn’t seem too worried. His name is Dan, although I think that’s an Anglified version for me.

A woman taking photos beside me asked the dog’s name. This was the only time he looked up, so I was ready with the fill in flash. I recognised a Kiwi twang. She’s over here spreading her mother’s ashes on Arthur’s Seat, as per her wishes. I think there may be quite a lot of ashes in and around Arthur.

On the way home I passed popped in for a Frisky. Great music - a Spotify playlist. AND I discovered they have loyalty cards... And then I had to pass, but couldn’t, the shop with the most divine, chewy, flaky pain au raisin. I got two.

Will there still be two when JR gets home? I doubt it. Will there be one? Maybe...