The other day was one of mixed fortunes. I arrived home to discover a traffic warden having a chat with Wife-features on the doorstep. (I can hear the pantomime boos and hisses already.)
Sadly the old warden has moved on and a new, by-the-book variety has ridden into town to teach us small hicks how traffic management is really done.
To me it seemed the easiest answer was to take down the permit signs but it was too late - the warning sticker had been slapped on the car. Wife-features obtained a form for a permit today (the fee is £1) which means I now have to mine the paper mountain at the back of the house to find the shiny, rare and incredibly valuable car registration document. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho...
Oh, but on the plus side Scotrail sent me a cheque for five quid.
Remember ages ago I said I'd had a gurn about poor access at Nairn train station and they didn't bother to reply? Apparently they had some technical gremlins so the £5 was to say sorry for not replying sooner. And as for my query about improving access? No, they have no plans.
So, using the railway station's a hassle, parking outside my house is a hassle... I'm about to head off on my bike for a meeting. Whatever bureaucratic hurdle awaits me I hope I can jump it!