Ye f#cking mother f#cking c#nting b#llocking c#nts! I'm walking back up towards my car, it's Friday but I'm at work because even though I'm not on air tonight it's do sh#t day. So, I'm walking up towards my car. Surely my eyes are decieving me, looks like there's a parking ticket on my car. How silly. I've got four hours booked in that space. Funny how the mind plays tricks. But, wait. No really. What the f#ck? I've got a ticket. B#llocks.
Surely, there must be some mistake? I wander up to the car in shock and look at my clearly displayed ticket right behind my PENALTY NOTICE. What the f#ck? I'm in shock. There's sh#te and there's sh#te.
Fueled by indignant rage I storm off and do what any angry Englishman does in such a situation. I write a stern letter. I then revise it a bit. I then re-write it to make it a bit more stern. I then sanitise it and finish up with a rather matter of fact account of things which frankly wouldn't offend anyone. I then post it.
Then I realise that the postal strike may affect things a bit. So I resolve to take decisive action about it next week. A resolution it's obvious I won't stick to.