Dinsdale

So, long before Little Britain, there were the Piranha brothers, Doug and Dinsdale, who nailed Stig's head to the floor because he transgressed the unwritten law.

Now parking your car around this city is a bit like dealing with Doug and Dinsdale. There are few lines on the side of the road telling you where you can't park, actually I say that just to cover the possibility that there might be some, but I have never seen any, just unwritten laws and every once in a while, strange counter-intuitive symbolic representations here and there telling you sweet Fanny Adams.

When I go to my writers' group on a Monday evening I always try to ask if there is any reason known only to Canadians why I can't park wherever I have parked. This Monday I learned one. Two-way street, arrived on the side of the road opposite my friend's house, so crossed the street and parked. Fortunately, one of the group pointed out to me that you are not allowed to park as I had. I don't even know how to describe this. We drive on the right, so you have to park facing in the direction you would drive. Ok, I don't object to this, just that there are no signs telling you any of it. Ever.

I was once towed, yes the car was actually removed by the people who are supposed to look out for us, late at night, because I parked too close to a fire hydrant. No markings, no sign. I transgressed the unwritten law and at that point, the Piranha brothers' justice seemed fair in comparison, after all, Dinsdale was a gentleman. I felt violated by the city. If it really is that important that people don't park anywhere near fire hydrants, surely they would put lines on the road, unless the point is just to catch you out and tow your car.

Like Simmi, I have had a run-in with gravity. There is a long ramp that leads from Superstore down to the car park underneath. On the way down last Friday, a woman not totally in control of her trolley let it run into my heel. Now I am limping slightly and have exacerbated it by walking to and around the Nature Park. But today, I took Kevin's bike and cycled there. I felt whole again. Er...maybe you need to be a cyclist to understand that completely, it's as though the bike is part of you. Yeah, I know, soppy again.

Having waxed lyrical about the wonderful human being yesterday, I want to say a word about how vile people can be when they are in a group. Simmi sent me this article about the revival of class stereotypes in Britain, as embodied by Vicky Pollard. It's an interesting article, and makes a lot of very salient points, more in theory than practice though I feel. It's all very well to slate people for making fun of chavs, but frankly, they are a truly objectionable section of society and for the writer to refer to them as 'the poor' is laughable. Although he mentions Harry Enfield's Wayne and Waynette Slob, the phenomenon that is Chav puts me more in mind of Harry's 'Loadsamoney' waving great wads of cash in your face whilst telling you about it and spending it all on crap.

Makes you all nostalgic for Doug and Dinsdale. Whatever happened to Spiny Norman I wonder.