As you may know, I have recently started to behave in an odd manner. For example, I was recently detected wandering the bedroom corridors of the Adelphi Hotel in Liverpool with a cricketing enthusiast! The cause was simple. I had to tell you, if only to clear the air.
A few weeks ago I received a fine for parking without a parking ticket. The penalty was only £30, but I was angered at the injustice of it.
I had been showing my nephew's wife – a lovely and exotic Colombian lady – how to negotiate Ealing by car. We stopped to meet her husband. I had parked in the car park and had bought a parking ticket. With a youthful, careless gesture, I had stuck the adhesive part of the ticket to my windscreen and thrown the other part – the vital part – away. I decided to appeal against the fine.
Waving goodbye to my Colombian friend, I hurried to the Fixed Motor Penalties Office, which is modestly situated to one side of the Town Hall. This was the first time I met the lady officer whom I came to know as Esme. She is a muscular person, with dress appropriate to a whaling vessel. Her full name is Esme Jones. I told her that I accepted some of the blame but that the parking tickets were badly designed. I was about to simulate the movements of careful parking ticket disposition when she stopped me in my tracks.
"What this amounts to is that you are contesting the basic procedures of a highly skilled car park attendant. Complete a CONTENTION FORM. You can take it away to complete, with or without expert advice. In this event you must complete a DELAYED COMPLETION TICKET."
As you know, I prefer the simple approach to life, so I decided to complete my Contention Form there and then. Of course, I had to book my place at the Contention Completion Desk, but finally I was ready with my completed Contention Form.
Esme took my form and glanced through it. "This form appears to fulfill the requirements of an APPEALS SUBMISSION", she said. "When would you be available for your appeal?" I shook my head, indicating reluctance to attend in person. This simple negatory gesture seemed to inflame Esme's anger.
"Look," she cried loudly, "don't waste everyone's time! You've already completed your Contention Form and, even as we speak, it is being automatically entered in the Appeals Register." She indicated a computer screen. "See? Your appeal is already booked for next Thursday at 10.20am. It will be heard before Ms Esme Jones and will last until 10.27am. That is swift and certain justice, is it not?"
"It's not justice at all," I protested. "My appeal is to be before you and is scheduled to last only seven minutes. I want to appeal right now against your appeals procedure."
I thought at first that Esme was going to attack me, but then her expression softened. "I empathise with your concern for us to achieve higher levels of justice throughout Ealing. You may like to know that the Mayor of London has allocated a source fund for what is to be called COMMUNITY CONSENSUS.
"Ealing Community Consensus Committee (ECCC) is our local group, dedicated to enriching the lives of all of us by communication, co-operation, open discussion of differing aims and objectives, and active aid and assistance to all other groups in the ECCC. Would you like to join?
I told her I'd like to join but asked about my fine. "I'm afraid that must stand," she said. "You must pay before your application to join the ECCC can be considered. We can't have people with outstanding criminal charges joining us. You pay your fine now and then complete your ECCC application form. I will endorse it. Once your ECCC application is approved, I'll see you in the back bar of the Old Vic pub at half past seven on the second Tuesday of any month commencing next May."
I paid my fine and left, leaving my uncompleted ECCC application behind. I have ignored numerous postal and telephone reminders. I advise you to do the same!
Yours,
