Drove over the Tamar Bridge today and that is a privilege you have to pay for on the way into Plymouth. I notice it was bloody free to drive over it on the way into Cornwall a few days beforehand.
Since I live like the Queen I don’t really carry cash so the £1.50 that they wanted wasn’t to hand. I passed the cashier my debit card and he looked at me like I was trying to pay with a sausage roll before asking if I had my chequebook on me. Jesus.
As I tried to explain what year it was and understand how this very busy service could afford not to accept bank cards as payment, a queue was rapidly forming behind me. They let me through the barriers, but in order to pay I had to drive to a nearby office, park up, fill in a form and then agree to send a cheque for £2.50 in the post. How very British.
Then on the way out I was so busy ranting about this draconian process that I reversed my massive gas-guzzling 4×4 into a two-foot-high pole that I can only assume had been put there for people like me to
reverse into. Fucking hell.
Now it’s Monday morning and I need a dent taking out my bumper, a cracked piece of trim replacing and I need to get a chequebook, write a cheque and put it in the fucking post. Sweet baby Jeebus.