EDitorial ± 31-Jul-2006

On Returning From Badminton

That familiar Cyberman stomp noise (thank you BBC website, thank you Bluetooth) echoed from my trouser pocket this morning, alerting me to a new text message --- I tell ya, it's the future. Using only 10% of the standard SMS ration, it said: BADDERS CE SOIR? Been a while, and thankfully cooler today, so allons-y.

Two competitive and sweaty games later, honours even and a Ribena Light downed, drove back listening to the uber-positive sounds of MJ Hibbett and turned into the road. Expect no space, they say, and you won't be disappointed. Even had a letter through the door today about a council meeting in mid August to consider a controversial dropped kerb, a few doors up, that's a tad wider than it has a right to be. This is a "very unfair situation", so it says.

Sure enough, lots of Smart car slots, little else, so up I go to turn around. Hang on, what's that, just outside my very own dwelling?

Jerry: What about your father's car?
George: No, no, no. Out of the question. I was over there today. He's got the good spot in front of the good building in the good neighbourhood. I know he's not gonna wanna move.
Jerry: Are you serious?
George: You don't know what that spot means to him. Once he gets it, he doesn't go out for weeks.
--- Seinfeld, The Handicap Spot

Yep, I landed Frank Costanza's coveted spot, and it feels as sweet as Willy Wonka's factory floor.