Am I alone or are you the same?
Car parking has become an unpleasant game.
Another stress for motorists’ health.
Hidden cameras operating by stealth.
Searching for a parking space before a fellow driver gets it first, I know isn’t gentlemanly, but needs must.
At some car parks you pay on arrival for a period of time, others at the barrier or payment meter before you can leave. Then you have to find the meter. Do you swipe, or punch in your bank details, or slide your precious card into a slot Has it gone into oblivion or will it return? Do not forget to keep your receipt safe too. Oh, I wish it was all free.
Britain’s roads were built for horse and cart, and the size of early cars allowed traffic to flow along those roads with ease. But modern cars are unnecessarily big and wide and passing by them takes nerves of steel. Wing mirrors drawn in and a silent prayer or two. Parking these new vehicles takes up the whole marked-out slot and more. You may be able to thread your car into the only slot available, but you will never open your door and get out!
This old codger was obliged to put pen to paper and then finger to keyboard, to create an imaginary parking nightmare. Hope it rings a bell.The poem, below, can be found in POEMS BY AN OLD CODGER – BOOK TWO available on AMAZON BOOKS.
STRESS 2 – PARKING
I’ve bought a new car that’s quite wide,
Not too high and has a streamline side.
But urban streets in Britain are narrow,
Built for horse, cart, and wheelbarrow.
Car parks here are laid out tight
When cars were small, so that was right.
I’ve taken my ticket I’m required to show,
And parked the car but can’t open the door.
There’s an off-road beast, cattle bar and bumper
And driver dressed in a fur lined jumper,
Stepping down from a dizzy height,
His glistening carriage is quite a sight.
He’s in the lift and on his way,
For two spaces he should pay.
‘White Van’ man has parked my other side,
He’s OK, his door runs on a slide.
I mention this nightmare, I’m not a clot,
As I carefully choose my preferred slot.
“Put it there” my wife will declare,
But it’s not for me, I’ll look elsewhere.
I circle around to find ‘THE’ space,
My stress is rising at a pace.
My ‘Better Half’ is giving ‘advice’,
I try to smile and even look nice.
Stay clear of trolleys left around,
They should be gathered in their pound.
Ah! There’s the space, quite remote,
To reach the shops we’ll need a boat.
I search around to seek that spy,
The camera set way up on high.
I’m in between the lines I guess,
My wife agrees, I’m full of stress.
This parking business is a racket,
These companies are just making a packet.
They time you out and they time you in,
A fraction over and you’ve committed a sin.
I leave the car quite secure,
All around I’ve made a tour.
We walk away as I glance back
Someone has just parked his ‘Hack’
In the bay just next to mine,
A rusty shell and outside the line.
Now I’m stressed beyond belief,
I wonder if the driver is a motor thief.
She leads me shopping around the town,
She needs some shoes and a party gown.
At last, we stop for a cup of tea,
I’ve had enough of retail therapy.
My stress has really gone too far,
I need to get back to the car.
Where did we stop and leave the car?
Is it near, or is it far?
Retrace our steps, shop by shop,
My stress is now well over the top.
We must hurry, time’s running out,
“Wait for me” my dear wife shouts
As she drags her bags of shoes and dresses,
Now I’m just totally full of stresses.
Where’s my car in this large park?
Too many white cars even in the dark.
My wife excels with such a spark,
“Look for that old rusty Hack”
My stress is such I’m on overload
And I’m over time as we climb aboard.
“Just relax” that’s my dear wife’s repost,
“And put another cheque in the post”.
Copyright@2023 Neil Davies
If you have enjoyed this poem, tell your friends and family, or better still, buy my books – POEMS BY AN OLD CODGER and support my charity.
THE BRITISH RED CROSS UKRAINE APPEAL.