Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.

Believe me when I say that the following statement is not idle boastfulness or patriotic nonsense: the Hobart City Council’s Salamanca parking inspection crew are the world’s most diligent, efficient, ruthless and bloodthirsty parking inspectors in the world.

Within seconds of someone's parking docket running out of time, you can be guaranteed that one of the boys and girls in [powder] blue will be there ready, willing and able to unpeel one of their little orange stickers, print out the notice of fine, and smile all the while.

My favourite sight is seeing the orgasmic bliss on the face of one of the brave soldiers of justice when they manage to ticket a car already possessing a ticket. I'd expect back flips on that rare occasion when you get the treble.

I'm thinking of distributing little yellow ribbons in honour of them.

Comments

Babzy.B said…

Ah Ah Ah everywhere the same story ;)

20 October 2009 at 18:04

Roddy said…

I do believe that the parking in Hobart has been privatised, thus the more tickets the more money. All the car parks to my knowledge are now private. No heartache for the councils.

20 October 2009 at 19:55

yamini said…

Sounds good, though, I'm sure the offendors will not be as pleased.

21 October 2009 at 18:01

Kris McCracken said…

As a non driver, I admire their verve!

26 October 2009 at 14:38

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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