October 23rd, 2004



Our street's a residential one, with numerous apartment blocks and a few small shops on the corner. It can be, well, challenging to find a spare space within a quarter-mile of our front door, sometimes. Occasionally, Fortune smiles upon us, and we get a slot right outside.

So, yet again, Kat and I boggled this morning, to see someone drive down the line of cars, reach the last available space, and then park next to it, hazards blinking. If you're going to be a moron and block the street for five minutes, at least leave the space accessible for those of us who learned to parallel-park....
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    Darius. Not voluntarily, I might add.


Came out of work last night, ambling to the pub with a friend. Reached the bus-stop, which we were trying to walk past, and got reasonably annoyed by (a) the coach parked there with its luggage-compartment open, meaning that there was a whopping great metal panel hinged up into the pavement area, edge-on and at about head-height; and (b) the knot of people standing around, blocking the pavement and generally being in the way.

And then noticed that the knot of people were all assisting or observing the man who was lying in the road convulsing, with a pool of blood under his head. The distressed woman leaning against the car parked just beyond, hazards on, were the other clues.

At least one person already had a mobile out. There was a station within 20 yds, so I ran in there to see whether they had Transport Police (nope), but an ambulance was already arriving.

Thank god for that, because frankly, I had no idea what to do for the poor sod.

Friend and I continued to pub, somewhat freaked.

The pub was across the other side of a relatively-complex traffic junction. You can bet we were damn sure we checked both ways before crossing.
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