Wild and wet 2007

Well that was a hairy couple of days. I mean the rain fell so hard around here that it might have made your head bleed. Good job I was wearing a hat, then. Street patrols got pulled Friday and Saturday because the Roads were more like rivers and the rivers more like tide races.

I saw the weather front coming in on Thursday evening while walking the dog; ait first made it's entrance as a thick band of musclebound cloud followed by a solid sheet of dark grey decorated only with far off lightning flashes. Double timed it home and battened down the hatches just as the first heavy rain hit. Dog went and hid in a corner, poor mutt. I gave myself a stiff whiskey and an early night.

At work on Friday we busied ourselves shooing people out of the levels of car parks that were threatening to become lakes. This didn’t stop one guy deliberately moving the cones we had used to block off the affected car park and getting stuck in the rising waters. Silly bastard. Four or five other cars just sat there as the waters rose, leaving them stranded up to their wheel arches, their owners fuming quietly in the downpour. A number of the guys, including me, were sent home early because otherwise we wouldn’t have got home at all on Friday. All this and the last day of School run insanity.

At home water started seeping under the front door and into the cellar, threatening to soak the electricity meters and blow our power supply, so I spent a while making an improvised seal with a few tea towels and stood duty with a mop and bucket. Fortunately our cellar didn’t flood, but one of our neighbours wasn’t so lucky, as far as I know he’s still bailing, and his cellar had supposedly been sealed against this sort of thing. From the sound of things from elswhere around town, our little area came off lightly. Others weren’t so fortunate. What price waterside property?

What didn’t help was my phone going off non-stop all afternoon. “You all right?” Comes the voice of my Mother in law, who was at her home in the far, and much dryer, southwest watching the dramatised version on the news.
“I can’t talk now, got a bit of a situation on my hands.” I really had to finish what I was doing immediately or no light, heat or Internet this weekend.
“Oh can I help?”
“Not unless you can get here via the floods inside an hour and help me close a few gaps.” I tried to sound casual, but it’s hard to be insouciant when you can see a very real risk of an electrical fire if you don’t do something about it quickly. I’m afraid I might have sounded a bit sharp over the phone as I don’t suffer fools gladly when things get a little tough. Oh what the hell, she can cut me out of her will if she wants to.

Mrs S had trouble getting home as all the roads were gradually closed by the rising waters, but she made it and so did the kids, which pleased me greatly. On my way out to her in a rescue mission that in the end wasn’t needed, I saw water fountaining up from under heavy cast iron drain covers and whole streets inundated by the light brown waters. I had to turn back five times from places where the water was completely impassable. Most of the back roads that ordinarily were dry had been completely submerged in places to a depth of a metre and over at more than one point. Abandoned cars that had tried to go through the floods too fast ended up blocking the shallowest parts of the rapidly deepening waters, and so my possible routes to collect my wife. All the time, the rain hammering down and the nagging worry in the back of my head about the electrical distribution board downstairs.

A worrisome time. Fortunately for us the rain stopped and we, like most of our neighbours escaped inundation. We had a pizza and a bottle of wine between us to celebrate our good fortune. That was nice.

Anyway, the news is that I’m packing this parking enforcement lark in. Although it’s not a bad life out on the streets and car parks, my problem is like so many before me I’ve begun to suffer quite badly in the foot department because of the long distance walking in heavy boots. The pain, even chewing painkillers five days out of six, has had me almost in tears at times, and that doesn’t happen very often. Even my Doctor has recommended that I resign to save any further permanent damage to my feet. “You need a different job.” Were his precise words I as I recall.

Following his informal advice I have submitted my resignation. I think it is well past time for me to look for some different (And softer on the old plates) streets to walk, while I am still able to do so. Wearing heavy work boots to cover an average of 17 miles per working day has done my feet no good at all. So much for ‘elf & safety culture.

How do I feel about finishing with the job? Mildly miffed of course, but there’s a whole other world out there and I’m off to see it. The only issue that leaves me with is what to do about the blog? Keep adding bits about my own particular take on the world? Bin it? Leave it as an archive? I haven’t decided yet.

On this subject, I was chatting online to Merys of “I am not a drain on society” recently via google and I broached the news of my impending retirement. She’s in my neck of the woods this weekend and we’re going to bring our significant others and have a natter over coffee or something. See how I feel about the blog then.

That was then.  June 2007.  Today is 20th December 2014.  A lot of water has flowed under many bridges since.

Speed doesn’t kill?

Pootling around the pages of the Torygraph’s motoring section as I am wont to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon, I came across an article based on a book excerpt about scare stories called “Speed Cameras, the twisted truth”. As everybody knows, the sensible Canadians ditched speed cameras and have very effective Police patrols (I know this from personal experience). This means that the Police have enough Traffic resources to stop suspect vehicles and catch ‘impaired’ drivers before they can do serious harm. They also nick you for speeding or if your vehicle is in an unsafe condition, but that’s part of the law and they enforce it fairly.

I’m adding a sidebar link to Mr Smith’s “Safe Speed” web site, because I’ve read what he says, checked the statistics from several sources, and find merit in his arguments. He is not arguing for no speed limits, only for the rest of the Highway Code to be enforced properly, and not by cameras but real live coppers who can keep the lid on the downright anti social and stupid simply by their presence.

To be honest, I’ve always wondered about the bald assertion that speed kills in ‘over a third’ of all RTA’s (Road Traffic Accidents). Not that speed doesn’t kill, but the actual figure is running at more like 12.7% (Including ‘probable’ and ‘contributory’ deaths) than the 35% I’ve heard quoted by the ‘Speed is really, really bad’ lobby. The major causes of death on the UK’s roads appear to be what used to be called ‘Driving without due care and attention’ and what they call over here ‘Impaired driving’ (Drink or drugs).

Mr Smith also came in from a slating a while back from the Guardian’s George Monbiot (For whom I have little respect – See sidebar for ‘Autorantic Moonbat’) who apparently called Paul Smith’s side of the argument “The road rage lobby”. Monbiot can’t have read Safe Speeds web site content, which far from being the irresponsible organ Monbiot outlines, is a very sober and structured set of articles arguing for a return to less two dimensional means of Traffic Enforcement than speed cameras.

As an ex-parking enforcement officer I can recall seeing people deliberately driving the wrong way up one way streets, vehicles climb the kerb while their drivers were talking on their mobile phones, pedestrians made to scatter on crossings, and all because a lack of actual on street enforcement. Of course we parking plodders would call the incidents in to CCTV when we saw them, but 90% of the time you didn’t even get an acknowledgement. We did used to help with the odd drunk driver giving one or two of our number a mouthful. On five out of six incidents where we called in “Driver very abusive, breath smelled strongly of alcohol.” we heard that the culprit had been caught and booked for Drink Driving. That felt good. I’ve (As I’ve probably mentioned before), lost a lot of close friends to people who thought it was safe to drive while rat arsed, and really have no love for anyone like that.

As a keen motorcyclist, I recall a number of my friends fell victim to the ‘SMIDSY manoeuvre’ and took a header over some fools bonnet as a result. Sometimes they didn’t survive, and all because the car driver wasn’t paying proper attention. I’ve known court cases where the bench have sided with the errant driver just because the injured party was riding a motorcycle. I can only account for my own relatively unscathed survival in twenty plus years of riding (In most weathers) to sheer paranoia, good road instincts, and simple good luck. Oh yes, and paying close attention to the tenets outlined in the Police riders manual ‘Roadcraft’.

As for speed alone being the cause of any misfortune, it doesn’t kill as many as by those so blind they should not have a licence (Poor eyesight). Nor does it kill anywhere near as many as those who drink, drive whilst on medication (I include ‘just a dose of Night Nurse’), illegal drugs, or drive whilst ill, and who amongst us hasn’t done that? Nor does it kill as many as those who basically are not paying proper attention to what they are doing, the impatient, the careless, feckless and occasionally utterly idiotic.

Besides, I’ve always reckoned that the best places for speed (Sorry, Safety) cameras is actually in urban and suburban areas. Say for example at pedestrian crossings and junctions where people routinely ‘jump the lights’ and block junctions. They have such cameras in situ here in BC, and no one complains because the sane folks hereabouts reckon that jumping a red light is about as safe as slapping a hungry Grizzly across the nose with a wet hanky. Yet certain idiots still persist in doing it. Jumping the lights, that is. You don’t tend to find much left after a hungry Grizzly Bear has finished with someone.

What the hell, you can’t tell someone who just won’t listen. Especially if they support the current UK governments position.

It isn't worth it

Perusing the news while waiting for Mrs S to get home, and saw this account of a man who died over of all things a parking space. I know it's easy to get heated over, but there are nobler and more fitting ways to meet your maker than a stupid row over a parking space.

If the victim had been fifty years younger I'd be putting in a nomination for the Darwin awards.

Likewise, to threaten a Parking Attendant, then hit two Coppers over a lousy ticket is just so deeply sad.

Some people really should learn to use the challenge procedure instead.

They also come out at night

Keep getting a google search "Do parking wardens work weekend nights?"

Some places yes, some places no. I used to. I've blogged about the drunks, the bouncers and the fast food drop offs. Mind you, after dark we were always thin on the ground, or rather my oppo's still are. The job was to keep people off the restrictions so everyone else could get by safely. We couldn't always be there, though.

Here's a little anecdote from the memory banks; a brand new BMW was parked on double yellows outside a takeaway near my house. I off duty and heading back home from the chip shop on foot. A truck went past in the narrow steet and there's a crunching sound as it is forced to cut in close by another car coming the other way and the truck carves off the beemers wing mirror. The truck carried on as if nothing had happened. I remember thinking at the time; "That'll cost him more than a parking ticket." I don't think insurance companies cough up so readily if you are breaking the law when you have a thump.

BC

Well me shivering hearties ‘tis a slightly greyish British Columbian dawn and my dog and I are the only ones up at present. “Walking the Streets” is about to undergo a sea change from the eccentric observations of a Parking Enforcement Officer to the equally acerbic observations of a traveller in North America and Canada. I’ll be posting stuff about what I see and hear, with an emphasis on the ridiculous and highlighting the silly, mendacious and downright asinine, as well as comparisons with the old mother country.

This morning's recipient of the unintelligibility award is the machine gun delivery of one of the Helicopter borne traffic correspondents on the local radio. How the hell can you understand that gabble? You finish listening to the traffic report, catching about one word in five, they might as well have been speaking Serbo-Croat for all I knew. Sheesh.

Wild & wet

Well that was a hairy couple of days. I mean the rain fell so hard around here that it might have made your head bleed. Good job I was wearing a hat, then. Street patrols got pulled Friday and Saturday because the Roads were more like rivers and the rivers more like tide races. All this and the last day of School run insanity for a while.

I saw the weather front coming in on Thursday evening while walking the dog; a thick band of musclebound cloud followed by a solid sheet of dark grey decorated only with far off lightning flashes. Double timed it home and battened down the hatches just as the rain hit. Dog went and hid in a corner, poor mutt. I gave myself a stiff whiskey and an early night.

At work on Friday we busied ourselves shooing people out of the levels of car parks that were threatening to become lakes. This didn’t stop one guy deliberately moving the cones we had used to block off the affected area and getting stuck in the rising waters. Silly bastard. Four or five other cars just sat there as the waters rose, leaving them stranded up to their wheel arches, their owners fuming quietly in the downpour. A number of the guys, including me, were sent home early because otherwise we wouldn’t have got home at all.

At home water started seeping under the front door and into the cellar, threatening to soak the electricity meters and blow our power supply, so I spent a while making an improvised seal with a few tea towels and stood duty with a mop and bucket. Fortunately our cellar didn’t flood, but one of our neighbours wasn’t so lucky, as far as I know he’s still bailing, and his cellar had supposedly been sealed against this sort of thing. From the sound of things our little area of town came off lightly. Other areas weren’t so fortunate. What price waterside property?

What didn’t help was my phone going off non-stop all afternoon. “You all right?” Comes the voice of my Mother in law, who was at her home in the far southwest watching the dramatised version on the news.
“I can’t talk now, got a bit of a situation on my hands.” I really had to finish what I was doing immediately or no light, heat or Internet this weekend.
“Oh can I help?”
“Not unless you can get here via the floods inside an hour and help me close a few gaps.” I tried to sound casual, but it’s hard to be insouciant when you can see a very real risk of an electrical fire if you don’t do something about it quickly. I’m afraid I might have sounded a bit sharp over the phone as I don’t suffer fools gladly when things get a little tough. Oh what the hell, she can cut me out of her will if she wants to.

Mrs S had trouble getting home as all the roads were gradually closed by the rising waters, but she made it and so did the kids, which pleased me greatly. On my way out to her in a rescue mission that in the end wasn’t needed, I saw water fountaining up from under heavy cast iron drain covers and whole streets inundated by the light brown waters. I had to turn back five times from places where the water was completely impassable. Most of the back roads that ordinarily were dry had been completely submerged in places to a depth of a metre and over at more than one point. Abandoned cars that had tried to go through the floods too fast ended up blocking the shallowest parts of the rapidly deepening waters, and so my possible routes to collect my wife. All the time, the rain hammering down and the nagging worry in the back of my head about the electrical distribution board downstairs.

A worrisome time. Fortunately for us the rain stopped and we like most of our neighbours escaped inundation. We had a pizza and a bottle of wine between us to celebrate our good fortune.

Anyway, the news is that I’m packing this parking enforcement lark in. Although it’s not a bad life out on the streets and car parks, my problem is like so many before me I’ve begun to suffer quite badly in the foot department because of the long distance walking in heavy boots. The pain, even chewing painkillers five days out of six, has had me almost in tears at times, and that doesn’t happen very often let me tell you. Even my Doctor has recommended that I resign to save any further permanent damage to my feet. “You need a different job.” Were his precise words I as I recall.

Following his informal advice I have submitted my resignation. I think it is well past time for me to look for some different (And softer on the old plates) streets to walk, while I am still able to do so. Wearing heavy work boots to cover an average of 17 miles per working day has done my feet no good at all. So much for ‘elf & safety culture.

How do I feel about finishing with the job? Mildly miffed of course, but there’s a whole other world out there and I’m off to see it. The only issue that leaves me with is what to do about the blog? Keep adding bits about my own particular take on the world? Bin it? Leave it as an archive? I haven’t decided yet.

On this subject, I was chatting online to Merys of “I am not a drain on society” recently via google and I broached the news of my impending retirement. She’s in my neck of the woods this weekend and we’re going to bring our significant others and have a natter over coffee or something. See how I feel about the blog then.

Have just looked out of my window and the rain has finally stopped and the streets are dry. Things are looking up already.

YEE-HAW!

Got a text message from Youngest. It read BOO YA! This means she has passed her driving test. I replied YEE-HAW!

This happy news means that there are now four drivers in the Sticker household. Self, Wife, Eldest and now Youngest has passed we’ve got the set. Only the dog will not have a full driving licence, but he’s just had his anti-rabies updated and none of us have, so he’s not been left out.

I knew she was good enough. Now all she’s got to do is earn enough to pay for her petrol, as the old man (me) is going to tell her that as a grown up she can now go out driving on her own, but how far she goes and where she goes is down to her. Today my colours are bright and I shall smile at life.

Won’t get her off a parking ticket if she errs, but she knows this and I am very proud of her.

A few casual observations

Turned a corner into High Street today to see a blue Subaru on the bus stop. Drew my hand held and lengthened my stride, only for the driver to clock my impending presence and leg it; double zero size girlfriend tottering along in his wake, impeded by skin tight white jeans and five inch spike heels. Baseball capped hero gunned his engine before I could log his details in and zoomed off, girlfriend shrieking with the passenger side door still partly open. Bus stop was thus cleared; the service bus pulled in to its duly allotted space, congestion averted; job done.

Half an hour later there is a similar incident with some curiously not dissimilar looking people. Female of double zero dress size in darker clothing, male in spotlessly bright white jeans and top that almost hurts the eyes it was so clean. His Mum must have had shares in Unilever. Exactly the same behaviour; they see me and leg it off the restriction with a screech of tyres. Again, I don’t mind, they are no longer causing an obstruction and I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

Later on, when the rush of the day has died down and I begin to work my way back to base for end of shift, several thoughts strike me. Firstly, I noted a number of analogous couples around town. The girls so skinny that if it wasn’t for the clothes, hair and makeup, you could be forgiven for thinking they were boys. The boys thin with blotchy late adolescent complexions and similar trainers, joggers trousers, sports tops and baseball caps. Likewise their cars shared a number of similar features. The four inch chromed exhaust ends, rear spoilers and body kits looked like they were all from the same catalogue. Rather like the aggressive driving style.

The car I can understand as a compensation for an imagined inadequacy in the above the knee, below the waist winkle department. However; the androgynous girlfriends? Hmm. Perhaps some budding psychiatrist / psychologist could write a thesis on it. From a generally detached viewpoint there’s something that appears particularly homoerotic about it; something vaguely anal. Especially those oversized exhausts. They can’t be penis substitutes, not at the rear of a vehicle.

I confess a bias here; girls who look like females (Curvy and dare I say statuesque) are far more attractive to this lecherous old fart than the skinny items I see tottering around on spike heels (Once called ‘Flat twins’ by the chaps in my peer group). Having two stepdaughters in their late teens / early twenties you tend to get a bit blasé about their semi clad friends wandering past on your way to the bathroom or items of exotic lingerie tangled up with your boxers when it’s your turn to sort out the laundry basket. I must be getting old, because nowadays my response to such a display of female flesh is more “Cover up you silly mare, you’ll catch your death” rather than “Phwoar!” At least, not while my wife is within earshot.

Mind you, I’m also from the school of thought which also states that girls who overindulge in the chocolate department should avoid short skirts or leggings. Those are so unflattering. Plenty of girls dressed like that around this week. Don’t ask me why. Must be something to do with these infernally incessant rain showers.

Not rocket science

It is a common cliché that something is ‘not rocket science’ to wit, not very complicated at all. What I currently do for a living is not exactly the most complex job in the world and the rules I enforce are hardly enough to give the weakest neuron a bad day at the office.

Yet day on day I am forced to stare in wonder at the inane level to which the public sinks when crossing my path. The highway code is quite explicit and simple. Let’s face it, with some of the bozo’s I come across it has to be. Their heads are so tightly wedged up between their pert little buttocks that it beggars belief.

For example; today I was asked a specifically framed question by a member of the motoring public to which I gave a specific and very simple answer. This was obviously not what the driver wanted to hear, so he asked me the very self same question again. Once more I answered accurately and precisely, wasting not an extraneous syllable. The driver appeared not to understand and asked the same question yet again and complained that I had given him a ‘complicated’ answer. In exasperation I gave him precise chapter and verse, carefully explaining each step to the very brief and simple concept. Yet again, my words appeared not to sink in. Obviously this driver wanted me to tell him what he wanted to hear. I demurred by trying my damndest, and in the politest way possible, to explain why I had given him the answer I had. This was not good enough for him and he complained mightily.

Fortunately for my overheated wits my radio crackled with a call demanding my more urgent attention and this gave me the excuse to break off and do some proper work instead. I really hate it when someone is so determined to fly in the face of the evidence that they will try and bully you into being untruthful. As matters stand the person concerned is quite welcome to do what he wants, but to be aware that he will get a ticket if he takes the piss. Especially on my watch.

Road pricing

It doesn’t surprise me in the least that the incompetent British ‘New Labour’ government is planning to introduce road pricing and ignoring the million and a half opposition. Not at all, not a tad, smidgeon or a single iota. They just see the farcical figures on a spreadsheet and completely ignore the technical and social difficulties it will create.

First point of failure is not the technology itself; GPS is a proven technology. The problem lies in the implementation; what if some clever dicky were to find a way of reprogramming their ‘black box’ (And some clever dicky will - that much is a given) so that it did not respond to the transponder signal and report his vehicles position. His ‘black box’ would not be breaking the law because it would be legally fitted to his vehicle. It would merely be faulty and therefore his ‘road price’ could not be calculated, or wrongly undercalculated. Others would simply fail to have a ‘black box’ installed in their car, and a small growth industry would arise in to disabling / sabotaging the GPS.

One small caveat here; one of my ‘duties’ is to give members of the public directions. It’s a regular occurrence for me to come across a fuming van driver cursing his Sat-Nav for sending him two miles in the wrong direction. The exchange usually goes something like this; I see a van driver sitting in his cab on an active restriction, sometimes in a ‘No unloading’ zone. I wander over and try to catch his eye as he struggles with his paperwork and fiddles with the Sat-Nav box.
Me; “You lost?”
Driver; “Er yeah, d’you know where Other Street is? My Sat-Nav keeps on taking me round the one way system backwards.”
Me; “End of this road, first left at the Island, second right half a mile up.”
Driver; “Oh, cheers.”
Driver buggers off restriction – job done.

Let’s do a little joined up thinking here; guess who gets to chase the hundreds of thousands of vehicles without ‘black boxes’ for non compliance? How many officers is that going to tie up when the rest of the crime stats go through the roof? Could it be our hard pressed Police, who seem to be having a few problems putting sufficient officers on the streets at the time of writing? For the reasons why, just read Dave Copperfield’s blog (I’ve got this awful nagging feeling that we work within twenty miles of each other – don’t ask me why).

Perhaps we should legally limit the decision making powers of government to stuff which they are qualified to deal with? Most Lawyers and Politicians are not qualified to make decisions on the high level use of Information Technology the same way as a high level IT implementation specialist would not be on the finer points of the laws concerning Tort.

From what I can see, the current crop of politicians doesn’t understand the issues involved. They promised us ‘Joined up Government’ (Yeah, right) but seem congenitally incapable of delivering on that promise. Just look at the Hunt ban, a nightmare to enforce, easy to dodge, and has alienated whole swathes of the countryside. How about the handling of the Foot and Mouth outbreak? They had to call in the Army for crying out loud. Just like the Wilson years in the mid to late 1960's and early 1970's. Centralise everything and royally fuck it up.

Just an idle thought on my days off…….