So I’m here. Moving day itself went relatively uneventfully, and even driving through London proved to be less of a headache than I’d anticipated. However, pedestrians round here are evidently protected by some kind of invisible forcefield, given the frequency with which they just amble into the road, and children are clearly not regarded as precious or special in any way, as prams shoot out from behind parked vehicles into the path of oncoming traffic with complete ambivalence.
Last night we went on something of a quest for a new local, and hands down Tooting Tram and Social wins. Comfy Chesterfields, good tunes, lovely atmosphere and a pretty good selection of drinks made for a nice chilled Sunday evening. Plus it’s all sparkly outside. LOOK AT THE PRETTY LIGHTS. They’re having a burlesque night there next week, and Indie Bingo soon after, which, given its staggering-home proximity, will do nicely.
This morning, however, was much less enjoyable. Housemate S had her car impounded last night, so at the crack of sparrows we went down to South London Vehicle Pound, where we stood in a freezing cold porta-cabin for half an hour until it emerged that she can’t get her car back until she’s faffed around with FAX MACHINES (seriously? A fax machine?), called her insurance company, found her V5 and has sacrificed a Himalayan Mountain Goat at the foot of the Aztec Ruins. Situation not improved by Wandsworth’s cruel, mocking branding everywhere: Wandsworth! The Brighter Borough!
My own later experience of the Brighter Borough’s excellent paper-pushing skills was not too dissimilar, as I then spent an hour and a half in the council offices trying to get a new resident’s parking permit. Having filled in forms of every colour known the human eye, I was put in a booth with a humourless data-bot who simply barked orders at me as I sat there trying to be pleasant. After I got my permit (which was not made of gold, as I’d expected it would be given the faff endured in getting hold of it), I made a fairly generic comment about February being the shortest month and thus I’d better get on the case with the paperwork for the subsequent permanent permit I’ll have to go back for (yay).
‘SEE THAT YOU DO. THERE WILL BE NO REMINDER’ droned the data-bot, before slamming down the counter blind.
The Brighter Borough indeed.