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Driving adventures....
This afternoon (having gone to see GB first thing, before it got too bloody hot to ride), I was off up to Loughton.
I was very brave, and drove through the evil Rotherhithe Tunnel. As I got back into the daylight, only hyperventilating slightly, a police man waved me into a side street and asked me to park up. Eep: what did I dooooo?
Turns out they were checking insurance, in a moderately clever way: they run the plates as you go into the tunnel, and then by the time you finally emerge they've got a list of which ones have no insurance. Which we were apparently on (I suspect it may be personalised-plate-related).
"Do you have insurance, madam?" Er, well, I bloody thought we did. I rooted around in the glove box, didn't find anything that looked right, called Mike to check where the paperwork was, and then apologised for not having it.
"That's ok, madam, we can run it through out system."
(At this point, I realised that Mike was probably sitting in his office muttering "Oh, god, what has she done to need the insurance documents?" and sent him a reassuring text.
"Are you in a hurry, madam? Sorry, it's taking a long time. You're third in the queue." Well, I wasn't in a hurry but I will be now... why, were you going to let me just go if I said I was? No, didn't think so. Sigh.
Eventually, someone on the other end of a walkie-talkie read off the details, and I was on my way again.
Got up to Loughton, only five minutes late for my appointment and - glory be! - there was actually a non-disabled space in the convenient car park. Odd, it has red paint lines rather than the white ones over there. Ah well: in a rush, buy ticket, dash over the road, amuse everyone in Tony and Guy by saying "Sorry I'm late, I got stopped by the police!"
An hour and a half or so later, I headed back to the car and found... a penalty notice on it. That's odd. Double checked that, yes, I had paid for two hours. Opened up the ticket. Apparently, the red lines mean that they're reserved spaces, not for pay-and-display use. Which is not entirely obvious. Drove over to one of the (naturally) huge numbers of now-free spots and went back to look at the one I was in. And, yes, there are a couple of smudged and chipped patches of yellow paint, which I hadn't noticed in the sun. If I squinted, I could just about make out that the first letter was an "R" and that the word was the right sort of length to say "Reserved". Have taken photos. Will be appealing, I think.
Crappy journey home, most of it sitting in traffic. Still, on the plus side, I didn't get stopped by the police again....
I was very brave, and drove through the evil Rotherhithe Tunnel. As I got back into the daylight, only hyperventilating slightly, a police man waved me into a side street and asked me to park up. Eep: what did I dooooo?
Turns out they were checking insurance, in a moderately clever way: they run the plates as you go into the tunnel, and then by the time you finally emerge they've got a list of which ones have no insurance. Which we were apparently on (I suspect it may be personalised-plate-related).
"Do you have insurance, madam?" Er, well, I bloody thought we did. I rooted around in the glove box, didn't find anything that looked right, called Mike to check where the paperwork was, and then apologised for not having it.
"That's ok, madam, we can run it through out system."
(At this point, I realised that Mike was probably sitting in his office muttering "Oh, god, what has she done to need the insurance documents?" and sent him a reassuring text.
"Are you in a hurry, madam? Sorry, it's taking a long time. You're third in the queue." Well, I wasn't in a hurry but I will be now... why, were you going to let me just go if I said I was? No, didn't think so. Sigh.
Eventually, someone on the other end of a walkie-talkie read off the details, and I was on my way again.
Got up to Loughton, only five minutes late for my appointment and - glory be! - there was actually a non-disabled space in the convenient car park. Odd, it has red paint lines rather than the white ones over there. Ah well: in a rush, buy ticket, dash over the road, amuse everyone in Tony and Guy by saying "Sorry I'm late, I got stopped by the police!"
An hour and a half or so later, I headed back to the car and found... a penalty notice on it. That's odd. Double checked that, yes, I had paid for two hours. Opened up the ticket. Apparently, the red lines mean that they're reserved spaces, not for pay-and-display use. Which is not entirely obvious. Drove over to one of the (naturally) huge numbers of now-free spots and went back to look at the one I was in. And, yes, there are a couple of smudged and chipped patches of yellow paint, which I hadn't noticed in the sun. If I squinted, I could just about make out that the first letter was an "R" and that the word was the right sort of length to say "Reserved". Have taken photos. Will be appealing, I think.
Crappy journey home, most of it sitting in traffic. Still, on the plus side, I didn't get stopped by the police again....
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May there be no more traffic-related police in your near future.
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I suppose I could park in Sainsbury's or Morrisons, and then pop in and buy something on the way out and get the money back. Maybe I should try that in future!
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The Sainsbury's/Morrison's idea is a good one too.
I was assuming you were using the parking lot off of Clifton Road (i.e. behind Centric Parade/first right off of our road) since that's closest of all to T&G - there's a cut through. But never having tried to park there, I've no idea how it compares in demand to the High Beech one.
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I was in the Clifton Road one, yes - my therapist uses it, and told me there were always spaces, so I thought I'd try. But then, she arrives at 9:30, which I hadn't taken into account!
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They can't send a collection agency after you without first getting a court judgment in their favour.
They will try and hassle you a lot, though. They'll send lots of letters, maybe some phone calls. You'll have to ignore them, not respond to them in the slightest, not even to say you'll not be responding.
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Does writing a single letter to say "nah, bugger off, here are the photos" count as engaging with them?
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Ta for info, though.
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They'd have to apply and get a CCJ against you to make you pay it. With the photos you've got its unlikely they would as even the cut and dry cases rarely ever get through and get awarded in their favour!
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Really not sure what to do, now. I was planning on just writing to them, but now.... I dunno.
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Bin the 'fine'. If they write to you, bin the letters. If they try and phone, hang up. Eventually they'll get bored. They can't do anything without a CCJ in their favour, and they're not going to bother taking you to court.
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It's clear that if this went to any sort of court, you'd win. But the tactic they'll use is to try to convince you that Her Maj and Everyone Who Us Sworn To Her is out to destroy your life.
"Singing way hey, tow them away, the Lincoln Park Pirates are we! Be Edsel or Chevy, there's no car too heavy and we always collect our fee!"
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