A couple of months ago a woman parked her car in my private parking space.
Down my street there is one space per household and, as I’m one of the few who only has one car, I get pretty hacked off when I come home and find I can’t actually deposit my car in my slot.
This bird had done it countless times and, to add insult to injury, wasn’t even visiting anyone in our close, she was dumping her car and scuttling off to her home four streets away.
My increasingly snotty notes were being scrunched up and discarded and, I’ll be perfectly honest, the ‘check engine’ light on my inner self-control was flashing a vibrant and distinctly ominous shade of Hellfire-Red.
So, this one day, I’d had enough.
When I returned home from work, I parked my car in such a fashion that she was entirely blocked in, thus ensuring that she would be forced to come and speak to me in person. I was anticipating a discussion where she listened to my predicament and perhaps volunteered the back story to her own predicament and we both, ultimately, parted amicably.
What I in fact was treated to was mocking sarcasm, smirkiness and smuggery.
“Where are the’No Parking’ signs?” she demanded.
“Ooooh dear, did someone get out of bed on the wrong side today?” she smirkingly enquired.
“Do you often get so upset about such petty problems?” she grinned.
It will, no doubt, come as no surprise that in that particular moment, I very much wanted to punch her.
My fists were gripped at my side and I was shaking with the effort involved in not reaching out and shutting that flappy trap of hers.
The reason I denied myself that pleasure?
I didn’t want to get arrested. And being arrested would, undoubtedly, have been the result.
The build up to the altercation would be ignored, the fact that I was very much within my rights to object would have been ignored, and her appallingly provocative behaviour would have been ignored.
All that would be taken into account is the fact that I punched an unarmed woman.
Black and white.
Right and wrong.
I have frequently written in support of Jeremy Clarkson and, unsurprisingly, I’m about to do so again.
I have no idea what the back-story with this argy-bargy regarding the lack of dinner on the Top Gear set was, but I’m fairly certain that most of the public who are jumping in and passing judgement on the matter don’t either.
In my humble opinion, Top Gear is one of the best programmes on TV and I want to save it.
The Christmas Special makes December worth getting out of bed for and if the BBC attempt to split the lads up by removing JC and replacing him with Chris Evans, (as has been speculated) well I won’t be watching.
Clarkson, May and Hammond don’t just appear on Top Gear; they are Top Gear and so, for me, if the Beeb want to let JC go, they may as well just sell the whole show to another channel and be done with it.
Top Gear is a national treasure. It was the first and the best of its kind and if it ends up in another format, on another channel, I have no doubt at all that it will remain as popular as ever.
So two grown men got into an argument and one of them punched the other one. We aren’t exactly in Jimmy Saville territory yet are we?
We’ve all been there at some point or another (just try parking in my space for evidence of that).
The BBC have allegedly stated that no TV personality is bigger than the channel itself, well, I think they’ll find to their cost that Top Gear is, in fact, much, much bigger.
So please join in with me on the chorus; Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it’s off to ITV we go.