Brace yourself, Sheila, here comes a rant. French people please turn away now as the following spleen-venting may cast aspersions at your culture. I’m extra boiling-mad as I write because I have had time to stew on this for a few hours and dream up what I should have said. Whereas at the time I smiled and nodded and said ‘Er, I see, OK’, I now wish I’d been able to say, ‘Frankly I find your decision illogical and unreasonable so why don’t you grow a scrotum, fill it with some bollox, stick up for common sense for a change and tell the lazy mothers to naff off?’
But I didn’t know the French translation, so I rolled over. Again.
Yes, it’s been another school-run to tell the grandchildren about, how did you guess?
Following on from the run-in with that woman who wanted me to move my pushchair so she could park a bit closer, and her subsequent suggestion that I park in the spaces in front of the school while Poppet can’t walk, you may remember that I took her advice and have been parking right by the gates ever since, in a spot reserved for me with a traffic cone by the policeman and the lollipop man. (The pushchair is now in the garage awaiting a buyer and I’m not sure Tiggy would want to share the boot with it anyway.)
This afternoon the policeman came up to me and told me that he can’t reserve me a spot any longer because there have been complaints from other mothers that it’s not fair. But he could give me permission to park on a wide bit of pavement another 20 yards further away from the school, if there isn’t already someone else parked on it (which there frequently is seeing as how some of these children have such delicate little legs). I politely reminded him that my daughter has a broken leg and another 20 yards is a bit much on crutches. So he said he was ‘desolé’ and that if I get there early enough I can certainly still use my current space but he would have to leave it un-reserved from now on, since the complaints, so if someone else bags it first then they can and I’ll have to go somewhere else.
???!!!** **???!!!!
Can someone please tell me what planet I woke up today? What’s that all about? This is the Municipal Policeman talking, who never turns up in front of the school without his little Thunderbirds-style hat on his head who has happily been stopping traffic to let me back out of my space and replacing the cone behind me for the last 2 weeks. He has also been reserving a parking space for several months for a French mother whose own 6-year-old is suffering from cancer and is undergoing chemotherapy whilst also attending school – I wonder if she has been told she can’t have a spot too? I wonder if these nitpickers who have taken it upon themselves to moan about this have actually devoted even a microsecond to putting themselves in our places. The main reason I spent 6 weeks struggling on with the double buggy was because I knew that this other lady was getting help parking and didn’t feel I had the right to request the same treatment when I know my child is going to get better one day and is only going round with a blue plaster in her leg rather than a post-chemo bald head and an uncertain future.
It has occurred to me in the last couple of hours that this may be some Anglo-phobic thing but can you really believe he’s decided to halt my temporary sanction instead of telling the lazy complainers to park somewhere else and WALK because my daughter CAN’T? Blimey, give me a Gendarme any day. They do undergo a total sense-of-humour bypass when they sign up but at least they have balls.
And I say again, aaaaaaargh! ('scuse me while I clear the screen of all the steam coming out of my ears).
Oh, but he did also say that I could write to the council and ask them to intervene if it’s a big problem. Er, thanks buddy but I’d rather you point out the b**ch who complained and let me argue the toss with her with the aid of one of my daughters crutches. I told a few friends about it this afternoon, after arriving at school at 4pm just to ensure I got my usual place and that Poppet didn’t need to deepen her blisters by hobbling further up the hill. They were also pretty floored by the lack of logic being applied and we are now going to spread the word and try to find out who it was for ourselves. I suspect it was someone with older kids in the upper elementary school who likes to carry out the drive-by drop-off rather than actually parking up and getting their hair mussed up. Maybe such people are actually still in the their pyjamas when they slow their 4x4s to an almost-halt by the school gates and shove their little darlings out before speeding off home for their appointment with an espresso and a Hello magazine…?
I’ll keep you posted on this one. But I have to ask, having never done school-runs anywhere else, would this happen in England?
Yes, it’s been another school-run to tell the grandchildren about, how did you guess?
Following on from the run-in with that woman who wanted me to move my pushchair so she could park a bit closer, and her subsequent suggestion that I park in the spaces in front of the school while Poppet can’t walk, you may remember that I took her advice and have been parking right by the gates ever since, in a spot reserved for me with a traffic cone by the policeman and the lollipop man. (The pushchair is now in the garage awaiting a buyer and I’m not sure Tiggy would want to share the boot with it anyway.)
This afternoon the policeman came up to me and told me that he can’t reserve me a spot any longer because there have been complaints from other mothers that it’s not fair. But he could give me permission to park on a wide bit of pavement another 20 yards further away from the school, if there isn’t already someone else parked on it (which there frequently is seeing as how some of these children have such delicate little legs). I politely reminded him that my daughter has a broken leg and another 20 yards is a bit much on crutches. So he said he was ‘desolé’ and that if I get there early enough I can certainly still use my current space but he would have to leave it un-reserved from now on, since the complaints, so if someone else bags it first then they can and I’ll have to go somewhere else.
???!!!** **???!!!!
Can someone please tell me what planet I woke up today? What’s that all about? This is the Municipal Policeman talking, who never turns up in front of the school without his little Thunderbirds-style hat on his head who has happily been stopping traffic to let me back out of my space and replacing the cone behind me for the last 2 weeks. He has also been reserving a parking space for several months for a French mother whose own 6-year-old is suffering from cancer and is undergoing chemotherapy whilst also attending school – I wonder if she has been told she can’t have a spot too? I wonder if these nitpickers who have taken it upon themselves to moan about this have actually devoted even a microsecond to putting themselves in our places. The main reason I spent 6 weeks struggling on with the double buggy was because I knew that this other lady was getting help parking and didn’t feel I had the right to request the same treatment when I know my child is going to get better one day and is only going round with a blue plaster in her leg rather than a post-chemo bald head and an uncertain future.
It has occurred to me in the last couple of hours that this may be some Anglo-phobic thing but can you really believe he’s decided to halt my temporary sanction instead of telling the lazy complainers to park somewhere else and WALK because my daughter CAN’T? Blimey, give me a Gendarme any day. They do undergo a total sense-of-humour bypass when they sign up but at least they have balls.
And I say again, aaaaaaargh! ('scuse me while I clear the screen of all the steam coming out of my ears).
Oh, but he did also say that I could write to the council and ask them to intervene if it’s a big problem. Er, thanks buddy but I’d rather you point out the b**ch who complained and let me argue the toss with her with the aid of one of my daughters crutches. I told a few friends about it this afternoon, after arriving at school at 4pm just to ensure I got my usual place and that Poppet didn’t need to deepen her blisters by hobbling further up the hill. They were also pretty floored by the lack of logic being applied and we are now going to spread the word and try to find out who it was for ourselves. I suspect it was someone with older kids in the upper elementary school who likes to carry out the drive-by drop-off rather than actually parking up and getting their hair mussed up. Maybe such people are actually still in the their pyjamas when they slow their 4x4s to an almost-halt by the school gates and shove their little darlings out before speeding off home for their appointment with an espresso and a Hello magazine…?
I’ll keep you posted on this one. But I have to ask, having never done school-runs anywhere else, would this happen in England?
P.S. quick Tiggy-update, day 3, she stayed downstairs all night, but pee-ed on the Persian rug. She also chundered in the car on the school-run but that travel blanket needed a wash anyway. Oh, and she did a poo for Nobby on their walk this morning! Current score is Nobby: 1, Me: 4
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