I am escaping Surrey in the nick of time

As I slapped a rude note on a car parked outside my house, I realised that nature was taking its course. My transformation into a Surreyite was in danger of becoming complete.

‘If you have enjoyed using this private access track, then perhaps you might consider making a donation for its maintenance,’ I had snidely scrawled on a scrap of paper which I tucked under the wipers of the same Nissan crossover that always seems to be plonked there by some dog walker or other who can’t be bothered to drive further along the village green to park in the public car park.

Do I care? No. Of course I don’t. Was there plenty of other space? Loads. And yet I found myself writing this note. I watched my hand doing it as though I was inhabiting someone else’s body.

I stomped outside like a zombie and slapped the note on the car supposedly blocking the space next to my car where the builder boyfriend ought to be able to park his pick-up truck when he came home from a hard day’s work in this parallel universe I had stumbled into where this demonic thought had occurred to me.