Standing Room | 21 February 2009

Last week I lost it. I flipped out. Actually if I’m being totally truthful I didn’t just flip: I f***ing flipped. Like Boris Johnson, I had a Vaz-attack of epic, expletive-laden telephone rage. Having recently received the Transport for London form to renew and pre-pay my annual (discounted) congestion charge, I’d managed to get my application in with two weeks to spare before the old one expired. I’d duly ferreted out and enclosed a recent household utility bill. I’d filled in my mobile, work and home contact numbers and given my credit card details. I’d posted it off and as far as I was concerned the job was done, dusted and crossed off my dreary ‘to do’ list. For once I actually felt quite smug and impressed by my own efficiency.

Last Thursday evening I drove home from work and found an ominous brown envelope waiting on the mat. Inside was a short letter politely informing me I’d been ‘unsuccessful’ in my application.