Town intolerant.

I think I'm town intolerant, I cannot cope with shopping. I don't mind driving through them, the problem is with stopping.

I need to go in sometimes for a gift or some new shoes, but I have trouble looking there's far to much to choose.

I drive in the multi story and I circle like a shark, waiting for a shopper to leave me space to park.

I spot a lady with a trolley loading up her boot, she's starting up her engine and I'm in hot pursuit.

But a woman in a mini has spotted her as well. We both rev' up our engines, we're on the road to hell.

Then an old man in an escort sneaks in the space behind. He gets out with a white stick, (I think he may be blind).

I feel the pressure mounting my patience is wearing thin, and then I see a parking bay I'll fit if I breathe in.

I walk up to the meter, One pound eighty for two hours. It's really not surprising everyone looks so sour.

I rummage in my handbag, I search beneath my seats. I see the park attendant pounding up the street.

I scrape my cash together, I think I've got it right. I stick it in the meter, but then I get a fright.

It tells me I have only One pound and seventy five. I need to find more money, or use the park and drive.

I feel the queue behind me, I hear the tuts and sighs. But then nestled in my pocket I find the perfect prize.

A hidden little treasure, a coin just what I need. I stick it in the coin slot, the monster we all feed.

But it's eaten all my money and I haven't got a ticket. I'm very close to crying this really isn't cricket.

I stomp back to my parked car in my mind I'm seeing red. I'll go shopping on the internet without getting out of bed.

And as I start my engine I can feel those watching eyes, all looking at my parking space all driving round clockwise.

I know I'm town intolerant, I prefer to stay at home. I can order stuff from Amazon, or on the telephone.

So if you see me driving and looking for a space. Please signal if you're leaving and let me take your place! Jan Millward©