lurking taxes

Perhaps the hypothetic reader remembers my complaint when Liverpool city council, and in particular one bold bloke and one blonde girl in their standard black trousers and blue shirt whom I can imagine sharing a beer or three at the end of the day with a gosh-did-you check-that-weirdo-with-the-continental-car-today, refused to re-deliver a parking permit for my car, on account that it was French and the insurance wouldn't work etcetera. I was considering suing the wretched administration, how sad would that have been, but in the end resorted for the last months of my isolation to moving my car every morning before 8 to a street 5 or 10 minutes away depending on the competition, where you didn't need such a permit (I didn't leave the car there during the night as 5 minutes away from my street you were entering a curfew zone - this will all be included with a vengeance in my crime story based on squash and academics in Liverpool). Well, in a relatively low-key manner, this is now all happening in my home town on the outskirts of Paris. The new mayor believes in commerce (rather than industry), and consequently has expanded and multiplied payment zones in the centre of town. My friend C. tries to play with fire and has studied the movements of these forsaken creatures who distribute fees during their promenade, and parks his car as close as he can from home (like me, he lives near the church which doesn’t help) depending on the time of day. He had not read the signs properly yesterday, however, as he had parked his car in one of the roads which has been closed to parking on Saturday morning. He launched himself around 9 to his daily routine (he specialises in robbing people of their antique), only to find the car about to be impounded! 150 euros, you got watch your tires. On the whole, this place looks increasingly like London, you can have a car if you are rich, if not, you can use a bike and save the planet.