“You know what?” asks Sergeant Don companionably ; “I pulled this car over last time as well. Last July. What’s your friend’s name again? I remember him.”
£400 and six points it’ll cost me. Plus £150 to get it out of the pound. I reckon I can classify this as a massive fuck up. Although there’s a chance I’ll be able to take a course and make things a bit less expensive.
It was in an underground car park. No internet. I was moving it having just taken possession of it temporarily as a favour. We had just jumped it back to life so I wanted to turn the engine over before stopping it long enough to do the admin. You know, insurance and all that?
Uninsured car. “Have you got the insurance documents?” “Oh no officer it’s not insured yet I’m doing that when I can find a place to pull over!”
I’m an idiot. The cops no doubt agree with me. I was trundling through the City of London, where there must be more cameras per square foot than any other part of the UK. The car I was driving was falling apart, number plate taped on the back, loud rattle in the undercarriage, unhappy and covered in dust, and full of random shit. I had a quote from the insurance company queued up and ready to go on my phone as soon as I found a place I could stop and do it. Then I was going to sort out tax etc and work out what needed to be done to make it happy. It was gonna be my project. Keep me occupied for a bit.
Now it’s a punch in the face before I even get home. It’s a load of money out the pocket, and a hard lesson learnt. At least if I’d been a baddie rather than an idiot I’d have been stopped just as effectively by those officers. And I’m sure you could tell me I’m a baddie. I don’t know what I was thinking really. It was just bumbling idiocy, and I’m not the prime minister so I can’t get away with that shit.
God help me, I actually quite liked the coppers too. I don’t think they usually deal with people quite so cheerfully incompetent as I proved to be this evening. It was all an exciting learning experience. God though. I’ll feel it as the months peel away. That’s the water bill. That’s lots and lots of food. And what is coming up? Ugh. Months and months more of nothing? And with six points how manageable does my driving income stream become? It’s another nail in the coffin of hope. But thankfully hope can sneak out through the cracks somehow, and it will…
Now I’m back home wondering why I’m not angry. It just felt inevitable. I’m sad. I’m heavy. I’m suddenly much broker. But it just feels like it’s the clinging on of the energy that has tried to block my freedom and happiness with shit like this for decades. And it still won’t work.
Perhaps though it’s because this is the end of an old frame. I don’t need to be jolting around in an old jalopy. If I’m going to be on the road maybe I should just put down the sort of money the coppers are taking in the first place and get a car that doesn’t scream “CRIMINAL!” I got myself out of debt just before lockdown. I kept the credit cards open knowing shit like this might try and pull me back in. Off we go again.
Meanwhile, if you’ve got a way I can make a few hundred quid, I’m game. So long as I don’t end up with the lovely bastard coppers again. It’s the sort of thing where one might consider crime just for the one payment, just to spite them. Agents of the letter of the law, inconsiderate to the spirit of it. It’s all just energy. Off it goes. By doing their job they’re negating their purpose and undermining themselves again, as they so often do. Protectors should protect. Not steal and niggle. No wonder so few people trust them.