Cost of UK Living Price Forecast for 2080

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PricesInchPenny01The Inchcock Gazette Financial Correspondent, Penny Banks, has been looking at the cost of living in the UK. Working in harmony with Juan Inchcock, they have finally finished editing the piece, that Compares the actual cost of products in 1951 compared to 2011, and then assessing the difference % between those years, she forecasts what these items will cost (if still available at all) in 2080.

With some scary results – especially for the ankle-snappers of today.

Let’s face it, would the now older generation ever have believed in 1966 what things would cost in 2000 if anyone had told them?

No, we’d have laughed at the thought of a loaf of bread costing over 10p (2/- Two shillings).

I recall the utter disbelieve from my father when he found out that we had to pay 3d (1.5p) for a bag of chips, up from 2d (1d)

It was even worse when he got the shock of of his bottle of IPA (Indian Pale Ale) from the corner beer-off, went up from 9d (4.5p) to 11d!

When petrol went up to 2/3d (10.3p) a gallon, well, you would not want to know what Dad said about that price increase!

For simplicity she has converted all old £ s d prices to the new currency.

They are all average costs, not calculated using regional prices.

PricesDaz Daz Soap Powder

1951: 3p

2011: £2.48

2080: £204.84

12 Eggs

1951: 10p

2011: £1.00

2080: £13.00

800g Loaf of White bread

1951: 1d

2011: £1.25

2080: £125.34

Pint of Milk

1951: 1p

2011: 65p

2080: £42.25

Pricessugar2lb Granulated Sugar

1951: 5p

2011: 90p

2080: £16.23

Butter

1951: 4p

2011: £1.25

2080: £27.50

Semi Detached House

1951: £280

2011: £223,121

2080: £2,499,432

PricesSmithsSmiths Crisps

1951: ¾p

2011: 25p

2080: $16.04

MPs Earnings (with unfiddled expenses & running costs paid) per week

1951: £8,489

2011: £86,788

2080: £424,488

Highest Priced Penthouse in London

1951: £624,000

2011: £135,000,000

2080: £29160,000

PricesCiggies20 Cigarettes

1951: 5p

2011: £5.30

2080: £567.00

Average weekly Pay

1951: £10.52

2011: £311.34

2080: £11608.61

Average Single Persons Unemployment Benefits with less than the saving limit in the bank.

1951: £2.43

2011: £119.34

2080: £4,214.05

Cost of Petrol per litre

1951: 17p (Rationed)

2011: £5.77

2080: £196.18

PricesChipsBag of Chips

1951: 4p

2011: 69p

2080: £20.22

A Nottingham Lad’s True Tale of Woe – Part 12 – Billy Smart’s Escaped Effalent!

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Woes12 01 Woes12 02

Inchcocks, True Tales of Woe. Of utter failure, depression, frustration, and abject poverty. This episode relates a rather more frightening episode of his early experiences than the usual. He tells me he can still smell the aroma the emitted from the elephant when he opened his bedroom window, stuck out his head to find out what all noise and kerfuffle was, and found his head about five foot away from the elephants! This is no bull, records at the Evening Post will prove this, and Georges Stables were also used for the storing animals in advance of the Billy Smarts Circus coming to Nottingham

Now Inchcock will now take over, and tell his tale…

George’s horse stables were underneath the railway viaduct that supported Arkwright St Station, were at the end of our terrace of houses.

Under the arches, was where the big cats were quartered, and the actual stables were used to my knowledge over the years to pen, elephants, rhinos, horses, snakes, ponies and zebras.

As I lay in bed that fateful night, I was aroused by an indescribable noise, as I struggled to find the matches to light the candle, Dad came rushing into the room, and dragged me out, nearly knocking me out as he bashed my head against doorframe, rushed downstairs, stuffed me under the sink and shouted “Stay under there until I tell yer to move!”

He disappeared, and I knew something was amiss (I’ve always been sensitive to these things you know).

But curiosity got the better of me, and I sneaked back upstairs, and stuck my head out of the window in an effort to find out what all the commotion was… and found my head about 5ft away from an elephants head that was coming towards me!

Within about 15 seconds I was back under the sink! I can still remember the smell of that elephant!

Anyway, it transpires that the elephant was a young one that was missing his mater, so he bashed down the stable doors, walked up and down our terrace, then up Brookfield place, on the way head butting in Mrs Wing’s front door, then overturning a blokes Morgan sports car on Derwent Street, then bending a lamppost, then walked up to the Willoughby Street bridge and lifted a man up and put him on the bridge (severely injuring him in the process), turned back into Derwent Street, and charged into mothers illegal bookies house front window, wedging himself firmly in that position! Whaling noises, and crumbling bricks indicated he was not happy being stuck where he was. Boy did he kick up a verbal commotion!

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The Cricketers Rest – Where the night-watchman was well sozzled!

Billy Smart’s watchman who was supposed to be looking after the animals in the stables, was apparently in the Cricketers Rest, well sozzled!

The police fetched Mr Widdowson a man who lived on Kirkewhite Street to the scene. Mr Widdowson had worked with elephants during the war in India. Apparently he had been used before to help the police with escaped elephants, but I can only recall this one such event personally.

At this time, I had sneaked out from under the sink to have a proper look, and saw Mr Widdowson with the armed police officers.

Mr Widdowson took a quick look at it, and he said loudly over the nose of the beast; “Shoot it, it’s African” So he went with the marksmen, down the alley to the back of the house, and they broke in and he told them where to shoot it for optimum results.

Then the occupants of the house appeared from upstairs, totally oblivious of what had happened until the gun shots awoke them! (Talk about heavy sleepers?)

It seems that a neighbour saw me at the window earlier, so I got a further taste of the belt buckle and leather for disobeying daddy again by leaving the relative safety of under the sink!

Ah well…!

A Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe – Part 11

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Woes11 police

Locked up in the Police Station Cells for the day

Dad thought it was a treat to take me on marathon walks occasionally. We’d take no food, just a bottle of tap water. We’d walk for miles and miles, always eventually stopping near an orchard in, Bingham, Plumtree, Ruddington, or Bunny, that sort of village-like place. Then him picking an apple or pear, then getting out his penknife and slowly, very slowly cutting off the skin, (which I got to eat) he’d slice up the apple, and I’d get my one slice… enough for a little un he’d say. Then on the way back, he’d call in the pub, bring me out a bag of crisps (with a little sachet of salt, always Smiths), open the bottle of tap water for me, then disappear back inside the pub for about three days… well it seemed like that to me. But at least he never forgot I was with him like Mother used to do. And; he always took me home – well someone had to do the housework! This trip out I went with me mate Jack – but it didn’t turn out how we’d planned it!

On one of the rare occasions that I was able to sneak out and have some fun (as I thought at the time), I joined a mate, and we walked out to Ruddington, to an orchard I’d spotted while out on one of Dad’s marathon walks earlier in the month – with the mischievous intention of scrumping some apples for ourselves.

I was up a tree, dropping the illicit apples down to Jack… when the owner appeared from nowhere…

Woes11 wallJack legged it through a small gate, but that escape route was then barred to me by the owners body by the time I’d got out and down from the tree – so I ran and jumped over a low wall of about 2ft in height, little thinking that the other side might be a drop of about 12ft into the deep mud of a field!

By the time the owner, and newly arrived police officer got down to me, the pain was slowly easing, and the bruising coming out on my face head, and shoulder.

I was unceremoniously handed up to the policeman – who told me I was to walk at the side of his push-bike back to Nottingham’s Queens Drive Police Station!

Telling me this he managed to skilfully and adeptly clip me around the head and ear-holes several times with his leather gloves, whilst pushing the bike with his other hand.

We arrived at the police station, and I was recorded by the desk sergeant, and unceremoniously placed in a bare wall station cell, with bars and door in the shape of a dome, with only concrete/brick slabs to sit on.

It reminded me of the Sheriff’s office cells in the Wells Fargo, Roy Rogers, and John Wayne cowboy films I’d seen at the flea-pit (The Grove Cinema).

But it still scared the hell out of me.

Eventually, some six hours or so later, a constable came in and removed me from the cell, telling me I was to go with Constable Merriman (and merry he certainly was not), to be taken home to Dad!

It seems somehow they knew when Dad would be arriving home.

Out of the station, then along Kirkwright Street. Again at the side of a constable and his push-bike. (A different constable this time) Who had the same excellently honed capability and skills of catching ones ankle with his pedals, clipping your ear-hole, and giving your chin a hefty accidental regular belt with the torch that hung on his tunic belt, painful, but I had to admire his skills even then as he drew blood.

As we got nearer to home, the crowds gathered as the officer took the route there via the middle of the road, down the cobbles into Brookfield Place, by then we had a group of about 12 spectators following us, then of course he (the officer) had to shine his torch in all the house windows as he passed them, and even tried out his whistle – thus the neighbours added to this spectator sport of ‘ogling the downfall of young Inchcock! ‘

He then proceeded to knock hell out of the front door, (this commotion ensured neighbours from over the end wall would not miss any of the total embarrassment of young Inchcock and also join in the ever increasing number of spectators), the door was opened by an already irate Father, because his young un had not been there to get his meal ready and light the fire when he got home, changing his face colour from normal colour, to red, blue, and back to red, as the Constable loudly explained to him: ” I’ve bought ‘this’ home ‘arry, (twisting my ear-lobe as he pushed me toward my irate looking father), caught it scrumping at William’s orchard – will you deal with it Harry?”

Dear father had got his belt off and in his hand before he’d finished replying to the Constable: “Oh eye, yer can rest assured on that one Bert!”

Three days later, I could just about manage sit down again without too much pain from my rumps losing battle with Dads infamous belt and buckle battering!

That was my first and last attempt at scrumping.

Parliament: Where will we find…

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Ode1 01

Parliament: Where You Will find…

This Ode was created by Inchcock as he was making a cup of tea to take his multiple medications, apply his Permethrin cream and change his bandages.

Where will we find people so very temperamental?

Those who consider fiddling as fundamental?

Nasty self bias people: cruel, vile and a little mental?

Scheming people being unscrupulous and instrumental?

Slippery, deceitful, cheating, and lying elemental?

Folk who seem inhuman, arrogant and ornamental?

Where will we find them, along with nothing sentimental?

Members who find lying, and criminality just incidental?

Where will we find dangerous people, who to us are detrimental?

Those who cheat and get off scot-free, being so inscrutable,

Scum who find self interest and nepotism so ingestible,

The cream of the vain, narcissistic and pure egotistical

We’ll find them all in anything that’s Governmental!

A Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe – Part 10

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Woes10 001Includes Dad’s designs on saving dental costs!

Dad insisted that I came home from school, cleaned out the fire grate, chopped some wood, and laid the fire in readiness for his arrival home from work.

He considered it a waste of money if I lit the fire before he got in. Also I was to ready a meal for him – getting the money out of him was harder than climbing Mount Everest with two broken legs, being blind, and using a camel as a guide-dog!

Yes, I spent many an hour at the doorstep awaiting his arrival home, looking down the row of terraced houses past the open sewers that time had forgotten about.

It could be anything from 1800hrs to 2230hrs when he would round the corner, ambling in his unrushed manner, sometimes after stopping off at the pub on the way home.

So if he’d eaten in the bar or chippie, and did not want his dinner – no, I couldn’t eat it, it had to be saved until the next night – and believe me, even in summer, and bear in mind we had no luxuries like a fridge (actually we had no luxuries at all that I can recall), he did always eat it on the next night!

A Penny for the Pain

Dad, being Dad, he spent nothing if it could be avoided, he even used to pull my teeth with his cobbling pliers. Lifting me above the sink to catch the blood, gritting his teeth, taking a mega-firm grip, and yanking out the offending tooth (and often the wrong one), he’d rinse out my mouth, and… and for anyone who knew him might find this hard to believe, he’d give me a ‘penny for the pain’.

Woes10 01Mother Returns, I do a Bunk!

When dear mater returned to the fold this time, the gloom returned, and I was most despondent and sorrowful. So much so, that on the first night she returned, I decided to run away!

Not exactly the best planned escape you’ve will have ever heard of.

I took a bag of crisps and a bottle of Redgate’s ‘pop’ in a Marsden’s carrier bag, and legged it out of the back door while Mother and Father were in the front room arguing as usual.

The time being around 2030hrs, I had no idea where I was going, but seem to remember having set out with great determination that I was never going to return to the violence and anger at home again.

I ended up walking down Wilford Road to Castle Boulevard from Trent Bridge, and turned onto Abbey Bridge, which was where the fear and realisation of my situation suddenly gripped me, that I was not sure why or where I was!

I Return

I changed my mind about absconding, and started to walk back to No. 4 Brookfield Place (my home), as I turned into Wilford Street, and it began to get dark, I started to panic, and began running.

That was when a black Triumph Standard car pulled up beside me, and a man shouted something I couldn’t hear properly, and I got the energy through fright, to run even faster… I turned down Traffic Street, and could hear the car following as it revved and suddenly the brakes squealed!

I shot up an entry, only to find it was a dead end, as I realised this, I felt myself being lifted into the air by a chap, and carried back out of the entry, then being slapped up against the wall by the very tall man… who said in a dominating, intimidating gruff voice, “Furse’s had been robbed earlier tonight, what have you got in that carrier bag!”

It gleaned as another man joined him from the car, that they were CID Police Officers.

I came clean, and told them I’d run away from home, but had got scared and was on my way back home, told him my address, and (as was the case in them days) he said he knew Harry (my Dad), and would take me home to prove if I was lying or not.

By now it must have been getting on for midnight.

They threw me in the back of the car, and we drove home, to find the neighbours curtains twitched, and lights coming on in the Terrace.

One police officer rattled on the door, it took a while to wake mummy and daddy up, but it seemed the rest of the occupants of the Terrace had turned out to find out what was happening!

The door opened, before anyone appeared I knew it was mother, as I saw the cigarette smoke curling around the doorframe… it appears that no one had missed me anyway!

Mummy in her own caring way belted me around the head with her slipper for getting the police involved, and then it was upstairs where I found Daddy peeling his belt from around his trousers on the chair… a couple of good clouts around the legs, preceded a good four more on the bottom.

That night I went to bed in pain and even more confused than before!

Mother Does another Bunk

The next day Mummy dear disappeared again. It seemed the policemen calling had unnerved her usual steely resolve.

Social Services – Nottingham Lad needs Adopting -Can You Help?

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Foster Parents needed for Nottingham Boy, can you help?

Advertised in the Nottingham Evening Post, this surely explains why we need to apply ourselves and provide the resources to cater for our young children?

Nottingham Council’s Adoption Agency

Nottinghamshire Council provides a range of services to look after children and aims to provide quality foster care placements to meet each child’s individual needs in respect of race, culture, religion, disability and language.

Can you offer a home to this young person?

Adopt01

Details:

Name: Juan Inchcock.

D.O.B.: 27 August 1947

Nationality: White, British. (We think)

Currently Being cared for by: Local muggers, and the NHS.

History:

* Survived double pneumonia at the age of 3

* Brought up by his father. Very little education received. No etiquette, decorum, deportment, or finesse installed.

* Mother on the run from the police 1950-51 – 1954-1955 – 1956-62

* Loved sports, but was totally useless at them.

* Went bald at 23 years of age.

* Worked for 50 years, in the Retail, Military, Security, and Gas lamp lighting trades – made redundant four times through no fault of his own.

* Broke eleven bones, crushed his right thumb, had a hernia repaired, cancer of the bladder lasered, duodenal ulcer, went deaf, needs three levels of spectacles, contracted Angina, Aorta heart valve replacement, Arthritis in knees and hands, his Reflux valve sticking, Kidney infection and chronically depressed .

* After his cardiac procedures were carried out, he started writing for the Spoof Website, and started his own blog site. Unfortunately, he gets confused at times, and started posting to the wrong site in mistake for the other.

* Then he contracted Arthritis, and Impetigo, currently being treated.

Medical care required:

He will have to attend a blood test, and await dosage recommendations for the Warfarin tablets he is on weekly if not daily according to results. He has a bus-pass, so you will not need to run him about; he is capable of hobbling to and from the medical appointment as necessary. The other 16 daily medications he is on, will require you to make sure he takes them in order and to the correct dosage:

* Codeine Phosphate as required

* Furosemide 40mg – one each morning

* Lactulose – three x 5ml spoonsful three times a day

* Bisoprolol (Beta Blockers) 25mg – one each morning

* Omeprazole 20mg – one each morning

* Iboprofen Gel – to be applied to the arthritic knees and hands when required.

* Ramipril 5mg – One in AM, one in PM

* Zocor 15mg – One in the evening

* Simvastin 40mg – One in the evening

* Otomise Spray – apply in ears three times a day

* Vitamin B Complex – one a day

* Glyceryl Trinitrate – 600mcg as required not more than two at a time though.

Plus of course, the specified dose of Warfarin for the day, at night.

In the event of the rare dizzy spells attacking Juan, leave him on the floor until he feels he can get up again.

Personal Traits:

Potty Training:

Originally fully potty trained, but Juan’s memory is getting worse, and this can cause the occasional problem. (Especially now he is on Water Tablets)

Eating:

Juan will eat anything not too rich. He has become accustomed since being made redundant, then retiring to living on Asda Smartprice, and Pound Shop products, and you will find these good value… crap!… but good value, and they will suffice for Juan.

Emissions of wind from his anus:

Possibly a by-product of his medications, be warned that after he had laser treatment, he is unaware of any build-up of gases, and they tend to burst out painfully, for him, and anyone in his vicinity.

His Nature:

He is an easy going boy, who likes to feed the pigeons and ducks.

It is essential that you supply an internet connection for him, so he can continue to present crap like this on blog website, as he is thoroughly addicted.

Do you feel you can help?

Anyone who feels they can take on Juan as foster parents, or adopt him, please send your application in to us, along with a Doctor’s, or Psychologist’s Sanity letter with confirmation of your mental condition.

A Nottingham Lad’s True Tale of Woe – Part 9

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Currently a short portly-but-wobbly 67 year-old made redundant four times, dedicated NHS patient, with his new heart, arthritis, angina, prostate cancer, haemorrhoids, two hearing-aids wearing, bald, miniscule wedding tackle, knock-knees, hernia, bad eyesight, blood disorder and dizzy spells, oh… and depressed. The disasters, disappointments, successes (both of them), his failures, shattered dreams, false arrest, romantic frustrations, the rejections, inefficacious incidents, lack of education, along with the misfits misconceptions, misunderstandings, misadventures, misanalysis’, miscalculations, misinterpretations, misestimations, misfeasances, misperceptions, and miscellaneous miserable moments and occasions throughout his pathetically  unsuccessful life will be revealed. Starting at his birth into the cruel world; that event alone was singularly distressing for all.

Starting at his birth into this cruel world, that event alone singularly distressing for all.

Note I originally intended to leave this emprise out of my Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe, but decided even writing about it for the first time, brought a warm, comforting glow back to my lonely soul, so I put it in, despite the recent events in the news!

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One Friday night, mother dear gently blew her fag smoke over me, as she cleared away my dinner things, (the enamel basin, mouldy crusts of the bread, and the empty Oxo cube foil) and spoke to me for the first time in two days, asking: “Would you like to go and stay with Auntie Mabel for a few days? She’s got a shed and garden you can play in?”

Perplexed by this magnificent offer, as I wasn’t aware of having an Auntie Mabel, I thought about the proposal, and thought it might be about time I spread my wings beyond the end of the terrace – so I gingerly accepted the invite, (unsure if it was actually an invite or an order to go) with reservations lingering about who the hell ‘Auntie Mabel’ was. (I’ve certainly never heard of her before or after this wonderful escapade).

So, that night, Mummy put a tea shirt, socks and undies into a ‘Marsden’s carrier bag, and off we went on a number 24 West Bridgford Urban District Council bus into the grand ‘Bread & Lard’ island of West Bridford. We dropped off somewhere near the canal. Then I was marched more than walked towards somewhere at Trent Lane end, and into the massive gardens of a foreboding big dark gardened house.

As mummy dear knocked on the door, it was opened immediately, with the ‘welcoming’ woman (Auntie Mable), ushering us in, and doen the steps to the downstairs kitchen. As we arrived in this kitchen, I knew something was very different to what I was used to… I thought for a while, and realised what it was, it had food in it!

I waited for the woman and precious mummy to conduct some business that involved the woman opening her purse and handing mater some cash. (This was not unusual, it’s the other way around that I cannot recall ever seeing happening).

So, with a quickly shouted: “Now you behave yerself for Auntie Mabel, she’ll bring yer back on Monday”, off she went, leaving little me sat on a stool sucking my thumb.

This heavily scented ‘Auntie Mabel approached, and offered me food the likes as I had never seen before, as she rubbed her hand up and down my young skinny legs.

* I liked that, but didn’t know why, but I liked it!

I was given a knife and fork to use, but didn’t know how to – this didn’t disturb ‘Auntie Mabel’ at all, as she produced some cake and ice-cream – again food I was unused to, but relished.

I was then taken upstairs, by the red faced, heavily lipsticked, nice smelling, plump, polite, slightly scary ‘Auntie Mabel’, who thought I could do with a bath. A real luxury here, and I didn’t have to bath myself – she saw to that.

*I liked that too, but didn’t know why!

It confused me a little, that certain areas of my anatomy were receiving a lot more attention than the rest of my puny underfed, scrawny body was.

* Again I liked that, but didn’t know why!

The drying off was with real towels too! Again certain areas got dried off with more attention than other areas.

* I liked that too, but didn’t know why!

‘Auntie Mabel decided as she was drying me off, that she’d like to take some photographs to remember me by, and this took about 2½ hours, what with all the “Must get you in the best position and lighting ‘my dear’!

* I liked that, but didn’t know why!

Time for bed she decreed, “Do you sleep with your mummy at home?” No chance I thought, but just squeaked a mild “No”. “Would you like to sleep with me tonight?”

* I liked that idea, but hadn’t the vaguest idea why!

“Please” I muttered.

I found out that the reason she was on her own, was that her husband was away on business, so we had to keep ourselves company so we don’t get lonely! She said.

No chance of that, I think we must have spent about 24 hours in bed! Still, I’ve always been up for getting educated.

* I liked that, and was beginning to understand why! Oh happy memories!

When we eventually rose up from bed, me being very sore, confused, but absolutely ecstatic, it was into the bathroom for another two hours.

* I loved that, but now knew why, and I was eagerly learning.

Then into the kitchen, for more food, (I must have eaten the equivalent to a months supply at home in three days)

The whole stay at ‘Auntie Mabel’s” consisted of the same and similar treatment.

* I liked that, but didn’t know why, but have been eternally grateful ever since!

I just hated it when it was all over!

She returned me home on Monday, offering one last concealed gentle caress and a couple of well aimed gropes as I entered the house.

How I begged to be taken back to see ‘Auntie Mabel’ again – but as mysteriously as she appeared in my life, she had heart-breakingly gone from it.

I spent the next two weekends searching to see if I could find her house again, but to no avail. Dad said had never heard of any Auntie Mabel either.

I still have my young memories of ‘Auntie Mabel’.

* I liked that, and now I do know why!

Nottingham Ice-cream manufacturer – new flavours to honour MPs

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Ice-cream manufacturer Inchcock & Co are producing new flavours and names of ice-cream concoctions, in honour of individual MP’s and Political Parties performances in the Government, and opposition. 

Here is the full list to be available soon:

 

Ice HagueIn Honour of: Nick Clegg

 Flavour/Name: Silent Souffle

 

In Honour of: Ed Balls

Flavour/Name: Stuffed British Gooseberries

 

In Honour of: David Cameron

Flavour/Name: Floral & Sweet Vanilla Mix & Nepotist Twist

 

In Honour of: Theresa May

 Flavour/Name: Dwarf Defence Damsons

 

In Honour of: Liam Fox

 Flavour/Name: Fiddler’s fricassee

 

In Honour of: Vincent Cable

 Flavour/Name: Mango Benefits Sorbet

 

Ice OsborneIn Honour of: Duncan Smith

 Flavour/Name: Speedy Gonzales Gateau

 

In Honour of: Chris Huhne

 Flavour/Name: Sour Grapes on an empty bed of NHS

 

In Honour of: Andrew Lansley

Flavour/Name: Borstal blancmange

 

In Honour of: Michael Gove

Flavour/Name: Collage of Curry

 

In Honour of: Eric Pickles

Flavour/Name: Fricassee of Fatuous Freaks

 

In Honour of: Honourable Lord Strathclyde Leader of the House of Lords

Flavour/Name: Watermelon Throw-away Surprise

 

Ice ClarkeIn Honour of: Oliver Letwin

Flavour/Name: Old fashioned salad with Honeydew drips

 

In Honour of: The Labour Party

Flavour/Name: Lemons with little crumbs inside

 

In Honour of: The Lib-Dem Party

Flavour/Name: Cream of Chrematomania

 

Iced EdIn Honour of: The Conservative Party

Flavour/Name: Sour Grapefruit with spoon-in-the-mouth topping

 

In Honour of: The Conservative Party

Flavour/Name: Sour Grapefruit with spoon-in-the-mouth topping

An Honest Nottingham Driver’s Letter to the Council

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Parking02The following letter, sent in by Mr Dense Inchcock of Nottingham was received by the Nottingham City Council Parking Services, Loxley House, Station Street, Nottingham. NG2 3NG. Obviously of a spurious content and intention, Mr Inchcock thought perhaps it may start a bit of humorous banter twixt himself and Traffic Department personnel… but no!

We could not help but see the bitter-sweet side to this letter; however, the Council Officials obviously could not.

Inchcock’s Letter;

Dear Sir,

I went into your wonderful city last Tuesday, in my 1969 Austin Allegro registration W234 TIT, and after three hours managed to find a parking space within walking distance of the NHS drop in centre, where I was visiting about a medical concern.

I purchased a ticket for two hours to be on the safe side, not wanting to cause any bother to your wonderful Parking monitoring personnel, and walked the four minute route to the centre.

After being seen by the nurse in attendance, she called for an ambulance straight away, after finding a problem with my heart. An ambulance was summoned, and I was transported to the QMC hospital, where, after checks and being prescribed medication, I was released several hours later.

Thus, making it eight hours before I could return to my car. To my amazement, I could find no parking ticket or penalty notice on the vehicle, or after searching the streets, nearby.

Understandably, I am riddled with guilt, and full of contrition.

Considering my reprehensible actions, I would like to beg and entreat you to correct the situation, by issuing me with a penalty notice, forthwith ASAP.

I hope this will relieve my deeply felt remorse, and overpowering self-reproach. Yours Dense Inchcock.

The authority’s response was:

Dear Inchcock, Regarding your appeal received (date).

The Traffic Management Act 2004 sets out grounds on which you make representations to the Council. These are shown below:

* The recipient had never owned the vehicle

* The recipient had ceased to be its owner before the date on which the alleged contravention occurred

* The recipient became its owner after the date on which the alleged contravention occurred

* The alleged contravention did not occur

* The vehicle was stolen at the time of the offence (documentary proof from the police will be required)

* The relevant Traffic Regulation Order is invalid

* The owner of the vehicle is a Hire firm and the hirer has signed a statement of liability for any Penalty Charge Notices. (In this case the hirer will be held to be liable and the city council will proceed against the hirer)

* The amount of the Penalty Charge exceeds the appropriate amount. (In practice this has been correctly approved by the Council and the Department of Transport, so any challenge is unlikely to be successful)

* There has been a procedural impropriety by the enforcement Authority

* The Notice to owner should not have been served because the Penalty Charge Notice have already been paid

* Unfortunately the Penalty Charge will not be cancelled in these circumstances. It is the motorist’s responsibility to purchase enough time to cover the duration of the parking time required, allowing for any possible over-running of meetings or appointments. In these situations it is advisable to use a car park where payment is made upon return (like Trinity Square, Broadmarsh or Fletcher Gate)

* If you have been issued with a Penalty Charge Notice (“Parking Fine”) please be aware that Civil Enforcement Officers have no authority to cancel them. We accept the following types and methods of payment:

By cheque:

Please make payable to Nottingham City Council and send to Nottingham City Council Parking Services, Lawrence House, Talbot Street, Nottingham, NG1 5NT By card: Please visit us at Nottingham City Council Parking Services, Lawrence House, Talbot Street, Nottingham, NG1 5NT and we will take your card payment by chip and pin and provide you with a receipt.

By Postal Order:

Please visit your local post office and obtain a postal order. The order should be made payable to Nottingham City Council and should be sent to Nottingham City Council Parking Services, Lawrence House, Talbot Street, Nottingham, NG1 5NT. You can find your nearest Post office by visiting http://www.postoffice.co.uk and clicking on the Branch Finder tab. Details of how to pay are also shown on the reverse of the Notice.

Yours: Mr J Obsworth JP – Nottingham City Council, Clerical & Legal Chief Executive Officer.

Now Dense Inchcock is really confused!