bollardology

Driving up to the door of Newbridge Silverware in the rain.

Lil and me have come in search of coffees at the Cafe Des Beaux Parvenus which is contained in these here premises.

But there is no parking space.

At least none that will not necessitate a walk through the rain.

And lo!

What's this I spy.

One emply parking space.

It is the manager's parking space right at the door.

It is protected by a portable orange bollard.

"Park there," instructs the lady known as Lil.

"I will not," sez me.

"Why not?" quoth the Mammy.

"They'll clamp me," sez me.

My 81 year old mother scrambles out of the car.

While I watch, she wrestles the bollard to one side.

"Hurry up," cries the aged parent.

"I can't," insisteth me.

"Of course you can," proclaims she.

"I'll be fined," mewls me.

 "It's nothing to do with you," assures she.

"It's my car," sez me.

"Yes, but you didn't move the bollard," triumphs she.

I park in the manager's space.