After all that neighbourly togetherness on Saturday, it was almost a moment of footpath rage yesterday.
One of my pet hates is cars parked across footpaths. So when I saw one such a car while we were walking down to the library, I made a point of walking around it by going via the offending house’s driveway, while silently fuming.
Half-an-hour later on the way back, it was still there. A lady was on the porch, so I called out that they should move it; that if a parking inspector came past (very unlikely!) they’d get fined. She said it wasn’t her car. I said it was a pretty dumb place to park.
I shouldn’t have said that, particularly with the kids present. There are nicer ways to express it, and I don’t want to teach them to be automatically agro in such situations. It’s not always healthy.
I pondered if they’d plan some kind of revenge on me for that, before realising I’d been watching too much Sopranos recently, as well as reading in the paper about road rage incidents.