Back in October 2006 we bought Kirsty tickets to see Scooby Doo live on stage at the Birmingham Hippodrome. The tickets we got meant that we had to do this on my birthday, which I didn’t mind.
Fast-forward to April 19th 2007, and we head off for Birmingham for a nice day out.
I decide en-route that we should do as our government often ask, and go by public transport, so we stop off at Blake Street Train Station. Not one single car park space. Off we drive again to Mere Green Train Station. Not one single car park space. Last attempt, Sutton Coldfield Train Station. One car park space. Hurrah!. The car park attendant watches as I reverse into the place, only to pull out to let Kirsty out of the car as there was a prickly bush obstructing her door. I pull back into the parking space, and car park attendant Dim McFuckwit (as I shall call him) decides at that moment to ask if I have a rail card. Nope, but I am going on the train to Birmingham, for which this is the car park for. “Then I’ll have to charge you”.
It seems you don’t have to pay at the other car parks, but at Sutton Coldfield you do. Unless you buy a season ticket. So they’re discriminating against rail users who don’t make more than one journey a week. I lost my temper, grumbled at him, and back in the car we went. Lisa tells me later that what I actually told him was “so much for helping the environment, you can stick you car park up your arse”. Not big or clever, but made me laugh later on when feeling slightly blue.
So, we had to drive into Birmingham. Once there could we park? Not initially. We found one car park that seemed to have spaces, but they were on floor 90980983, and getting out would’ve been a monstrous task at rush hour. Plus eight quid! We eventually found a niceish car park near Chinatown, with a very friendly attendant which went someway to restoring my faith in car-park attendants and helping to diminish the “Dim McFuckwit stick it up your arse” farrago.
Fast-forward to April 19th 2007, and we head off for Birmingham for a nice day out.
I decide en-route that we should do as our government often ask, and go by public transport, so we stop off at Blake Street Train Station. Not one single car park space. Off we drive again to Mere Green Train Station. Not one single car park space. Last attempt, Sutton Coldfield Train Station. One car park space. Hurrah!. The car park attendant watches as I reverse into the place, only to pull out to let Kirsty out of the car as there was a prickly bush obstructing her door. I pull back into the parking space, and car park attendant Dim McFuckwit (as I shall call him) decides at that moment to ask if I have a rail card. Nope, but I am going on the train to Birmingham, for which this is the car park for. “Then I’ll have to charge you”.
It seems you don’t have to pay at the other car parks, but at Sutton Coldfield you do. Unless you buy a season ticket. So they’re discriminating against rail users who don’t make more than one journey a week. I lost my temper, grumbled at him, and back in the car we went. Lisa tells me later that what I actually told him was “so much for helping the environment, you can stick you car park up your arse”. Not big or clever, but made me laugh later on when feeling slightly blue.
So, we had to drive into Birmingham. Once there could we park? Not initially. We found one car park that seemed to have spaces, but they were on floor 90980983, and getting out would’ve been a monstrous task at rush hour. Plus eight quid! We eventually found a niceish car park near Chinatown, with a very friendly attendant which went someway to restoring my faith in car-park attendants and helping to diminish the “Dim McFuckwit stick it up your arse” farrago.
We got into the City, and I wanted to buy a single “Under grey English skies” by The Social ‘exclusive to HMV and Fopp’ says the advert in HMV. What better place to look for this than in HMV, and Music Zone (now running as Fopp), in Birmingham. Britain’s Second City. Neither had it. HMV did have an album I want though, and as on their website it’s only £6, I thought I’ll pick it up as a Birthday treat. Badly Drawn Boy Passport Style ‘Born in the U.K.’. £22.
I’ll repeat that:£22. For a UK album. Scandalous. I love it when they moan that downloading is killing their stores. Good, I hope it’s a painful death, the kind that independent record stores died when HMV, Virgin et all killed them off. I applaud file-sharing sites for killing these daylight robbers dead. And when they lie on the floor gasping for their last breath, whimpering “buy the new Marilyn Manson album, it’s only a reasonable £18’, I shall laugh, and look for the logo below:
So, record shops (I use that term VERY lightly) out of the way, it was off to see Scooby Dooby Doo, which as you can guess was primarily for children. It was nice to see that the Birmingham Hippodrome noticed this, and put a barrier up at the front, so that the kids on the front row couldn’t see anything. But worry not, for they do booster seats. “We’ve got non I’m afraid”. Doh. They gave us two cushions instead, which were useless. Kirsty managed to find a comfy way of viewing the stage though, by basically standing on the chair. She didn’t have any problem with this and had a whale of a time. And Lisa and I enjoyed it too.
Then we had to drive home. Rush hour in Birmingham. Nightmare. Some idiot deciding to go right at a roundabout, from the left hand lane, nearly wiping our bonnet out. The usual retard idiots who cause accidents doing their usual thing. I moan a bit, but an hour later we get home. So, not a brilliant day, except for the bits with the family, and Scooby Doo.
Moral: Tony Blair, Gordon Brown, The Department for Transport, Sutton Train Station, HMV, Fopp = Rip Off Merchants.
But you knew that already, didn’t you?
C/x
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