Prostrate Parking


On Saturday I drove to to the  little fringe theatre , parked nicely and neatly and legally on their forecourt and Mr Anna May and I  quick-stepped in from the wind and the rain to collect our tickets.

In the queue for the box office I began was counting down in my head until he said it, and I didn’t have to wait long. It was 53 and a quarter seconds  before he announced, “I won’t be a minute” and dashed out the door.

“I won’t be a  minute” is code for “You are an almighty gonk who is incapable of parking a car and I am now going outside to to move it  two inches to the left and straighten it up a bit because if I don’t the future of mankind will be in jeopardy.” Pointless precision parking is a kind of four-wheel tic he has developed in his senior years. I think it’s linked to his prostrate.

While he was outside doing his superhero parking thing there was  a ‘happening’  going on in the foyer. In front of a small audience three women,who were dressed like the Homepride Flour people, were  preparing giant Iced Gems(the bite size biscuits with a blob of icing on top, not the lettuces) and  being filmed. The room was Church silent.

I was Was it stand up comedy? But no-one was laughing. Was it dance? But no-one was dancing.  I asked the woman on my right if it was a performance of some kind and she hissed back “Ssssshhh!” She had three plaits,smelt of chick peas and was wearing a tartan sofa cover.

Mr Anna May arrived back and asked in a voice that would have been conversational if everyone else in the room was talking. But because they weren’t his remark boomed around the space, “What’s this load of wank about, then?”

ps: Apparently it was tactile performance installation art, donchaknow?





1 comment to Prostrate Parking

  • Glenda Willis

    Why is it that ‘men’ always criticise women’s parking skills? I do hope that you both enjoyed the play or was Mr Anna May suffering from a black eye.