This is the sixth time this year that I've had words with the selfish freelance delivery woman who was driving this car. I don't remember how many times it happened before the start of 2017, but it was a significant number.
The only English word she seems capable of uttering in my presence is "sorry" but she still parks like a tw@t so it's pretty much an empty apology. This time I needed to get my car out to deal with an urgent family matter (carers had called me to attend to my mother-in-law who is seriously ill) and I couldn't keep my temper under control when I found that the freelance fuckwit had blocked me in (again) despite the huge expanse of parking space to her near-side.
I guess she's one of the highly-trained highly-qualified people who, we're told, we have to import from The Continent because we, the Ignored Indigenous, allegedly don't have the requisite skill-set. Well, for the right price, I too could drive/park like a pr1ck, eschew the native language, ignore the rules of the road and not give a flying f*ck who I upset along the way. And no, I'm neither racist nor sexist, I just believe that our road-rules apply to all-comers, there's no exemption policy. When in Rome...
From now on, she should be in no doubt as to the consequences of her self-centred attitude - if she didn't understand my words, my body-language and my gesticulations should have got the message across:
