I can hardly bear to tell you about what unfolded after I got the letter about the £100 fine for dropping off passengers at Belfast City Airport.
In minute detail I laid out my case that I had not seen the NEW warning signs, and if I had, I would of course had adhered to the NEW rules and paid the NEW £3 drop-off fee (note the caps), but it was an honest mistake and I will certainly pay the £3 and take the learning on board.
“You have to stand up for yourself, Fiadh.”
My child looked doubtful. She agreed with Fionnuala’s measured assessment of my chances.
“Dad, just accept that you committed a crime and pay up.”
Crime? I smirked a “We shall see” but when an email from the English company informed me that I had lost the chance to pay a reduced £60 and £100 was now due, I was seething.
I sent another email back – lots of caps – but there was no reply.
So, I sent another, and another and another. Let’s see who breaks first, I thought, shaking with injustice.
I then got distracted by the MOT for the car, which had rushed up on me.
I brought it round to Viktor’s garage to get it checked. He danced about the battered Hyundai, chain-smoking and shouting at the television in Hungarian, and told me it was “Complete heap but it ok to pass. Two new tyres. Front.”
So, I went and got the tyres – not bad value – and brought it round to the test centre the next morning.
I had to go and stand in a shelter as the very pleasant examiner disappeared with the car behind the big roller door.
The other people waiting shuffled about trying to keep warm and small-talked about how bloody cold it was, as one by one their cars arrived back with a thumbs up.
Eventually mine appeared and the chap bounced out with a big smile.
“Well?” I was smiling too.
“100 per cent.” He was grinning. “She’s in good nick.”
“Thank God for that.”
I was about to get in but he stopped me, still grinning.
“C’mere to you see this but. Passenger front wheel. What can you tell me?”
I followed him round and peered at the wheel for a while.
“Nothing. I got new tyres.”
“Oh, the tyres are grand. Look at your nuts.”
I stared at him, taken aback, as he pointed at a missing wheel nut.
“I’d be having a word with your tyre man, hi.” He was still smiling.
“Oh, I see now. Right, I’ll get it sorted straight away, thanks. It has passed, hasn’t it?” I was suddenly unsure.
“God no.” His eyes widened as he handed me the sheet: Fail. Minor Defect. Wheel loose.
“You’ll have to book a re-test.”
“That’s £30! Is that single nut enough to fail?”
“Tis, when my boss is looking over my shoulder.”
He swanned off and flashed me one more dazzling, delirious grin.
Everyone in the shelter was staring silently Like a herd of zebra that had survived the lion kill.
“He probably just likes his job, Daddy.” Fiadh was doing her homework as I rattled around the kitchen, ranting about how the world was messed up and the little man was always screwed.
“I won’t lie down, Fiadh. I will fight for my rights.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Fabien.” Fionnuala looked up.
“I’ve paid the fine and the re-test. It’s tomorrow.”
My face went beetroot. “This is my battle, Fionnuala.”
“Yes, and you lost. Next, you’ll be outside the council offices with placards.”
“You’re giving me ideas. I refuse to be pushed around.”
Then the door bust open and Genghis was there with a chainsaw.
“Require a volunteer.”
Everyone looked at me.
“The two big trees down in the field need red up.”