Moody Mancs On Billboards

Hi-ho, whatnots!

Things are hotting up nicely for the congestion charge vote next month. While I am certain that my ballot stuff will not arrive due to the scandulously shit performance of local drug-addled, alcoholic layabout retarded Postmen Twats*, I am still not quite decided about where I shall stick my name for the future.

Voting for a charge that won't even come into force until 2013, when I might have been so seduced by the Olympic glory of London that I decide to burrow myself into the forgiving soil of the Lea Valley and set up a mushroom and leather goods business-cum-domicile - that's a piece of immoral fun in itself.

I might not even have a car by then, although it seems more than likely that come December 2012, I will celebrating eleven glorious years with my then 21-year-old Hondamaschine.

If the Evening News has lined up its most fervently knee-jerking columnists against it, then it can't be all bad. And it does at least represent thinking of ways to deal with the future, and to stop people driving round in their selfish little cock-units until the roundabouts are lined with the dead and rusting. But the campaign in favour has been very poor. A parade of mardy-faced stereotypes staring joylessly out at the world, wafting their little badges of mean-eyed poverty and lust for timekeeping in our ungrateful faces. No more accurate advertisement for Manchester exists: "This is how we persuade people of the power of our argument - stony-faced misery."

As Dr LT was saying today, as I drove her to work this morning (as I do almost every morning), why shouldn't people pay taxes for driving around in their little toxic booths, with all the resources and space and community feeling they eat up? She has no sympathy for "whingeing drivers". I'm picking her up from work later too, joining the queues of belching death, inching through the evening.

I live in the outer ring, so I'll probably only have to pay £2 a day if I'm on the move; but God knows where my work will be in the future. That's 2013. That's after the Universe disintergrates. But the trams and trains are already full, and the buses are miserable.

It all seems pretty pointless, this referendum. I can't the people of Manchester voting Yes for it. When was the last time the greater public voted Yes for anything?

It's a choice then between the bizarrely complacent thinkheads at whatever Gov ministry comes up with this stuff - www.gmfuturetransport.co.uk/WhatisTIF/mapsofrings/; or this overheated, phlegm-speckled mob - http://www.stopthecharge.co.uk/. My head is in my chilblained fingers.

Your pal, Coc x

*Someone needs to explain to me how it is possible for even the most basically-educated fucknut not to deliver a package or letter to an address that is in exactly the same place as it has been for years and, like, years; a package that has the address on the front.