Norfolk notes - parking
As well as large buses on narrow roads, the other thing we encountered with the car was the posh car surcharge. While the majority of beach car parks are standardised pay and display jobs, there are one or two independents who vary their price according to season, weather, time of day, whim and, of course, whether they can be arsed spending the day in a shed. Examples of fluctuating prices include one where the chalk board announcing the discounted parking price included 'end of season sale'.
Ah, and a car park near some golf links. Since I've been coming here it's been looked after by a bloke in a caravan. The same bloke. The area is also home to, arguably, the best golf links in the world and I recall the time he advised me 'not to park at the far end, because that's where the helicopter will be landing because some golfers want to play this afternoon'. In that sentence the word 'tossers' is silent, but he managed to convey it.
Normally, my ride of choice is an ageing three door job. Nothing special. What it does do, however, is get you a discount. Discount is also available if you have a couple of cars, where he offers a group rate in exchange for the first one always offering to pay for both cars at full price. Such offers of generosity are rewarded. I've also seen posh cars (of which there are many in this part of the world) turn round rather than pay full price, I guess you get a posh car by being tight.
When we rolled up in the Beast, we got whacked for the full charge for the day. Luckily I had my wee bag o'change and was able to stump up, but wondered if I would have been charged the same had I been in my little motor. Maybe he charges by the foot, like they do with canal moorings. In which case God knows what the driver of the coach that delivered the school geography party would have had to pay.
Mostly though, it was standardised charges, paid for at a sort of parking totem that depending on your point of view and location, either ripped you off totally for a short brisk walk on the beach, amazed you by allowing all day parking for a florin or was shameless in trying to attract custom to competing seaside towns by giving you the first half hour for tuppence, just long enough to visit the bank, post office and many tat shops the place boasts. Somebody, somewhere is making an awful lot of money (a lot of it mine) out of owning a patch of gravel that just happens to be near a beautiful beach.
At least now they've stopped all that 'enter your number plate' nonsense, meaning a return to the charming scenes of people with ninety seconds left on their ticket trying to give it to somebody who has just arrived and hence score a small but important victory over those that, despite our most charitable instincts, we still can't help but suspect are ripping us off.
More important than the charges though, more important than the opening and closing times, more important even than knowing if anyone is in the little shed today collecting money or if you are going to thrillingly park for free is the small sign at the start of the beach road that you ignore at your peril and states 'beach road floods at...' then gives a time. This is certainly a reminder that one is a visitor to strange parts. This isn't 'road liable to flooding' or even a temporary sign reading 'flood', this is a sign telling you that this road is going to flood tonight and you had better be gone by then. You had also better hope that the guy in the shed is not nursing a grudge against all you folk in your posh cars and that he can read tide tables correctly.
Ah, and a car park near some golf links. Since I've been coming here it's been looked after by a bloke in a caravan. The same bloke. The area is also home to, arguably, the best golf links in the world and I recall the time he advised me 'not to park at the far end, because that's where the helicopter will be landing because some golfers want to play this afternoon'. In that sentence the word 'tossers' is silent, but he managed to convey it.
Normally, my ride of choice is an ageing three door job. Nothing special. What it does do, however, is get you a discount. Discount is also available if you have a couple of cars, where he offers a group rate in exchange for the first one always offering to pay for both cars at full price. Such offers of generosity are rewarded. I've also seen posh cars (of which there are many in this part of the world) turn round rather than pay full price, I guess you get a posh car by being tight.
When we rolled up in the Beast, we got whacked for the full charge for the day. Luckily I had my wee bag o'change and was able to stump up, but wondered if I would have been charged the same had I been in my little motor. Maybe he charges by the foot, like they do with canal moorings. In which case God knows what the driver of the coach that delivered the school geography party would have had to pay.
Mostly though, it was standardised charges, paid for at a sort of parking totem that depending on your point of view and location, either ripped you off totally for a short brisk walk on the beach, amazed you by allowing all day parking for a florin or was shameless in trying to attract custom to competing seaside towns by giving you the first half hour for tuppence, just long enough to visit the bank, post office and many tat shops the place boasts. Somebody, somewhere is making an awful lot of money (a lot of it mine) out of owning a patch of gravel that just happens to be near a beautiful beach.
At least now they've stopped all that 'enter your number plate' nonsense, meaning a return to the charming scenes of people with ninety seconds left on their ticket trying to give it to somebody who has just arrived and hence score a small but important victory over those that, despite our most charitable instincts, we still can't help but suspect are ripping us off.
More important than the charges though, more important than the opening and closing times, more important even than knowing if anyone is in the little shed today collecting money or if you are going to thrillingly park for free is the small sign at the start of the beach road that you ignore at your peril and states 'beach road floods at...' then gives a time. This is certainly a reminder that one is a visitor to strange parts. This isn't 'road liable to flooding' or even a temporary sign reading 'flood', this is a sign telling you that this road is going to flood tonight and you had better be gone by then. You had also better hope that the guy in the shed is not nursing a grudge against all you folk in your posh cars and that he can read tide tables correctly.
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