If there is one thing that I enjoy in the avoidance of paying for, then its car parking, and on Friday night I had the most bizarre experience of avoiding car parking fees that I've ever seen.
We've spent this weekend again in the North East (nearly found our holiday home, but more later) and on Friday evening Jodie and I went to Kingston Park, the home of the Newcastle Falcons Rugby Union team to watch their 2006 Guinness Premiership opening fixture.
A little earlier in the evening we had dropped by the ground to purchase our admission tickets which at £21 (£11 for Jode's) to stand behind the goals caused a sharp intake of breath, and whilst doing so had "borrowed" a car park slot in the official car park which I noticed would have cost me £8 if I wanted to use it for the actual game itself.
"Bollax to that" was my first and only thought, "we'll park in the streets".
But they (the club and the local council) have now introduced a residents parking scheme where, on a match night, it is legal for residents to trash any strangers car which is parked ont heir streets without the necessary badge or permit - or something like that - suffice to say that you can't park on the streets within a mile of the stadium anymore.
"Not to worry" thought I, "last time we came I parked on a grass verge on a country lane" they could shove their £8 parking fee, I'd use the country lane again.
But as we approached it in the car I could see no other vehicles using the grass verge which sort of set the alram bells ringing, maybe this area was enwrapped in the residents scheme too ?
And then just a few hundred yards further on I saw where all the other cheapskates like me were parking - an abandoned field where a rough track entrance had been forged out of the waist high grass, we followed a Land Rover into the field and should have been a little alarmed by the way in which it bucked about in the entrance, riding up and down ruts and potholes like it was crossing the sahara - and me in a ordinary saloon trying to follow it.
Jodie had her doubts, I could tell by her screaming "You can't be serious dad" at me as we negotiated, ever so slowly, the moonscape-like entrance to the field. I had noticed that the Land Rover had by now disappeared into the field and that only its lights were visible as a ghostly green glow beneath the head-high grass but hey, this field was for free, and so, as if in an episode of Daktari, I followed its tyre tracks and eventually after fifty yards or so of bumping up and down rows and rows of earth mounds we found the end of the row of cars and in tears of laughter abandoned the car there.
Jodie pleaded with me to drive straight back out of the field and even offered to pay the £8 to use the official car park but I was well chuffed with myself by now at having found this secret hidey-hole for cars and wouldn't hear of it although I confess that wading out of the field was a little tricky and the fact that you couldn't see any of the cars from the roadside was a little disconcerting, still, it was free though.
We walked the short distance to the ground and took a short cut through the official car park where disgruntled drivers were being fleeced for £8 to park in raw sewage - there was a problem somewhere int he vicinity with a burst sewer pipe and the car park was being gradually flooded with a stinking brown gunge which got to be so bad that at half time and throughout the second half the club pleaded with spectators to take great care when retrieving their cars from the new sewer lake, or as I explained to Jode "Pay £8 and park your car in poo"
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