We live in an odd road. It has no parking restrictions. None at all. Last year our council asked if we wanted residents' parking. We said no. How that council must have laughed! They knew what was coming. From all the other streets for miles around, blighted by meters and restrictions and prowling wardens, came all the cars with nowhere left to go - like rats after the piper, into our street.

Now move your car for five minutes and some swine from elsewhere will have zipped into your place and you will never park again. So what could we do? We double parked. Our council was thrilled. It smelled revenue. Round came the wardens in swarms, even in the dead of night. Mrs Y got one while unloading her shopping, Gardener nearly got one while changing his tyre, Mr X got a ticket at 1.30am, Mr Z got one at 5.15am, yes, am!

Sylvia has the same palaver in her street. It is restriction free, invaded by the cars from round about, and is now even worse because Thames Water is digging it all up. No one can park anywhere. What is Sylvia to do? What are we all meant to do? Hang our cars from the trees? Throw them away?

In the meantime, we dare never use them. We find a space in our streets, park there forever and go by public transport. Which is just what everyone ought to do. So I did it last week. And better still, I have my elderly person's free travel pass. Marvellous. I jumped on a train, then a bus, then another bus home. But the last bus crept along like a slug on a bizarre, twirling route, all around the houses, then got stuck in acres of lumbering football crowds and I arrived home hours late, to find the dog and my mother whimpering for a crumb of dinner.

"Serves you bloody well right!" shouted Rosemary. "You should know your bus routes better. Learn which are the scenic routes and prepare yourself. Take a book, or change buses. Ordinary people know these things."

Oh do they? And do they know that our council collected nearly £20m in parking fines and charges in three years from ordinary people who are tearing their ordinary hair out? The council must be laughing all the way to the bank, by bus, of course.