Seasonal sadness is setting in. The days are getting shorter, the birds are gathering on the wires, and the mums are flocking to buy school shoes. As August flickers out I’m trying to remember if there’s any point to winter – apart from a chance for the girls to snuggle into their coats and boots. (And this year they’ve been wearing cowboy boots all summer anyway.) We do more business in the winter – research has shown that people wear more clothes when it’s cold – but I’m not looking forward to it.

The Council have sneaked in their two final parking zones over the holiday season and have extended the parking problem to the whole length of Church Street. We have had a shop here for 17 years and have never once been unable to park. Until today.
If anyone actually voted for these CPZs, I wonder if they realised they’d be confined to two streets each? And that the spaces outside their houses would be empty all day when they’re out, and full all evening when they need them?

A long-time customer from South London just said goodbye today. She’d spent half an hour not finding anywhere to stop, and was fed up with it. She still loves the clothes but not enough to put up with this. We suggested she come on the bendy bus, and her reply was unprintable.

All the daytime shops are worried about the loss of business. We even went to a Council meeting about it at the end of June. We sat in the sombre majesty of Hackney Town Hall to hear a roomful of Councillors all trying to talk at once. And a lady with a big gold chain rapping on the desk to maintain order.
- Silence please!
- What? What did she say?
- SILENCE!
- We can’t hear you Madam Speaker. Could you turn your microphone on, please!
- It IS turned on! Look, the little red light thingie’s glowing.
- What did she say?

The Education Department has decided to change Haggerston Girls School into a Boys school, and the parents are upset. There’s a guy shouting down from the balcony, and Madam speaker says he’s not helping his cause. Which is true because no-one can understand him. But it’s not doing any harm either, because everything has already been decided. Nevertheless, the apologist for the Education Department is reprimanded and told to consult the parents in future before ignoring their concerns.

When our spokesman puts our suggestions for rationalising the CPZs the Leninist member for Hackney Central wishes to know the extent of our support for Transport for London. Are we aware that we are increasing global warming by opposing the parking measures? The Councillor for Parking Zones flaps her hands and explains that the thing about parking is you can’t please everyone. And she is told that she should have consulted everyone anyway, before not pleasing them. There’s been trouble with the leaflets and with the distributors, she says. But there will be consultation! Possibly even before the Zones are introduced! Under cross examination the Councillor blamed the Residents. For everything. They wanted to stop commuters sneaking in under cover of dark and hiking over to Highbury tube. Money didn’t come into it at all… well, only a tiny bit. Just enough for a few parking wardens. The rest would go to TFL to spend on bendy buses… I knew it would come down to the bendy bus.

One of the joys of living in London used to be riding on the top of the bus. Those magic seats at the front with the extra legroom and the panoramic view. Down over walls and hedges, up into unexpected facades and windows above shops. It made bus travel something unique – different from the train or car or tube. It was possible to achieve sometimes a kind of urban exaltation.

The bendy bus was designed to get planeloads of passengers across the tarmac to the terminal. It must have come as a bit of a shock to Ken when he discovered they only have the same number of seats as the Routemaster, and half of them point the wrong way.

- A thousand of the bloody things at a hundred grand each… that’s half a billion quid isn’t it? Fuck!
- We can’t send them back now, Ken; they came with a free crate of champagne,
and we’ve drunk it all.
- We’re going to have to think positive on this one, Ken. Find a reason for them…
- We could issue special sickbags! Like they do on
Ryanair? With Mayor of London on them.
- I know Ken! Access for the Disabled! The floor’s nearer to the ground or something… Anyway, you can get wheelchairs on and off.
- Handy for collecting the squashed cyclists from the bus lanes!
- Excellent! No-one can argue with the Disabled.
- John Prescot did! He said for the money we’ve spent he could give them all a Jag of their own. - He’s bluffing! Prezza can’t count…. No, we need a snappy title. Something like the Livingstone Liner.
- The Bendy Ken? The KenBender? - Idiots! Clear off and find champagne. Where’s that taxi got to?

Mortimer Ribbons is proprietor of Ribbons & Taylor on Church Street