Sit down.
It’s a rant.
I won’t be long.
And yes, I know I’ve done this one before.
This rant is subtitled: People shouldn’t fcuk around with their vehicle registration plates!
Aaaargh!
Stop it folks.
Stop it, stop it, stop it.
Stoppit!
At a well-known traffic-halting bottle-neck in Gloucestershire I was ‘parked’ next to a lorry.
I looked at the number plate.
And did a double-take.
I had to do a double-take because at first glance I couldn’t work out what the number plate was.
Oh, I could read it easily.
I just couldn’t understand what it was supposed to be.
Can you?
Can you tell what it is yet (as Rolf Harris would say)?
B.
S 555 GPS? We get loads of them round here (South London poseurs) so I’m used to deciphering them!
So, what is it saying? I want to know if this is going under or over my head!
Mya x
Wotcha!
Sorry for lateness – wrong kind of snow.
Well Mya, that young televisual-person known to you and others as Caroline is right on the money. It’s supposed to read:
S555 GPS.
Congratulations Caroline, your prize is a wonderful piece of furniture guaranteed never to keep you awake at night: a decaffeinated coffee table.
🙂