I’ve done it again! Forgot, when I got home from work, to pay the congestion charge.
(For anyone who doe not know London, you can drive through the centre of town but it costs you. And you have to pay by midnight.) The trouble is, I don’t do it so often, and this time, like the last time, though I had made a note to remember, when I got home, I was suddenly busy again with the momentary immediacy of Anna looking at me in a puzzled way, and my trying to catch up on what she was saying and wanting, and I forgot again. For the fifth time this year. That is a hidden charge of living with dementia, over £200 already in excess charges.
The system is inflexible and unforgiving. You can sit up sharp at five past midnight, after an evening of going to bed, getting up, reassuring, swearing under your breath, checking emails, having a drink, hoping to make a phone call, settling down again, and again, and then suddenly you remember, but it is too late. There is no way of saying, sorry, I forgot. You just have to wait for the penalty charge five days later. Five times this year already.
This relentless pursuit of the offender is undiscriminating. Unless you are a wide boy in a white van, or have French number plates, or are a U.S. diplomat in a limousine, in which case you can’t be bothered. I cannot write to the Mayor of London and say, I am living in a forgetful household and apply for a discount.
As I said, it is a hidden charge of living with dementia.