I didn't have my camera tonight, so picture the scene..
As I was a-riding down a narrow residential street, with a narrowed traffic-calming section at yon end, there was a blaze, as of orange flashing lights, and a great cacophony, as of someone leaning impatiently on his horn.
Lo, it was the gritter, which was unable to proceed owing to the wee Corsa parked just at the narrowest section, upon lines of most impudent yellow, doubly so.
And verily, did the gritter driver resist the temptation of Satan, and did not strike down the Corsa with his great steel claws, but raised a greater cacophony, and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth and cries of "don't you know what bloody time it is!" from the populace.
Sheepishly, the driver of the Corsa did emerge from the bookies and scuttled across to move it, allowing the gritter to go about its mighty work.