Let’s be real. NCP prices are a running joke. It’s like paying for a tiny hotel room for your car, without the mini-bar.
You check the rates and your eyebrows shoot up. “Fifty quid for a day?” You consider just driving home and missing your flight.
But then you remember the alternative. Parking on a random side street in Solihull is a gamble. That NCP ticket is a ticket to sanity.
The Quirky Characters You Meet
Walk through that car park, and you see everything. There’s the frantic businessperson with a wheelie suitcase, practising their boardroom speech.
There’s the confused tourist who can’t find their red Ford Fiesta. They circle the same ramp three times, muttering in French.
And then there’s the NCP attendant. They sit in a little glass booth, looking like a lighthouse keeper. They’ve seen it all. They are the silent wizards of the concrete.
NCP parking charge notice rules after collapse into administration
