The day they started clamping cars in Dublin, I had a rather lucky escape. It was my first day back at the office since becoming a father, and I drove to work - the way new fathers do - a kinder, gentler person than before: thinking how precious life was, how beautiful the trees looked at this time of year, how that b*****d taxi driver who cut across me wouldn't be such a rude person if his parents had loved him more as a child.
I was, probably, a bit distracted. Nevertheless, I parked my car legally on a street near the office, fed the meter and reported to the newsroom where, needless to say, the imminent commencement of clamping was high on the day's agenda.
It was an important story. We would need pictures of the first cars being clamped. There would be a straight news piece, of course, and perhaps "colour" from the scene. Any violent incidents would have to be followed up: there might be interviews with a clamper's relatives as they kept vigil at the hospital, or with surgeons, as they battled to remove the clamp.
In the event, the episode passed off quietly enough, and by early afternoon the newspaper's attentions had moved to other things. There are a million stories out there in the city - hell, there are a million in the Leinster House bar - and draconian parking policy is only one.
Even the clamping jokes were wearing thin by evening time (except the one about the Cavanman, the nun and the Hiace van). Then 6 p.m. came, and a terrible realisation dawned on me. Incredibly, on this of all days, I had forgotten to feed the meter. My car had been parked illegally for several hours, and as sure as the Pope's a Catholic, it was now sporting yellow metal accessories and a ransom note.
On a scale of embarrassment, I think this exceeded the recent theft of my unlaundered football shorts. I was now faced with waiting at my car for the de-clampers to arrive while, according to natural law, everybody who ever knew me passed by, saying things such as: "Spot the person who wasn't listening to the news today".
So imagine my relief when I turned the corner of the street in question and found the car gone. Yes, gone. Because not only had I forgotten to feed the meter, I had also forgotten that the street was a clearway from 4 p.m., so my car had been towed.
I had no complaints. The vehicle had been causing an obstruction, and it was a fair cop. Besides, given the choice between (a) a £65 fine and public humiliation and (b) a £100 fine and the discretion of the city car-pound, I'd have chosen the latter (and anyway, it was only about £95 when you deducted the free parking).
Of course, as my colleague John Waters argued this week in a trenchant attack on the new regime, clamping is by logic only applied to cars which are not blocking traffic. It is therefore, he claimed, a form of extortion which has nothing to do with traffic management, and the passive acceptance of it is proof of the "supine, defeated state of the Irish public". I think he was overstating it a bit when he said that if the authorities chose to punish parking misdemeanours with 50 lashes on the spot, "the car drivers of Dublin would be queueing up with their trousers down". He may have been confusing two separate naval traditions here: as far as I know, lashes were always administered to the back and did not require trousers to be dropped.
But in general, I can't disagree with him. Until recently, I was a perfect example of what he was talking about, as supine and defeated as the next man (though I like to think I'd have kept my trousers on in all circumstances).
Until recently I believed that if and when I did get clamped, I'd probably deserve it, merely for having a car. It was the same when, the first time I went to the parking fines office, I expected to get a telling-off from the clerk, and was unbelievably grateful when not only did he let me off with just the fine, but actually thanked me for the money.
That was then, however. Now, speaking as someone who will be engaging in emergency parking procedures outside baby clinics, creches and schools for the foreseeable future, I agree with my colleague that clamping is an assault on fundamental human rights. I am also prepared to answer his call to resist the new regime, "by all possible lawful means".
The trouble is, short of removing all four wheels, locking them in the boot, and leaving the car parked on concrete blocks, it's hard to see how this can be achieved. Unless - and this is my suggestion - we can enlist the support of the AA Roadwatch people.
As things stand, AA Roadwatch seems to perform two main functions for the public: (1) telling us that the traffic is awful (which, let's face it, we all know) and (2) annoying us with the way they pronounce the word "roundabout". There seems to be some excess capacity here, so I say: what about using the "Eye in the Sky" to tip off commuters about the clamping crews?
Bulletins would sound like this: "The clampers are moving into St Stephen's Green, so avoid that area if you can." Or, more subtly: "If you're parked on Merrion Square and you haven't fed the metre recently, you might want to do so now. For AA Roadwatch, this is Captain Moonlight."
It might be controversial, but it would certainly be popular: guaranteed listenership - not just in cars, obviously, but in offices and places of work everywhere, and easy ratings for any radio station brave enough to take the plunge.
So how about it, AA Roadwatch? Whose side are you on, anyway?