Time out

Every so often I like to visit the ‘service’ centre of Lambeth Council, mainly because if I’m feeling down it is good for a laugh. So proved to be the case on my annual outing to renew my residential parking permit, surely the highlight of the season for appreciators of vintage left-wing madness.

When I arrived at the fabulously well appointed building in otherwise totally neglected Streatham, it was virtually empty. Only three people were sitting on the designer seats in the waiting area, and, what was more, there were eight members of staff sitting behind a long row of gleaming desks. Eight servers to three customers is the sort of ratio even Lambeth could not fail to turn to its advantage, I thought, as I settled myself in for a medium wait.

I took a ticket from the expensive-looking machine which told me I was number 56 and sure enough the huge flatscreen on the wall declared that number 53 was currently being served while the estimated waiting time was five minutes.

What happened next was extraordinary. As the minutes ticked by, the number of customers being served exponentially decreased until I slipped from being third in the queue to fifth, then seventh, then tenth, then 15th, then my number dropped off the screen altogether.

In 15 minutes, the estimated waiting time went from five minutes to one hour 55 minutes. There was no escaping the incredible truth: where there had been no queue, Lambeth Council had managed to conjure one out of thin air. I don’t think Derren Brown could have done any better. Never have so many members of staff made so little service go such a short way around so few people. It was a wonder to behold.