Steve sits in his stationary Vauxhall Astra, stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Edge Lane. Rain lashes against the windscreen. The Liverpool sky looks like a wet slate. He sighs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Beside him, Debbie scrolls through her phone, yawning.
"We are going to be late for James's birthday dinner," Debbie says, not looking up.
"The traffic in this city is a joke," Steve grumbles. He reaches into the glove compartment to grab a mint. His fingers brush against something soft and furry. He pulls it out. It is a giant, plush Father Christmas hat with a bright white bobble.
Debbie glances over and bursts out laughing. "Why do you still have that in there? It is June."
"It brings good luck," Steve says. He grins and pulls the ridiculous red hat over his ears. The fluffy white trim sinks right down to his eyebrows. "Behold, the festive spirit."
"You look like a proper melon," Debbie giggles, pointing her phone at him to take a photo.
The traffic suddenly clears near the botanical gardens. Steve taps the accelerator. The engine roars. He feels a sudden burst of freedom and pushes the speed past thirty miles per hour.
Flash. Flash.
The yellow speed camera on the pavement blinks twice in rapid succession. The blinding white light explodes through the dark cabin of the car, perfectly illuminating the interior.
Steve slams on the brakes, his heart thumping. The festive hat wobbles on his head. "Oh, brilliant. That definitely caught me."
Debbie stares at him, her eyes wide. "Steve, you are doing forty. And you are wearing a giant Santa hat."
"Do you think the camera captured the bobble?" Steve asks, his face falling.
"It definitely captured your absolute foolishness," Debbie says, shaking her head.
Two weeks later, the morning post arrives at their flat in Anfield. Steve sits at the kitchen table, sipping a mug of tea. He opens an official-looking brown envelope. Inside is a Notice of Intended Prosecution. Stapled to the back is the photographic evidence.
The black-and-white image is crystal clear. Steve is behind the wheel, staring directly at the camera with a look of pure panic. The plush Father Christmas hat stands tall and proud, perfectly illuminated by the automated flash.
Steve lets out a loud groan. "Look at this, Debbie. It is a total stitch-up."
Debbie walks over, looks at the photo, and howls with laughter. "You look spectacular. Frame it."
"It is a hundred-pound fine and three points on my licence," Steve says, rubbing his temples. "There must be a way out of this. I am going to ask the internet."
Steve opens his laptop and logs into Reddit. He navigates to the UK legal advice forum. He uploads the photo, hiding his registration plate, and types out a post.
Received a speeding ticket in Liverpool. Was doing 40 in a 30. As you can see from the camera flash, I am clearly dressed as Father Christmas. Can I appeal this on the grounds that Santa Claus has diplomatic immunity while delivering packages?
He hits submit. Within twenty minutes, the post explodes with hundreds of comments. Steve sits on the sofa, reading the replies aloud to Debbie.
"Listen to this one from a user named Rick," Steve laughs. "He says, 'Regrettably, diplomatic immunity only applies if you travel by sleigh. A Vauxhall Astra does not qualify under the North Pole Traffic Act.'"
"What does the next one say?" Debbie asks, wiping a tear from her eye.
"A bloke named Derek writes, 'The speed limit applies to everyone, mate. Even Rudolph has to wear a high-vis jacket in Merseyside. Pay the fine.'"
James, who is visiting for a cuppa, leans over Steve's shoulder. "Fiona from downstairs says you should tell the police you were rushing because the elves went on strike."
The forum is full of witty banter, but the legal advice is unanimous. The law does not care about festive hats or internet jokes.
Steve looks at the digital clock on the microwave. He sighs and pulls out his wallet. He takes out his debit card and opens the official government payment website.
"Are you paying it?" Debbie asks softly.
"Yeah," Steve says, typing in his card details. "The internet laughs for free, but I have to pay the price. No more speeding for me. Not even at Christmas."
Moral: A joke may brighten a dark room, but it will never shield you from the consequences of breaking the rules.
