It’s easy to think of the car parking problems of today being a 21st century issue. But, in truth, it’s been with us for at least 40 years.

In fact, it used to be considerably worse. But, as is so often the case, we tend to forget.

Back in the days before we had sprawling out-of-town shopping sites centred around a jumbo supermarket or the behemoth complexes that now offer shops, food and cinemas, we used to all have to go into our town centres. More often than not, all at the same time.

In an era of little choice as to where we could indulge our need for a little retail therapy – or simply buy in the weekly shop (this was, after all, an era when even the big supermarkets sat on the high street) – we all headed, sheep-like, to the traditional retail heart of our communities.

All of which meant, should you time it wrong (and that normally meant anytime between 11-3pm on a Saturday), you were likely facing traffic hell. Especially in an era before shops opened on a Sunday.

Hell getting into the town centre itself, hell getting out, and of course, hell trying to track down that elusive parking spot. It was a bit like trying to find a space at a hospital car park today when outpatient appointments are running.

I’ve long since lost count of the hours spent winding my way around multistorey car parks in Tunbridge Wells, Canterbury, Maidstone or Ashford in pursuit of somewhere to pull up.

It was a soul-destroying start to the trip out, if we’re being honest. But we all did it. We had little choice.

As for the cost? Well, it was rarely ever counted in pounds – rather good old-fashioned pence. But inflation means remembering when 5p could snag you some parking time in the 1980s is a pointless exercise. It always felt like it was expensive, even then.

There was certainly no option to use your card and the thought of paying courtesy of a smartphone was still in the realms of science fiction fantasy.

My father – an otherwise very generous man - was always fiercely opposed to coughing up to pay for parking. As a consequence, any trip to, say Canterbury, involved us driving about a mile outside the city and annoying those living on a residential street without any parking restrictions by pulling up outside their house.

Then we’d trudge in, me tutting loudly, all of us pondering why we couldn’t be like ‘normal’ folk and park in a good old pay and display two yards from the action. He was, on reflection, probably saving our collective blood pressures if we’d battled it out trying to track down a space.

Today, of course, things are rather different.

Choice is the key word – so if you’re heading to a supermarket there are plenty of spaces; the big out-of-town shopping centres are normally well served and Bluewater has 13,000 bays. Yikes! All you have to do now is try and remember just where you left your car.

The decline of the town centre has made parking – for the most part – something of a breeze. You head in on any day of the week, you find somewhere relatively quickly, pay through the nose for the privilege and then stroll around the coffee shops, vape stores and nail bars to your heart's content.

In retrospect, I think I may have preferred the old way of doing things.