Due to the fact that common sense appears to be a lot less common than I first thought, I was contemplating renaming it - uncommon sense.
But I quickly came to my senses when I realised how much red tape and bureaucratic crap would be heaped upon me.
Carefully and skillfully measured, it would never be enough to outright kill you. No, something far crueller awaits.
A long and laborious process, planned with the utmost precision, by strategists of the prize prick persuasion.
Hand picked and grossly overpaid, their primary purpose is to make life as difficult, frustrating and inexplicably expensive as one could possibly imagine.
I have no doubt that every local council office houses their own copy of the Great Handbook ... How to Screw Over The Ratepayer.
It's probably located in a highly secure temperature controlled vault.
Naturally, planning permission must be granted just to visit the vault, let alone gaze into its contents.
That requires a memorandum of understanding, a non-disclosure order, a fee of $261.73, just because and a DNA swab. You'll also need security clearance, a high visibility vest, special gloves and facemask just to approach the vast volume that holds the key to being deliberately difficult.
Each time the book gets added to, a building permit is required. Each new method of torturing the tax payer is viewed as an addition, which means it also increases its own rateable value.
Once all permissions have been granted the petty minded pen pushers gather in delirious delight to study the misery making manifesto.
I imagine it's akin to witches gathering around a cauldron, Their cackles of delight reaching such a feverish pitch, they almost attract the attention of noise control, narrowly avoiding a fine.
Armed with their new found knowledge they are then encouraged to run amok, spreading their spite and futility far and wide.
Ultimately though, it's the mind games that really get you in the end. The slow tearing down of the human spirit. The arguments that go round and round in circles, the inflexibility, the excessive costs for consents, permits and other manufactured charges, most of which can never be justified.
The process is never a brief one. These vultures relish the hunt. They swoop in and attack with such stealth, most don't even know they've been hit. Each charge weakening you, leaving you more vulnerable. Sapped of energy and unable, now, to see the wood for the trees, you find yourself screaming to the heavens that you wish it would all just end.
Sleepless nights have taken their toll, nails are bitten, in extreme cases marriages have been challenged and business partnerships tested. There have been reports, too, of stress related hair loss. Most cases, however, go unreported, the victims too scared to come forward, fearing they will face prosecution for unnatural shedding in a public place without the correct consent.
Having finally got you to point where you have lost the will to live it is now that they finally deliver the news you thought you would never hear. Whatever the hell permission you applied for, it's been so long even you can't remember, has finally come through.
You've seen sights you can't unsee, you have PTSD and you're emotionally and financially bankrupt.
Thanks for doing business with your local council.
Could you please take a few minutes to rate our service?
Are you freaking kidding me?
■ Kate Stewart is a politically incorrect columnist of no repute. investik8@gmail.c