A bit of news on the home front for friends and relatives.
My dad’s kidneys finally gave up the fight and he’s now on dialysis. He started off at the Hammersmith Hospital but has now secured a spot at his local hospital in Harrow and has to attend 3 times a week for four hours a time. He’s also being treated for angina and has a couple of narrowed arteries which need attention. In spite of all that he’s still quite upbeat about life and continues to work from home as a translator and lovingly tend to his tomato plants in the greenhouse.
My own diabetes sometimes gets the better of me and on a recent visit to the doctor I was to be given a new treatment which involved injecting myself (not insulin) but I managed to get her to hold off for the next three months as I promised to start excercising and eating better. I joined a gym nearby and after two sessions the gym closed for refurb for a month (just as I was getting in to it!!) and now I try and do power walking and other stuff until it re-opens. I still struggle with the food side of it and as I write this I’m waiting to take delivery of a Chinese meal I ordered for the boys and me.
Since my last post I think the work has picked up a notch. It got really desperate at one point and the standard joke amongst me and my mates is “I’ll meet you at Waterloo Bridge” where we would then contemplate launching ourselves off into an after-life less complicated. But thankfully “almost” normal business has been resumed and such drastic measures have been placed on the back-burner for the moment. I still think the quality of the work has diminished and those long runs out into the sticks are virtually non-existent. Well, at least I’m not getting them anymore, what about some of you other cabbies, are you getting the roaders?
There’s been a lot written recently about reclaiming the work we’ve lost over the years. Work from venues such as the nightclubs in and around the West End where minicabs (the enemy) now rank up (illegally) outside waiting to rip-off the revellers who want to get home to the suburbs. Now, lines of London taxis can be seen outside these same clubs and bars and the passengers will end up paying a sensible price via the metered fare and are realising just how badly they’ve been ripped off over the last few years.
I continue to ply my trade in the South Kensington area as well as Victoria. The average job from South Ken is about a fiver but the waiting time isn’t too bad. Later in the evening the nightclub nearby (Boujis) provides a steady stream of work and the jobs may (or may not) get a little more lucrative, such as Richmond, Twickenham and other nice destinations.
As far as stories go I can’t recall anything particularly meaty to recount. I did pick up a druggie in Earls Court Road one night and drove her to Beaumont Crescent in West Kensington. She had about £2 on her and went off to get the rest from her boyfriend who wasn’t to keen to part with any money so he stormed off leaving her to try something else. After the meter hit a tenner I cut my losses and pulled off. I was having such a good night I never batted an eye lid but I recalled 19 years ago when I was a fresh faced butter boy and four kids did a runner into the Chippenham Estate and I went home to sulk.
(Gone for Dinner)
That was nice. Sweet and sour chicken and special fried rice.
Now it’s time for work and I hope it’s better than last night.