A good night

I haven’t stopped at all since my last post. The last quarter of the year is always so busy that you don’t have to put in as many hours to take your money. The saying “make hay while the sun shines” has never applied to me, probably why I’ll never be a millionaire.

I spent Sunday re-installing Windows XP on this computer. It had been going slower and slower by the day and I’d finally had enough. It took me ages to back all my files up, an age to re-install and an eternity to get things back to how I like them. I started at around 8pm when I should have been leaving for work and finally put my head down at 7am. I had to take my daughter to school at 8am and finally got back to bed and to sleep by 9am Monday morning. I was in such a deep sleep that I never heard the postman ring the bell to deliver a parcel (he left a card to collect it at the sorting office) and neither did I hear the phone ring right next to my ear but it was nice to have a good sleep which helped me work well tonight.

First thing I had to do before work was to change a wheel as I came out to find it flat. As I removed the hubcap I could see the six nuts were rusty and look like they hadn’t been removed in years. The wheel brace that comes with the cab is completely useless in situations like this and luckily my son Michael has got a tool set from his previous job as a mechanic. With the aid of a power bar, a 37mm socket and a few squirts of WD40 I managed to loosen all the nuts and was able to change the wheel in about 10 minutes. The flat had a screw embedded in it. That’s the second puncture I’ve had in a month luckily I don’t have to pay for the tyres.

My first job was a fare from Paddington Station to the Conrad Hotel in Chelsea Harbour. There was absolutely no traffic when there should have been especially as I was driving through Earls Court, a very busy area. As we pulled up at the hotel the passenger exclaimed “Wow! That was fantastic. That’s the quickest I’ve ever been driven here and also the cheapest”. I always struggle to respond to these sorts of comments and only managed to mumble something along the lines of “It’s nice to get it right from time to time”. His obvious elation at the fantastic journey never extended to a decent tip as he rounded the fare up 40p to £14.

I ranked up a few times at Victoria. The beggar is well and truly back. I blanked him about 8 times in the last week. I see plenty of other cabbies handing over money to him which only makes him think he’s on to a winner and keeps him coming back for more.

I had a spell tonight where I couldn’t get out of North London. Every job took me straight back there. Finally I trapped a job going well south, to Southwark. It was a gay German guy who wanted a club in the Arches on Southwark Street. When I got there it was closed and he looked upset, he must have been looking forward to the night out. I asked if he’d been told it was open and he said he’d simply got the clubs name and address off the internet. He asked if I could recommend a nice gay club and I told him that I knew of gay clubs but couldn’t comment on what goes on inside not being gay myself. I ended up taking him in to the West End and dropped him off at The Village in Soho.
As I drove away from him and turned left into Wardour Street a couple in evening dress waived me down and asked to be driven out to Chiswick, another good paying job. As there are ongoing road works which have closed off Bayswater Road I had to go a slightly longer route (hehe). They were happily chatting to each other the whole way and never batted an eyelid when I asked for the £27 fare. “Thank you very much driver that was excellent. Here’s thirty pounds. Good night” If only all jobs could be like that.

Back to normal

It’s been a hectic week. Lots of family stuff going on and trying to earn a living in between. I’ve managed to get out just about every day except Wednesday when a family gathering at a Chinese Buffet in Park Royal required me and the kids to attend.

I’ve been waiting for the call from my garage to tell me they have a newer cab for me. I was having a nap a few days ago and Jim, the genial Irishman, called and woke me to ask if I could bring the cab in early the next morning (Wednesday). Half asleep I said I’d be there. The next morning, thinking I’d be swapping cabs for a nice updated TXI or even a TXII, I cleaned out the cab and took off all my signs and personalised bits and pieces and even swept it out with a hand brush. I drove over to the garage in Kentish Town and as I drove up the narrow alleyway leading into the garage spotted several newer cabs and wondered which one would be mine. Jim was standing at the entrance talking to somebody and I asked him where he wanted it. He pointed to a guy standing further inside the garage. I drove it over to him and got out. The guy proceeded to stick advertising on the two sides of the cab. I had a funny feeling that’s the only reason that I was there. I went to find Jim to confirm if I was only there for advertising and he said I was. What a bummer. He’s been promising me a better cab for the last few months but says that drivers keep changing their minds and decide to keep their present cabs. He promised me yet again that he would get me one soon but I don’t hold out much hope of getting one this side of Christmas. I could move garages and get one elsewhere but I like my garage and know all the guys there so I’ll just have to be patient. While I was there I got one of the mechanics to fit a new indicator unit to the off side and also to adjust the kick down cable. I reported the accident I had with the Porsche but Jim said to wait and see if the other driver makes a claim. Once my advertising was done I drove home and got back into bed.

Today’s shift was done in two parts. Still trying to make up for what I never earned on my week off I had to get out early to make money to meet a payment that went out from my bank. It was pretty busy out there during the day and I only did a few hours before I had enough. I then went shopping and cooked us dinner (Spaghetti Bolognese and Turkey Escalope) and settled down to watch Tottenham Hotspur (My sons favourite team) beat Slavia Prague 1-0 in the Uefa Cup. I went straight out after the game and being a Thursday night and raining was extremely busy and profitable. Victoria Station was moving all night and I must have gone back there about eight times. I took fares to Dulwich, Clapham, The Oval, Brixton (there was a shooting there tonight in the McD’s) and much nearer to the station. One guy tried to jump in my cab ahead of the queue but I locked the doors and drove onto the rank. He held onto the door handle all the way and nearly started a fight with the couple that were next in line. He didn’t seem to understand the concept of queuing but when the whole line started shouting and abusing him he got the message and joined the line.

Another fare from Victoria only wanted to go local but only had a building name. He said it was near Vincent Square. I got him to Vincent Square and waited for further instructions. I had never heard of the building he wanted so he told me to drive around for a bit and maybe we’d find it. I said it was pointless doing that as it could be anywhere and wasn’t there anybody he could ring to find out the street. It was 2am and he didn’t want to ring the person, as it was late. I asked if when we got there that person would have to let him in to which he said yes!! “So ring him,” I said. Duh!! It turned out that I had been to this building on a few occasions but just never remembered the name.

The last job I picked up from Victoria was four South American guys who wanted the Royal National Hotel in Russell Square. On the way they asked where they could get a drink and some action, it was 2.30am. Although there are quite a few late night places around the ones with all the action are generally clubs. They checked in to the hotel and came back out and I drove them to the nearby Spearmint Rhino Gentleman’s Club in Tottenham Court Road but it wasn’t going to be open for much longer so I took them to the Blue Angel near Great Portland Street which stays open a little longer than the rest and would certainly meet their needs.

The rain was still cascading down as I pointed the cab northwest in the direction of home. I think I’m now back to normal and can even say that I’ve really enjoyed this week’s work………..did I really just say that?

Back to work blues

I’ve found it hard to get back in to the groove since I returned from Spain last Saturday.
I picked up a cab on Monday. I say “a” cab because it wasn’t my regular one and it wasn’t a TX1 or 2 as I was promised. Apparently I’m top of the list for the next available TX but I won’t hold my breath! This cab is another Fairway Driver which has no kickdown and is as sluggish as they come. It has an oil leak that is ruining my drive and it has a dodgy door lock that opens when it feels like it. Other than that you’d think you were driving a Rolls Royce!

I never worked Monday and had to force myself to go out on Tuesday but I only managed a few hours and nothing noteworthy happened. Wednesday was pretty much the same as was Thursday. Friday was another washout as I took another day off and went out in the evening to play darts at my local club. I was in a knockout competition with 8 people including my son Michael and as luck would have it we met in the final. He beat me 2-0 fair and square to claim the £20 prize money and a small trophy.

Saturday started off with me receiving a parking ticket outside the shops at the top of my road. I was only in there for two minutes and the bastard pounced, probably as I entered the shop. Work was really busy and I made sure I got an early start. As is usual for Saturday nights all the usual suspects were out and trouble was never far away. I drove round with my doors locked and only stopped for nice people. I was still not back to “work mode” and was in no mood to pick up idiots. I hate picking up people with food in their hands. Sometimes I get caught at traffic lights but always claim the doors are jammed or something similar until the lights change and I roar off leaving the insults and hand signals in my wake.

Tonight (Sunday) started off with a prang. I’d picked up a fare at Victoria Station and was taking him to Haverstock Hill. As I was traversing Hyde Park Corner, a tricky gyratory system in Central London, a Porsche Cayman clipped me from behind. We pulled over to talk and he was trying to blame me. He had a little scratch on a reflector on his front wing and I had a major scuff mark and paint loss on my rear wheel arch. We exchanged details and parted ways. I’m sure when he puts in a claim he’ll have developed a major trauma with whiplash thrown in for good measure, I’ll keep you posted. I was running out of pound coins fast and went to a few places I know where I can get change but all the machines were out of change so guess what? I called it a night again with only £70 on the meter. I can’t keep doing it all the time I’m just going to put this last week down to the “back to work blues”.

One good bit of news I got this week was that I received a cheque for £20 from a passenger that I’d allowed to pay me when she next got paid. This is not the other one that happened just before I went away but someone who’d asked me before she got in if she could do this. I think it was from Paddington to somewhere in South London. It was about two months late but better than not at all.

Tomorrow is my annual visit to my accountant. I hate these visits as they mean a trip to East London during the day, an hour and a half drive each way. Most of the stuff he asks me could be done on the phone but he always insists that I attend in person probably to justify the money he charges me.

My week off.

Here is a brief account of my week in Spain for those of you remotely interested. Cab related blogging will probably resume in the second part of next week when there’s something to write about.

I set off for Luton Airport to the north of London with my Mum at 2am on Saturday the 9th of September. My brother in law Tim drove us in his souped up Citroen and we arrived in good time. The EasyJet flight to Alicante in Southern Spain took off on time at 5.30am and was uneventful and picturesque.

The Plane

The sun was rising through the clouds and I took a few shots with my camera phone, which should have been switched off at this point.

Sun in clouds

Sun bursting through

Being extremely early in the morning everyone else decided to catch up on some ZZzzz’s while I sat and listened to my son’s iPod, which I had loaded with about 1200 songs.

Copping ZZzz's

When we arrived in Alicante I left my Mum to get the cases whilst I ran off to get my rental car before the rush started. I rented a Ford Focus, which they had upgraded to an Estate (station wagon). It proved extremely handy, as we had to pick up a lot of stuff from one of my sisters’ places in Torrevieja. Over the next few days I just spent the time lazing about eating some fantastic food and drinking loads of San Miguel beer and a rum concoction that my Uncle specialises in.

Essential supplies

One of many great dishes. This one's Paella Valenciana.

I did quite a bit of driving around (not under the influence), as we had to visit two different places 150 miles apart. One of my other sisters arrived with her husband and kids from her home in Mallorca and we all spent four days together eating, drinking and being merry. The whole object of the week away was to completely disconnect from cab driving and to chill out. I think I achieved that quite well but am glad to be home. The homeward journey was a bit more eventful with a delay of an hour in Spain followed by an hour’s wait at Luton Airport for our baggage to be brought from the aircraft. My brother John was there to collect us and after spending an hour at my parents house sorting out the luggage I drove my sons car home and was in bed by 3.30am. I was awoken a few times in the night by the phone. It was my kids who are still in San Diego until Monday checking to see if I had arrived home safely. All in all, a good week off. I collect my cab on Monday and it all starts again.

C * * *

The last post was entitled "Losing Control" because during the course of one of my shifts I lost control after picking up one too many.....c * * * s.
I don't know why I'm censoring myself because that's the way I speak. I'm not trying to impress or shock anybody by using that word I'm just committing my thoughts to type. As far as I know the "C" word is widely used in working class Britain (England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland), the Republic of Ireland and from what I've read on the KuntryKabby blog Australia and probably New Zealand too. What's all the fuss about? How much worse can that word be than for example, a word used day in day out in America, "Motherfucker". That word has to be more disrespectful than any other word around yet it's used frequently on just about every adult TV show that comes out of the USA. Any way I'm not going to dwell on it so if the situation requires that I use that word then expect to see it crop up from time to time. We're a long time dead.

Talking of death I must just mention my sadness and disbelief at the death of Aussie naturalist Steve Irwin. There was a man so full of life and love for the planet that it's hard to believe he's gone forever at the age of 44 the same age as me. I'm sure he probably used the "C" word a few times off camera, especially after being bitten by a snake. R.I.P. Steve, you'll be sorely missed by millions.

Steve Irwin R.I.P

I have my funds for my holiday and have just been taking it easy the last few days. £50 here and £100 there. Today I did a few hours during the day and was extremely busy for the short time I was out. Only nice people during the day. I knocked off early to buy myself a case and to watch another England game. This time we beat Macedonia 1-0.

Tomorrow will be my last shift before returning my cab to the garage until my return. From the cab garage I will have to take a cab home. I always over tip when I take cabs. I overtip everyone for that matter is that good or bad? I don't know. I let an old lady off the fare today. £5.60. Not a big amount but it probably was to her.

Any way folks I 'm just rambling now so I'll say farewell and hopefully I will return from Spain invigorated and raring to go and be nice to my passengers, even the ones that get sick in my cab and don't pay me!!

Losing Control

I made some good money on Friday night and had a pretty uneventful evening until I pulled on to Marylebone Station rank. After a short wait I finally reached the point of the rank and wondered where I would get off to. I was engrossed in a game of Solitaire when there was a tap at my window. A young lady, probably in her mid twenties asked to be taken out to Ealing Broadway in west London. From Marylebone Station the journey is pretty straightforward. You drive due west on the A40 Westway and after a few lefts and rights at the other end you’ve made it. All started well as I set off from the station. She was rummaging through some M&S (Marks & Spencer) shopping bags and eating crisps, hopefully not making a mess in the back. We were motoring along the Westway at a fair pace when all of a sudden, as I crested a rise, the traffic stopped dead. Only then did I notice the roadwork signs. Whoever is responsible for the signs had decided not to give motorists a chance of avoiding the road works by turning off early. So we were stuck. Up to this point my passenger had been occupying herself by eating and rummaging through her bags. With the cab at idle I could hear her making some sort of groaning noises. Shit always happens when you’re stuck in traffic. As the traffic crawled along I was trying to monitor my passenger through the rear-view mirror whilst driving and listening to the soothing sounds of Magic FM (Virgin has gone to pot lately). There was a break in the traffic and I managed to get a burst of speed going at which point I was sure I could hear her puking and coughing in the back. I looked round but as she was directly behind me I couldn’t see much but I was sure she was doing it into one of the M&S carrier bags. The traffic stopped again and what should’ve been a nice job was turning stressfull. Had the roadworks sign been placed a few hundred yards earlier I would have been able to avoid all this.
“Bang Bang Bang” on the partition followed by “Where the hell are you going?” broke my train of thought with jolt. “Don’t fucking do that ” I automatically responded “you could’ve caused an accident”. The fact that we were only travelling at 2mph never came in to it. “Where are we going?” she asked a lot less aggressively. By this time I was totally fed up at being stranded in traffic and now that I had a stroppy passenger as well I was ready to inflict pain on someone. Trying to control myself I said “We’re going to Ealing Broadway like you told me to”
Her “But why are we going this way?
Me “What other way is there?”
Her “I don’t know but not this way”
Me “You’re only saying that because we’re stuck in traffic, if it had been clear you’d be home now”
Her “Why have you come up the A40?
Me “Are you mental or something? Listen love, forget the money on the meter, get the hell out of my cab and walk home.”
Her (rapidly coming to her senses)“I was just saying. They don’t normally come down the A40.
Just out of curiosity I asked her where I’d picked her up and she answered “Victoria Station” As I thought.
Me “well you're either more drunk than you look or on something stronger because I picked you up at Marylebone Station and the route to Ealing is straight down the A40. So, are you gonna let me get on with it or do you want to walk home?” I think I’d partially if not totally lost it but I didn’t care anymore, I’m sick of picking up idiots.
There was another burst in the traffic and I took off not waiting for a reply. She must have been working things out in her head because she never said anymore. The bilking incident from the other night was still fresh in my mind and I was thinking how I was going to play this one if she got argumentative at the other end. One thing was for sure, she was going to pay me in the cab and any bullshit would result in her being locked in and the police being called. As I approached the turn off for Ealing I asked her if she knew where she was. She started directing me and in three turns and a few hundred yards she told me to stop. Braced for a row I quoted the price. “That’ll be £28.80 please”. She handed over a 10 and a 20 pound note and said “thanks, goodnight” in a cheerful voice and walked away leaving untold amounts of crap on the back seat and on the floor. Normally I’d say something like “Oi!! This ain’t a skip, can you take your rubbish with you?” But I thought it best to clear it out myself. I wasn’t wrong about the sick either. She’d vomited into the M&S bag (better in the bag than on the floor I guess), which was also full of tissues that had absorbed most of it. There were also the entire contents of a packet of salt and vinegar crisps on the floor and various other items of packaging. The dirty cow, but pretty though.

Saturday never went according to plan. I dropped my son off at work and fully intended to make an early start. The thing was that England was playing Andorra in a Euro 98 qualifier and I wanted to watch it. I ended up watching Scotland’s game against the Faroe Islands before the England game as well and then had a long nap waking at 10pm. I went straight to work and it was buzzing out there. The only job of note was when I stopped for two “women” in Bayswater Road and realised that they were transvestites or is it transsexuals? One of them had massive tits and the other had tight jeans with no “dick bulge” (you notice these things when you’re a cabby!!) so I guess they were the latter. But in all other ways they were men. It was to be a nice ride to Tower Hill. On the way there I couldn’t help but notice how other cars driven by men would notice them and honk the horn. One car was cruising along side me as I drove down Upper Thames Street. I slowed to a crawl to let him get ahead but he slowed too. He followed us to Charlie’s Bar in Crosswall where straight away I noticed that there was a Tranny Night called Wayout on there. The two guys that had followed us were looking for a parking space as I drove off and I pulled next to them and said “Ere, you know they’re blokes dontcha?” “That’s a gay bar with a tranny night” “Whaaaat!!!” and they sped off with tyres screeching.

Yesterdays shift (Sunday) was worst of all. I dropped my son at his girlfriend’s house, did a few jobs and ended up yards from my house. The roads in towns were bad because there were about three major events going on at the same time. The Tour of Britain Cycle race was on. There was also a Spanish themed festival taking place closing off the whole of Regent Street and there was also some sort of race or fun run in Hyde Park. It all added up to traffic chaos with all the road closures so when I ended up by my house the rest was history. I fully intended to go out later but it just never happened. I’m well down on the money I need for Spain so will be looking at alternative options such as a wee chat with the bank manager. In spite of all that there’s still only four and a half shifts to go. Yipeee!!!

Pucker Up!

I started my day at around noon after only 6 hours sleep. Had to pay some bills at the bank and purposely never went into Prêt a Manger on Baker Street as I had other lunch plans. Only did about 3 jobs then went home. Went down the cafe with Michael and Jenny and had a "fat munch" in the form of chicken curry, rice and chips followed by a maple and pecan cake from the bakery in Kensal Rise. Feeling totally bloated I went home and slept for another five hours. The doorbell sounded at 8.15pm and woke me up. It was a neighbour looking for some freebie anti-virus software. I told her I get mine online so have no disks and that she's gonna have to part with £50 to £60 to get a decent one such as Norton or McAfee. She didn't look too impressed at the thought of having to pay so much for something as trivial as anti-virus. I made that mistake once. Never again.

Realised it was after 8 and thought about the masterplan which, by the way, isn't going to plan. The last few days have been so quiet that it's a miracle I made any money at all. I got all my shit together, jumped in the cab and drove out on to Maida Vale looking for my first fare. I made it all the way to Edgware Road and still no fare. I decided to head for the Paddington Rank, at least there I will get a job after a short wait and in the meantime I can set up my satnav and sort my stuff out for the night’s shift.
The queue moved slowly and then a train must have arrived as a flood of people came out in one go. My job was a lady to the Cromwell Tower in the Barbican. The route that takes you there was blocked last night and I was sure that it would be blocked again tonight so I chose another route. She was obviously a regular traveller as she spotted this change in route and piped up. I explained that the usual route had been blocked yesterday and I beefed it up a bit to include other roads that weren't really blocked, as I didn't want to use them. I got her home safely and she was appreciative of the information I had given her and added a nice tip.

The work picked up noticeably after 10pm and I took a fare out to Canary Wharf. Once I'd dropped him off I drove up to one of the many ranks on the actual Wharf and waited my turn. On the way in to the Canary Wharfe Estate the security guard must have been feeling a little bit bored because he came out of his box and asked for my ID and made me open up the boot for inspection. I suppose it's only right and proper that they should do their job but after going there 100 times and not getting searched it's a bit of a surprise when it does happen. Back on the rank people of all description walked past. Some took cabs some had cars waiting for them. I made it to the front of the rank and awaited my fare hoping for something juicy to Richmond or further west. A man and a woman emerged from one of the many bars and stood near the cab talking. She was obviously very drunk and I hoped someone would get in while they stood there chatting. Five whole minutes passed and still they chatted. I took out my iPaq and started playing Solitaire. All of a sudden I felt a thud on the side of the cab and when I looked to my left the woman was sprawled against the cab and then reached for the door handle. I groaned inwardly and thought "why me?"
She was an Australian lady in a business suit. She slurred some instructions at me and I couldn't understand one word of what she said. I made her repeat herself telling her to speak more slowly and eventually understood the destination which turned out to be Cheshire Street near Brick Lane. Not a fantastic job but considering I had an unstable passenger I was glad that she would be out of the cab in around ten minutes. She decided to go to sleep and curled herself into a ball on the back seat. Ten minutes later I was screaming at her to wake up and drew some sniggers from passers by. She eventually woke up and searched for my money. Next she gave me a tenner and said she had to go in for the rest (fare was £13.40). She stood at her front door and started calling through the letterbox. This went on for five minutes and in that time I had nearly decided to drive off forfeiting the £3.40, but kept holding on at the last second. Someone eventually passed her a note through the letterbox and she walked back towards me and gave me a Scottish £20 note and said to take a fiver. Next she leaned right in and planted a kiss full on my lips and said goodnight and thanks. It's been a while since I was kissed on the lips and I have to say it felt really nice but no sooner had she done that the moment was over and she disappeared in to her house leaving me surprised to say the least.

I cruised around after that. Through the West End, through Mayfair and up as far as Marylebone then back down Baker Street towards Marble Arch. Not a hand went up anywhere and things were already looking very dire indeed. There was nothing for it but to rank up yet again so I made my way to Victoria. There were losers everywhere. On the final portion of the three-part rank there was a drunk guy leaning on the railings with his head down. As I drew level with him he decided to start puking up and other passengers had to jump out of the way to avoid getting sprayed. It was at that point that I just felt total despair for the human race and complete disgust for people like him. I was getting myself all worked up and even felt like getting out of the cab and having a go at the guy (I never would though) when my fare walked up to me and asked to be taken to Upper Clapton (as in Eric) in North London. I set the satnav to his road but then asked him what route he preferred. Surprise surprise it was completely different from the satnav so I was glad I asked as he looked like a miserable git who would have piped up had I gone the other way.

That was my last job, as I couldn’t face the drive back to town and possibly a long wait on a rank followed by a shit job. The weekend should mark the end of the slow times and I should be able to get the masterplan back on track. Only seven and a half more shifts to go before my trip to Spain. I can’t wait!

The Masterplan.....

No, I don’t mean the popular song sung by British rock group Oasis, I mean the plan I have devised for myself to see me through the next few weeks before I fly to Spain for a well-earned break. I sat down and factored in every conceivable expenditure between now and the day I collect my cab and go back to work, which will be Monday the 18th of September and I have to tell you it’s a really tall order. I’m not going to go into figures but lets just say that from tomorrows shift (Tuesday) I have to work the next 11 days at the full 12 hours per shift. Some of you will say “Hell I do that every day” but I don’t. 8 hours generally gets me what I need so fuck knows where I’ve gone wrong. During the factoring-in process I thought about how much I spend on myself whilst I’m out working. I stop several times during the evening for coffee, which also means a cookie or a slice of carrot cake or a cookie AND a slice of carrot cake or something equally as delightful from the Starbucks in Gloucester Road. That can often cost £5. Then I’ll have a bite to eat at one of the various establishments I’ve named in this blog in the past. That will invariably cost a good £10. For example at Kebab Kid in New Kings Road I’ll have a large chicken shawarma with taramasalata, chips and a diet coke and that costs £9.50. Later in the evening I might get that second coffee plus trimmings or if I’m filling up the cab at a garage I’ll buy a Tropicana Orange Juice and a large bottle of Evian water and maybe some nuts or a bar of chocolate that almost comes to another £5. Bear in mind that I’m diabetic and shouldn’t be eating any of this shit in the first place but I just find it too hard to resist. My blood sugar levels are always through the roof but that’s another story. So basically I may spend up to £20 a night on myself (but not every night), which is a hell of a lot of money if you add it up over the weeks and months. Anyhoo, that’s what I have to do for the next 11 days so wish me luck.

I saw another random act of robbery tonight. This time I was driving down Earls Court Road. Actually I was at a standstill in heavy traffic so I got a ringside seat of these two young lads smashing the passenger window of a parked car, grabbing something of value and making their getaway on bikes. The street was full of people but everyone one just looked on and walked away as soon as the deed was done. There must have been something of value in plain view for them to have done what they did so I don’t really have sympathy with the victims as “Out of sight out of mind” has got to be rule number one when walking away from your car.

Another little incident that happened at Victoria was as I was approaching the taxi rank feeder in Wilton Road there was a cab stopped there when he could’ve pulled on to the main rank. I then noticed two policemen, a guy with a cycle and what eventually turned out to be the driver of the cab. As I’d pulled up behind him and other cabs had pulled up behind me I was stuck so I just sat and watched. They eventually concluded whatever it was that they were doing and the cabby walked over to me and said “What a fucking joke!!!” . “What’s up?” says me. “That cunt on the bike is pissed out of his head and he’s just scraped all down the side of my brand new cab. I grabbed hold of him and called the “Old Bill” and they reckon they can’t even knick him for driving his bike whilst under the influence” (is that true? Any coppers out there?) He ranted on and on and his cab was indeed only a month old as I could tell by his Hackney Plate and I could also see the scrape down the off-side of what was otherwise an immaculately gleaming new cab. But what caught my attention more than anything else as he was speaking inches from my face was that his breath stank of alcohol. I would even go as far as to say he was himself pissed as a fart and how those coppers never smelt it or noticed how he was acting is beyond me. I know lot’s of professional drivers drink and drive and the sooner they get caught and banned the better for all other road users. I also think it’s high time that some sort of legislation was brought in regarding cyclists. They basically do whatever they want and don’t have to answer to anybody because there’s no way of identifying them. They should at least need insurance for when they damage other cars with their handlebars. However I can’t see it happening anytime soon. It’s so fucked up!!

PS. The beggar has started making an appearance at Victoria after being conspicuous by his absence for the last few months. I never missed him one bit and look forward to giving him nothing in the future as it may mess up the masterplan!!

The Notting Hill Carnival has been and gone again. I managed to stay on the periphery of it and make some good money this weekend. As far as I know there was no trouble this year. Other years there have been murders, muggings and even rapes. I once picked up an off duty copper who told me that we never get to hear about the bad stuff because somewhere down the line the news is suppressed, I don’t really know how true that is in this day and age but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

The first two jobs today gave me a fifty-pound note to change and I actually managed to change them. Both jobs were for £5 or less and normally they would be told to go forth and multiply but as I’d had a good night before I had plenty of change on me. Normally I’m lucky if I have a couple of fivers and a couple of tenners and I’m always running into difficulties giving change. I have a little sign in the partition asking for change or the correct money but nobody seems to take a blind bit of notice of it.

As Monday was a Bank Holiday and a National Holiday here the banks re-open later today and there will be long queues. My bank has a paying in machine that actually scans the money and credits it to the account immediately. People haven’t caught on to it yet and I always breeze in and out of the bank whilst others chose to queue up and get frustrated at having to wait in line. Some people huh?

Off to San Diego

It’s been a tiring last 36 hours for me. I had to do a shift yesterday (Thursday) to earn some money to give the kids who were off to see their mother in the USA.
After work I had to sort out the stuff they would need to take with them paying careful attention to the current regulations for flyers. I was still astounded when we were queuing at United Airlines at Heathrow Airport at the amount of people being pulled out of the line for having more than one piece of cabin luggage. There was also a table where people could leave prohibited stuff that they had overlooked such as lighter, scissors, BOTTLED DRINKS for God’s sake!!! Don’t these people watch the news? One guy who looked Japanese or Korean was pulled out because he had on a massive backpack and was holding on to another bag he planned to take on the plane. He was asked nicely to step out of the line and refused. Bad move! Security were there in seconds and he was dragged away protesting.
I left the airport after the kids had gone through where I couldn’t and debated whether to go to the Taxi Feeder Park and queue up for a job. I hadn’t been to sleep yet but didn’t feel in the mood to work either. I went to my parent’s house as they were expecting a satellite engineer at 9am to re-align their dish, as their pictures were pixelating, and I had to be there to tell him the problem. He came at 8.30am and sorted the problem. A new LNB was fitted and the picture and signal were perfect. I got talking to the guy and he was telling me how lucrative the job could be. I always fancied trying something like that but just never did. I went home to sleep but first I logged on to one of those Flight Tracking sites to check on the progress of my kids’ journey. They took off for Chicago at 8.20am and by 10am when I checked they were over the Atlantic. After a 7-hour sleep I checked again and they had landed at Chicago. From there on I had no idea if they would make their connection for the flight to San Diego on time but have since found out that they are now safely with their mother in San Diego. If you’re reading this D+K, Hi kids!!!

Their 1st plane was a United Airlines Boeing 777

Summer is well and truly over. The rain has been falling continuously for the last week with a brief respite here and there. I’ve always managed to make money during the evenings in spite of the odd bad night. London is so diverse and full of people that if you can’t make a decent living at this job you must be doing something wrong. On the other hand if your heart’s not in it then I suggest you pack it up and try something else.

Something occurred tonight that made me think of my daughter. I picked up a very pretty lady of Asian origin. It looked like she had been out on the town and had a great evening. She had on very trendy and modern clothes and had make-up on although she probably never needed it. By the time we got to her destination a totally different girl got out of the cab and paid me at the window. Gone were all the trendy clothes and gone was all the make-up. In front of me stood a fully kitted out Muslim woman with mask who was probably going into a very strict house where her Muslim parents or a Muslim husband awaited her. I thought it was quite sad that in modern day Britain people who obviously enjoy all the freedoms this country offers have to tip-toe around other people who don’t allow them to be themselves. Something in the way we looked at each other said that she knew what I was thinking and vice versa but I never spoke a word to her.

I only did half a shift as I was still a little tired.
This weekend is Notting Hill Carnival weekend and there will be ample opportunity for me to make up the money I never earned tonight.

Who's the mug now?

STILL UPSET AND HURLING INSULTS SO BE WARNED

I had a terrible night tonight. I went out looking to earn serious money but it just wasn't out there. To cap it all I got bilked for £16.40 by an Aussie bird. I picked her up at Parsons Green and she asked for Clapham South. 100 yards down the road she realised that she'd left her phone in the pub she'd just left. She asked to use my phone to ring her phone and when someone in the pub answered she told them she'd be right there to pick it up. We pulled up outside the pub and she ran in and emerged smiling a few seconds later, phone in hand. We carried on to Clapham without incident.
She directed me down a couple of streets and then told me to pull up at the end of another street. All of a sudden she said "Oh my god, I can't find my wallet. I'm sure I just had it." I just sat there with a "here we go" look on my face while she proceeded to look here there and everywhere to no avail. Was she acting? Who am I to judge? She looked genuine enough and I suggested that she could send me a cheque to which she redilly agreed. I wrote out my name and address for her and she promised me she would send the money to me straight away. I jokingly said that I had her number, as she had used my phone, and she again stated that I'd get the money ASAP. As I drove off I thought how I could have done with the cash but £16.40 wasn't a vast sum and I could wait for the cheque to arrive in a few days. I decided to send her a text reminding her that the fare was £16.40 as I hadn't written it on the piece of paper and also added that I hoped her wallet would turn up and finished with a "Take Care". I sent it and recieved a "Message Delivered" report on my mobile. Three minutes later my phone recieved a message so I thought it would be her re-stating her intention of paying me ASAP and maybe a nice little note along the lines of "Thanks for being so kind and understanding". As I opened the message it read "Wrong number". Fucking sxxx!!! I rang the number and some guy answered. I asked to speak to the "Aussie bird who'd just got in" and he said there was no Aussie bird there. I explained how she had used my phone to dial that number but he wasn't having any of it. There was nothing left but to slag him and her off. I said "I know you're covering for her and I'd probably do the same but just tell her from me she's a no good fucking sxxx and if I ever see her walking down the street I'll run the cxxx over" at this point he said "Fuck you" and cut me off.
The thing is I hadn't seen which house she entered as she walked round a corner so basically I was stuffed. One day I'll do the name and address thing right and get some sort of collateral before allowing non-payers to just walk away.

MUGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

London is full of mugs. For all non-Londoners my definition of a mug is someone, normally but not exclusively, another driver who drives stupidly, aggressively, like he owns the road, like he’s in a big hurry going nowhere you get my drift? Even other cab drivers that stay in the outer lane and when someone flags for a cab they come forcing their way over because they were just too lazy to be in the right lane to start with. You all have them in your countries and you all have names for them. Lately, my tolerance for these people is very low and I think may be in danger of doing something stupid towards them. Three or four times tonight I have been cut up by them or flashed to move out of their way. I have exchanged hand signals of the non-driving type, exchanged verbal opinions of one another and I have found it all just a little too much to take. I’m not even going to try and find a reason for why people act like this because there is no answer other than they are out and out M U G S !!!!!!!

I thought that little outburst would calm me down but it hasn’t helped at all so I’m going to leave this for an hour and have a cup of tea and something sweet.

(One hour thirty-five minutes has elapsed since above outburst)

I’ve worked continuously since Tuesday apart from Saturday when I took two of the kids and the dog on a nutty to Southend. A nutty is when I do something on the spur of the moment and it normally involves a road trip and some sort of nourishment when we get there followed by a quick look around and then the journey home. In the last few years I’ve done nutties to Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham and more often than not the east and south coasts of England. Saturdays’ one to Southend was all because we had a craving for fresh donuts, the ones they make by the seaside. As far as I know you can’t get them anywhere in London (if any body knows different let me know). There was some sort of carnival on when we got there at 10pm and all the roads were closed so we had to park a long way from the town and walk back. The only one that seemed to enjoy it was the dog. The rest of us wished we’d stayed at home although the donuts were pukka, as usual.

On Friday night the non-driving mugs were out in force and I had to drive off in a hurry a few times almost taking a few hands with me as they tried to open the locked doors. That particular manoeuvre is always followed by an outburst of “you wanker” or “you fat cunt” and if they have the time a kick to some part of the cab or a thumping of one of the windows. Sometimes I get caught at a red light and they come running up after me, they never catch me if you know what I mean.

I was on the Charing Cross Station rank when the cab in front broomed a job back to me (yes fellow cabbies I’m not the only broomer out there, there are plenty of others). This guy had a cut on the bridge of his nose and was definitely on something stronger than alcohol. He asked for Priory Lane in Roehampton, a very nice job. There was no way I was in the mood for being mucked about so I came straight out with it “ Mate, you’re looking at twenty to twenty five quid and I want the money up front” to which he replied “yeah no probs, sweet as a nut” He produced the money and I had to endure about twenty five minutes of his bullshit all the way there but I didn’t care as I had the money. He was so out of it that when we got there he’d forgotten that he’d already paid me. I told him he’d already paid me and he had difficulty understanding that. As he was already out of the cab I just drove off leaving him scratching his head. The meter was on £24.60 so I only made 40p on top.

Back in The City a guy trying to impress a couple of girls flagged me and asked for Woolwich and “somewhere else”. One of the girls didn’t seem to be in the party mood and asked to be dropped at London Bridge Station. He told her he was “seeing her safely home and that was that”. We had to pick another girl up who had walked on ahead and I eventually found out that the two destinations would be Welling in Kent and then onto Mottingham further to the south, a very nice run indeed. I don’t think the guy realised just how much money it was going to cost him because as the two girls started chatting he put his face in to the partition and asked “ ‘ere mate, how much is it gonna cost me?” I replied “the best part of sixty quid”. “Fuckin hell!!! You better stop at a cash point then” That was probably a big chunk of his wages he was about to blow on a “not so sure thing”. He got the money and we dropped the first girl in Welling. He immediately went to work on the other one, which was just as well because they weren’t watching the route I was taking. I was lost out in the suburbs. I hadn’t set up my satnav but soon dug it out of my bag and set it to take us to Mottingham Station. They in the mean time were getting down to some serious snogging in the back and I had to interrupt them as I approached the station for final instructions. The guy ended up getting out with her and must have thought it was money well spent as he had an enormous grin on his face and handed me the exact amount I’d quoted him including a nice tip.

As I made my way back towards town I did a few local jobs here and there but had to be quite selective about who I picked up. Girls on their own or in pairs is normally the safest bet but not groups of four and five as they get quite bold and can get quite saucy towards the driver. I find that groups of girls like to try and embarrass me by talking dirty amongst themselves knowing full well I can hear what they’re saying. They’re also prime candidates for getting sick so I try and avoid large drunken groups if I can.

As I was heading towards Victoria Station there was a fire engine outside the Victoria Park Plaza at 1.30am and all the quests were there too in various stages of dress including PJ’s. There’d obviously been a false alarm or someone in the hotel had set the alarm off as a drunken prank.

Victoria Park Plaza Friday Night / Saturday Morning

Back on Paddington Rank towards the end of my shift tonight I picked a pretty girl up and took her out to Greenford. She asked for help getting her bag into the cab. It was one of those great big black non-descript holdalls. She said she’d help as it was heavy but I said I had it. Well, I almost put my back out lifting that baby up. It must have been full of books or something as they are the only things that can weigh that much, unless she had gold bullion in there!! It was a little easier getting it back out at the other end and thank God I never had to carry it in and upstairs for her as I think I would’ve had a heart attack.Job done, money earned, home to blog and bed. Nite Nite.

STOP PRESS!!

Cabby sought in murder investigation.

3 times unlucky

“Take it you don’t like pushing a cab round London!!”

In reply to the above question from the final commenter on my last post, in an ideal world I’d rather be doing something else. I suppose any job is the same, if you’ve been doing it for long enough you’ll get the urge to want to do something else. If you are lucky to get out of one job and in to another you’ll probably get sick of that job given enough time. It’s human nature really. I am currently in my 17^th year of cab driving and I’m probably worse off financially than I ever was doing other jobs. A lot of that has to do with being self-employed. I can work when I want and I can take days off when I want. In any other job you’d have to be there because you’d have set times or in the case of self-employed you’d have a job waiting for completion. If I had my time over I would do something different, something where I would have to be there at set times, I think I would work better that way. But until that day comes, if ever, I’ll just have to persevere with the job I do and make the best of it.

We’re getting quite a bit of rain now, which always helps with the work. Sunday was a very busy night for me. I started at 7.30pm and worked almost non-stop until 3am.

As usual, the main-line railway stations were the best places to pick up fares. Paddington was extra busy because on top of all the Heathrow trains arriving full of passengers there was also lots of Chelsea fans were returning from the Community Shield game (which they lost) in Cardiff.

I picked up this sweet little old lady of around 85 years old with a great big suitcase from Paddington and she asked for a Mews off of Kensington High Street. I put the case in the cab for her and checked the mews on my satnav and set off. On the way she was commenting on various buildings and shops. One building was being renovated and was completely covered with tarpaulin. When she spotted it she said “Oooh what a funny building, it doesn’t have any windows”. I never had the heart to tell her it was covered and said something like “yes there’s lots of strange buildings about these days”. When we arrived there was nobody home. The rain was pouring down and she would have had to stand there until somebody came home. I suggested dropping her at a nearby McD’s where she could wait in the dry and have a cup of tea but she had something else in mind. She asked me to drop her at the nearest pub where she could have half a pint of Guinness. Never judge a book by its cover.

Back at Victoria Station I picked a guy up with two great big suitcases. He asked for an address on Grosvenor Road by the river. Part of Grosvenor Road has railings down the centre of the road. He wanted the other side of the railings so I suggested driving up the road, turning round and setting him down on the right side. Rather than spend maybe 60 or 80 pence more he chose to get out on the wrong side and climb the railings with his two cases. He paid me off and I pulled forward a bit and decided to watch him. Anyone who knows Grosvenor Road will testify how busy it is. The whole exercise took him about five minutes and the funniest part was when he got stuck on the railings for about a minute and a half probably crushing his balls in the process, tight git!!

The last job on Sunday saw me take a guy out to Boston Manor in west London. En route I got a call from my daughter at 2am to collect her from her cousins house 12 miles away in Mitcham, south London, totally the opposite way I wanted to be going but what can you do?

I started a little later tonight (Monday) and in complete contrast to Sunday it was almost a waste of time being out. I had one of those crap nights Paradise Driver often talks about but I had to at least put the time in and hope something juicy might come along. I did 10 jobs in total and took just £108 before calling it a night. Of those 10 jobs 3 of them had something to write about.

The first one was an Irish guy who flagged me down in Fulham Road and asked me to run him out to Gerrards Cross in Buckinghamshire, a £60 ride. I set off and was mentally breathing a sigh of relief at having obtained a decent job when he calls out “Sorry driver, cancel that, there’s nobody there (he’d been on the phone)” I had to pull over and let him out with the meter just clicking onto £3. We have a word for how we feel when that happens to us. Gutted!!!

The very next job walked up to me as I sat on the South Kensington rank. He said what sounded to me like “Mitcham please”. Another very nice job, not as good as the above one but good all the same. Again I set off. 500 yards down Old Brompton Road he shouts out “where are you going?”, “Mitcham” I replied. “I said Beauchamp Place (pronounced Beecham Place). Mitcham Please, Beecham Place, repeat both of them to yourselves a few times and see if you could make the same mistake, especially if you say it with an accent.

Maybe I was just craving a nice long run somewhere I don’t know. For the next fare I was back on the rank at Victoria Station and a drunk guy talking on his phone walked up to me and asked to be taken to Brockley, a £20 ride to a shit neighbourhood. All the way there he was saying how this country was full of foreigners and how they were ruining our way of life and how his dad had fought in the war (he looked about 25 so I don’t know what war his dad fought in) and it was evident he was just full of racial hatred. By the time I got him to his destination he was so fired up he said he was going to have a go at the first black person he saw and proceeded to exit the cab screaming “come on then” to an empty street. As I drove off I could see people start to look out of their windows and wondered if I might read about his demise in the morning papers. Silly boy!!

That proved to be my last job tonight as I have a full day tomorrow taking my dad to the eye hospital for a post-op check-up so I have to be up early.

Sick Message to Drunks

I took the night off last night (Tuesday) to watch my team, Leeds United, draw 2-2 with Queens Park Rangers at Loftus Road. For the most part it was an exciting game but my son and I had to sit with all the QPR fans and couldn’t cheer when Leeds twice took the lead for fear of getting started on, that’s how it is over here.

Of course a night off has to be paid for and I’ve spent most of today sat in my cab trying to make up for it. I knew it was going to be a long day so I tried to pace myself with regular refreshment stops including Prêt a Manger in Finsbury Pavement, Burger King in Old Brompton Road and just an hour and a half ago in Tesco’s at Gloucester Road.

It was while I was sitting in the cab eating my salt beef sandwich from Prêt a Manger that I noticed this telephone box.

I took an interest in the advertising and slowly it dawned on me what the picture was of.
The £80 is fashioned out of vomit. The more I looked at it whilst eating my sandwich the queasier I became and I wouldn’t consider myself that type of person. I can generally stand the site of anything revolting but on this occasion it definitely got to me and I tried not to look anymore.





I had to do a spot of DIY on the cab earlier. One of the indicators stopped working. I naturally assumed it was a bulb so I unscrewed the front off-side indicator lens and attempted to remove the bulb. The whole of the bulb came away from the stem. Luckily I had some pliers and managed to fiddle with it until the stem came out. It looked badly corroded like it had been in there a long long time. I replaced the bulb, tried it and nothing. I decided to leave it till I visit the garage tomorrow but when I screwed the lens back on it started working. When I took it off again it stopped. I ran a new earth wire from the bulb to the cab body and managed to complete the shift with a working indicator. Just as I was pulling on to my drive it decided to pack up again. I’ll get them to have a look at it at my garage tomorrow or later today.

The only thing of note that has happened since my last post happened about three nights ago. I was driving through Peckham, not a very nice neighbourhood, on my way back in to town, my “For Hire” light off and all the doors locked when I noticed a lady cycling along in the opposite direction. She had a typical woman’s bike with a basket on the back and she had a helmet on and reflective strips taped to her ankles and elbows and flashing lights to be safe and to be seen. And she was seen. By a young lad from the council estate she was riding past. I say all this after the event because at the time I never knew what was happening. This young lad started chasing after her but you couldn’t hear a sound from his footwear. He caught up with her an lifted her handbag deftly out of the basket behind her and ran off into the estate. She must have noticed the weight difference or something because she looked round and immediately seemed to know what had happened. I thought she would probably shout for help or scream “Thief!!!” or something similar but she did none of those things and instead she spun the bike round and followed the robber into the council estate. Brave? Or just stupid? I’ll never know because I drove off before someone decided to target me and relieve me of my hard earned takings.

Finally, if you think that by ignoring parking tickets they’re gonna go away think again.
The reminder I got in the post this morning was for a ticket I got in December. I got it fair and square so no complaints there. It went from £50 to £100 and then to £150. At this point I thought I would ignore it totally and for eight months I thought I’d got away with it until this landed on my doormat. I should be glad they’ve only added a fiver costs. I have 21 days to pay it so by 27th August it will be paid in full but it will be painfull.

Buttoning to a stop!

I should be getting a TXII cab complete with air conditioning within the next few weeks. Or so I’ve been told at my garage. It’s got a 53 plate, which means it’s only three years old. It will come not a moment too soon for me as bit by bit this present cab is falling to pieces. My brother in law (supermechanic) popped round yesterday and asked for a drive of my cab out of nostalgia for the old cab he drove until buying a new one. As he pulled away I noticed the brake lights weren’t working. When he came back and checked out the problem he told me that the brake light switch was broken. Being a Saturday night with no chance of buying the spare part I had three options. (1) Not to drive the cab at all until Monday, not a viable option given my current financial state (boracic). (2) To drive the cab without brake lights and run the risk of being stopped by the Police and also run the risk of being rammed by the car behind, I think not. And option (3) to fashion some sort of device to enable me to make the brake lights go on manually. Improvising is Supermechanic’s thing and in no time at all he’d wired up the lights to go on at the press of an old transmitter switch that a previous driver had left in the cab.

Pressing the button

Obviously I only needed to press it when someone was driving immediately behind me and all in all it worked extremely well. Cheers again Dean.
First thing I did this morning was to find a car spares shop and try and obtain a new switch. They had one similar at a cost of £7.50 and I went home with the intention of fitting it. It proved awkward as the area I had to work in was very cramped and it was also a job for a left-handed person. I called my son Michael out as he’s a leftie and he managed to fit the switch for me.

As the 9th of September approaches so does the urgency to have my finances in order for the 9 days that I will not be working. Luckily two of the kids will be away in San Diego with their mother at the same time so I will only have to make sure that Michael and our dog Dude are provided for.

The Dude

If the first few days of August are anything to go by then it should work out OK, as there seems to be plenty of work out there.

I started the week writing down the nationalities of all my passengers but stopped after a few days after coming to the conclusion that no two days are the same and that being as this is London I was likely to pick up every nationality under the sun at some point, some days picking up more of one than all the others.

Two popular London Stage shows

Work-wise it was just a busy week. Some days I did two stints other days just the longer shift in the evening. I seem to spend a lot of time being chased off by traffic wardens as I try and park close to a bank to pay money in or just simply in the course of doing my job. London seems to be saturated with wardens at the moment and you may think you’re safe but you can be sure one will be lurking somewhere close by waiting to ticket you just as soon as you walk away from the cab. I recently picked a guy up who needed to collect some bags from his house and then travel on to Paddington Station to catch the Heathrow Express. Whilst waiting outside for him to return a warden decided to make himself busy and started signalling for me to move on. I opened the window and said I was waiting for my passenger who would only be two minutes but he didn’t want to know and started acting like he was writing out the ticket. I asked him why he was being silly and he said, “I’m not being silly I’m just doing my job” to which I added something like was there any provision in his job to use some common sense. He’d obviously heard it all before and answered “none at all” and I just sat there and thought what bullshit it all was and how there must be better ways of earning a living. My passenger emerged with his luggage, got in and we drove off without the ticket being attached to the cab windscreen. I’m sure the warden will process the ticket anyway and I will have an impossible job proving he never did.
Well it’s now 7.30pm on Sunday night, my favourite night for work and I’m off to earn a living.

Counting the Nationalities

I only did a short shift tonight as I plan to do tomorrows shift in two parts.

In my last post I commented on the amount of Americans I pick up per shift and decided to try and ascertain the nationality of my fares tonight.

I only did 14 jobs tonight. Only two of them were American, one could even have been a Canadian I've never really understood how to tell the difference.

Two were European, I couldn't break it down any better than that seeing as I rarely talk to my passengers unlike Wil at Paradise Driver. That's probably the reason my tips are only between 5 and 10%.

Only two of my fares were actually English. They weren't even Londoners but from up north somewhere.

The other eight sets of passengers were all of Arabic extraction. I use that term loosely as they may not all have been Arabs but they had that Arabic look and complexion. Most of these pick ups occur in and around the Edgware Road area which has a large Arabic community. They are regular cab users who never go far but use us frequently. When the work dries up in August you'll find a lot of cabbies trawling around this area for work.

I had a little chuckle to myself earlier when I picked up three female Arabs with all the kit and kaboodle on and took them to the Marriot Regents Park. The fare came to £9.60 and they gave me a tenner. When I offered them the 40 pence change instead of saying keep the change one of them said "I don't need it" and gave one of those dismissive waves of the hand as if to say "don't bother me with this trifle". Don't you just love the different ways people have about them?

The weather has really cooled down compared to the heatwave we had last week. It started raining earlier and is still raining now, we badly needed it I can tell you.

So only a short post tonight with no photos I'm afraid. Night Night People.

Good And Bad Americans

I did two stints today, as I never went out on Friday night. The World Matchplay Darts semi-final was on TV and I stayed in to watch it with my son Michael.

I was out by 11am this morning after I dropped my son off at work and was in the work myself almost straight away. It wasn’t too hot today either so all in all it was quite a pleasant shift.

I was down by Buckingham Palace and Wellington Barracks and it was packed with tourists. Some sort of ceremonial was going on because the Coldstream Guards were doing their thing on their parade ground. I could hear the Sergeant Major screaming his head off at the soldiers while they were going through their disciplines. I snatched a picture but it doesn’t show too much.

Tourists at the Queen Victoria Memorial

Soldiers at Welligton Baracks

Before I write this next bit I just have to say how at least 50% if not more of my passengers are American. I’ve noticed that a lot of my posts contain accounts of journeys with Americans because they are always more vocal than everybody else, that’s all I’m gonna say.

So, I picked up this American from Paddington Station and he asked for a residence in Jermyn Street and he specifically said “the Regent Street end”. So off I went and all was fine until we hit solid traffic in…Regent Street. He decided to pipe up. “Wouldn’t it have been better to go down through Duke Street St James’s and avoid all this crap?” I replied with “ If you hadn’t of said for me to go to the Regent Street end that’s the way I would’ve taken you” “Oh so it’s my fault we’re stuck in traffic?” he snapped. “Well it ain’t mine mate,” I snapped back. It was at this point that he lost his cool and came back at me with “You guys are supposed to know all the short cuts and roads to avoid traffic. You know what? Fuck this shit, let me out I’ll walk, it’s quicker.” The fare was £10.80 and he handed over two £5 notes I never bothered to ask him for the rest. D’you see how a situation can develop out of nothing? I went his way and then he turned it all around to make it my fault. There sure are some highly-strung people out there.

About two hours ago I picked up three more Americans from Chelsea and they asked to go to Brixton. I asked them whereabouts in Brixton and they said St. Mathew’s Church and added, “We’re going to mass”. I knew they were joking because there is a club there in the crypt, which has live bands on every weekend. They then started asking me if Brixton was safe. I told them that Brixton was in some ways like Harlem NYC, but as long as they stayed together and didn’t venture in to the backwaters they’d be fine. This un-nerved them a bit and they wanted more information. “What do you mean like we might get attacked with knives or guns?” I shouldn’t really have said anything at all because it’s really not as bad as that but they were definitely in two minds whether to continue to their destination. Then one of them said, “you must think we’re a bunch of pussies the way we’re acting” to which I had a good laugh and told them they really would be fine. They asked if I would come back later and pick them up but I said I would be safely tucked up in my bed by then. When we got there the place was brightly lit and there were people of all descriptions strolling around the church grounds enjoying the cool evening breeze. They commented that it looked Ok and paid me off and gave me a £2 tip on top.

I picked up two Eastern European ladies from Edgware Road and took them to Kensington. One of them looked worried about something and they were whispering in their language. I can understand and get by with a few European languages such as Spanish, French and Italian but definitely not Bosnian or Serbian or whatever else they were talking. When we got to their destination one of them asked me how they would go about contacting the police. I told them to dial 999 or simply go into a police station. I asked one of them what was wrong and she said that they’d been walking in Oxford Street earlier in the day when a man had involved himself in their business and touched them up sexually. I told them they should have started screaming the place down but they didn’t look like they had it in them to do that. They still wanted to go and report it but I said it would be no use as the police would need lots of info (which they never had) to proceed with a line of inquiry. They paid me and walked away totally bewildered with the whole situation. I’m sure lots of big cities are the same but I can’t help thinking that London leads the way in the “sick people” stakes and is getting worse all the time. It might be a good idea for all ladies to carry some sort of anti-attack spray like mace or pepper spray when walking around town by themselves. Or better still don’t walk around and take a cab!

Here it is.....finally

It seems to be a week for car trouble.
Firstly on Sunday just gone I was luckily coming to the end of my shift when my brake pedal went all floppy. When I tried to move off it felt like the brakes were on. I came to the conclusion, with my limited experience of cars and all things mechanical, that my brakes had seized up. What else could it be? I was in East Putney quite a few miles from home and I thought to myself “It’s 2am, I’ve earned my money, I just want to get home. Do I call the AA or do I welly the fuck out of the engine and get it home?” I did the latter and by the time I got home the wheel hubs were all but glowing red. The smell of burning brake shoes was unbelievable. I pulled a hubcap off (which was soft and bendy by this time) and threw a bit of my Evian water on the wheel and it hissed like when you test an iron before ironing a shirt. There was no more to be done that night and I went to bed. In the morning I did the same and wellied it all the way to my cab garage. No one suspected anything when I rolled on to the forecourt and the cab stopped without me applying the brakes. I saw Jim the genial Irishman and told him I had a problem with the brakes (an understatement!!) and could someone check them for me. He got in the cab to move it and when it didn’t move and a puzzled look came over his face I lost control and burst out laughing as I often do when giving the game away. He got out and said something along the lines of “what the fucks happened here then?” and went round to one of the front wheels to touch them. When he felt the heat that was coming off them I cracked up again and I think he knew it was a bit more major than just a “problem with the brakes” he called over to one of the mechanics and said “get the marshmallows out” while warming his hands on the heat that was coming off the wheel. With the fun over it was discovered that the master cylinder had seized and a new one would have to be ordered. They gave me a loaner cab and told me to come back before close of business.

The Loaner

I left the garage and went to work. After two jobs I got a call from my son saying that my in-laws had had a spot of bother with their car and could I go to their aid. When I found them in Hampstead their two offside tyres were flat. Apparently my father in law had been distracted and hit a traffic island, the two tyres burst on impact. To cut a long story short we put the spare on one and left the front of the car jacked up while we took the two wheels to Kwikfit in Cricklewood to be replaced at a cost of £200, that is a lot of money for two tyres.

In-laws Car

Father in law supervising

I dropped them back and put the two wheels back on for them and although I was smothered in shit and grease I went back to work but couldn’t really get into it so went back to the garage to wait for my cab. When I finally got out to work there was a funny squeaking noise coming from the wheels plus a loud screech when braking. If Waterloo bridge had had direct access to the river I would have drove the cab and myself into the River Thames, that’s how pissed off I was. I rang my brother in law (Supermechanic) for advice. He said the best thing to do was to drive it on a motorway with the handbrake fully up. I drove straight over to the Westway and belted along at top speed with the hand brake on. I went up and down it about four times until finally it seemed the problem was OK. The new brakes smelt terrible but I think that finally solved the problem. It only squeaked a few times tonight and nowhere near as loud as yesterday.

As I was finishing my shift tonight my brother Johnny rang for advice on jump-starting a friends car. He said he had the leads on the right way but there was a massive spark coming from the battery when he tried to connect the final lead. He was trying to do it whilst on the phone to me and as the sparks flew I heard him scream like an old tart a few times. I thought he must have had the leads on the wrong terminals but he assured me he never. I told him to be more assertive when connecting the final lead and eventually he got it on and the car started.

My shift tonight was really busy again. Nothing spectacular to report. One of the jobs that stood out was when I picked up an American Mother and Son from the Raft at Victoria and took them to Chiswick. On the way the mother said to me “this is gonna sound stupid but do you know if there’s anywhere in London where we can get a Burrito?” I said there was nothing stupid about that and that there was a Mexican place right next to where they were going to which the son shouted out “Alright!!” the way that the yanks do. We were chatting away famously and I was pointing out places of interest along the way and generally being my usual helpful self. As we approached their destination I started to inform them that the restaurant would come into view in a few seconds. I swear I could hear the son licking his lips in anticipation at the feast he was about to experience. As we passed the restaurant my heart sank, as it was no longer a Nacho’s Mexican Restaurant but a French Est Est Est. Well, the son’s face was a picture of despair and the mother started consoling him. Can food mean that much to some people? I guess it can. Anyway, I informed them that further down the road they would find many more places to eat and probably even another Mexican or three but their bubble had been burst and they didn’t sound so sure of me anymore. Waddyagonna do?

I stopped for a Kebab Kid tonight, as I hadn’t had one for ages. They always make their own chips there but had a sign up saying something like “The season for homemade chips is over for now and we are using frozen chips. Please accept our apologies for this” That’s bullshit. If you can get potatoes in the shops you can make homemade chips. Next they’ll be using ready-made Doner Kebab meat like all the inferior Kebab shops and the institution we all know and love will be gone forever. The above phrase “Can food mean that much to some people? I guess it can.” makes a bit more sense now.

One of the last jobs I did tonight was a couple I picked up in Kings Road. They were both drunk as skunks and could hardly string two words together. “Quizarow” is where they wanted to go. “Never heard of it,” says me, berating myself for having stopped to pick them up. “Quizarow” the chap said again and then added “Over Chelsea Bridge”. The penny dropped. He wanted Queenstown Road. They spent the entire journey talking to each other in a unique drunken language that only they could understand. When I got to Queenstown Rd I slowed down so as not to fly past their house and they managed to tell me when to stop at the right place. The next few minutes would have been comical if I was in a good mood and not in a hurry to get home. The fare was £9.60 and because I have a sign that says “£5 Notes and £1 Coins Always Needed Thanks” in my partition window they decided to try and get the exact money for me. They took forever. At one point I told them to just give me a £10 note and I would give them change but they insisted on getting the right money. They finally gave me the right money and started getting out of the cab. The lady mustn’t have secured her handbag because I heard the crash of money hitting the road and the pavement followed by her shouting “Fuck Fuck Fuck” over and over. They left the back door open as they scuttled about picking up the fallen money so I jumped out and slammed it shut making a mental note(for the thousandth time) to avoid drunks in future.

One of my favourite bridges across the Thames is Albert Bridge. It crosses from Chelsea to Battersea and is probably the one I cross the most in a shift. There is a 2 ton weight limit on it and a few years ago they tried to stop cabs using it as they said they weighed more than 2 tons. That attempt was thwarted by our trade organizations but I've heard it may be happening again. The newer TXI's and II's are probably heavier than the Fairways that I'm driving at present and may get banned first. (Before any London Cabbies pipe up I heard it in the cab garage so it's probably bollocks)

Sunburst over Albert Bridge

Albert Bridge

Down on the farm

It was a hot shift tonight.
Still with no aircon in my cab the thing was to try and drive as fast as possible to get the air flowing in through all the windows but sometimes that’s easier said than done. Another minus point about the particular cab I’m driving is that although the heat is turned off at the source I still get blasts of hot air rushing in from somewhere under the dashboard. It’s more than likely the heat from the engine finding it’s way through all the nooks and crannies of these poorly manufactured vehicles. Another problem that had me stumped until last night was a clunking noise coming from somewhere at the front of the cab. Whilst driving over the many speed bumps around town I would hear a secondary noise. I thought the shocks had gone again (which incidentally have been working great and together with the welded wings now give a half decent ride). When I got home I got a spotlight out and went to look under the cab when I noticed the bonnet was unlocked. The security catch was the only thing keeping it from flying fully up at speed. I pushed the bonnet down and pulled it upwards again and it opened immediately. The catch must be knackered. I put some WD40 on it but it’s still no good. I drove the whole shift tonight with the bonnet rattling and clunking but as it wasn’t a busted shock or worse I wasn’t overly concerned. I’ll be going to the garage tomorrow to get it sorted.

A couple of guys flagged me down in Bishopsgate and wanted Metropolis, a table-dancing bar in Bethnal Green. They were completely rat-arsed and started messing about in the cab almost straight away. We stopped for one of them to get some money and the other one remained in the cab and took the opportunity to introduce himself. He said he was Lou from New York and shook my hand with one of those exaggerated strong handshakes that some men feel they must do. He then started talking about wishing he’d been accepted in the US Marines but had been rejected on account of a busted knee. He was very bitter about it and felt he should be out in Iraq “kicking some ass” as he put it. The other guy came back and it turned out he was Australian. The conversation carried on about Iraq and ended up about WWII and how both of their Grandfathers had fought in that war. They got quite heated about it and finally asked me who I would want to go in to battle with if it all kicked off again. Jokingly I said the yanks as they have all the hardware. The Aussie never took it well at all and turned on me quite strongly. Lou had to drag him away as I’m sure he wanted to attack me. What a dickhead!!

The last job of the night saw me at Victoria Station. No brooming tonight you’ll all be glad to hear. A couple of tanned babes walked up to me and in a broad Cockney accent one of them asked me how much the fare would be to Hornsey and then on to Tottenham, she never said where in Tottenham otherwise I might well have broomed it or over quoted the price just to scare them off. I hate quoting prices as I often get it horribly wrong. So I quoted a price and off we went. I heard one of them on the phone telling someone how they had asked a Gatwick Airport cabbie how much he would charge them to take them home. Apparently he had quoted £110. From Gatwick to where they were going £110 is a good price but they obviously thought otherwise and took the Gatwick Express to Victoria and ended up with me. I dropped the first girl of in Hornsey and continued towards Tottenham. After about a mile from Hornsey she started directing me down all these back streets that I’ve never been down before. After a multitude of lefts and rights we enter a housing estate that somehow looks familiar. It had an creepy aura about it and I knew I didn’t want to be there any longer than I had to be. I said to her “What’s this place called?” “What this estate? Oh it’s the Broadwater Farm” Although I'd never been here before I still knew it.
There had been riots on this estate in 1985 and a police officer had been hacked to death. I know it happened 21 years ago but I remember the night well as it was well publicized and reported on the news and I remember reading about it in “The Sun” for the next few days. She went on to say it’s a much safer place nowadays and has been exstensively cleaned up and modernised. She paid me, gave me a five pounds tip and I got the hell out of there as fast as possible.

Is it safe to post?

Was my anonymous poster more than a little pissed off at me? Personally I think it was disproportionate to the offence but I admit to my wrongdoing wholeheartedly. I can’t say for sure it won’t happen again as things like this have to be done from time to time but I won’t mention it on this blog again unless I need to wind somebody up.

So what’s been happening in this last week? I’ve only had one day off and that was last Monday when my brother Joe came round and we watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I really enjoyed the film and Jim Carey was excellent in a straight role. As for Kate Winslet, I’d like to marry her, she’s gorgeous.

My son entered and won a darts competition earlier this evening. He's been getting better and better over the last few months. He even managed a maximum score of 180, his first infront of an audience. He texted me while I was at work to tell me about the maximum and I told him he was a lege(nd) and that I was proud of him.

My daughter has been doing work experience at a clothes store in north London and I have been getting up after only a few hours sleep to drive her there. Most days I turn around and come back home and dive straight back into my still warm bed but on a couple of occasions a hand has been waved at me and I have taken the job. The best of the lot was last Tuesday when a guy flagged me down at Brent Cross and asked to go all the way to Westminster, a £25 ride. When I got into town it was buzzing and I just carried on working until about 4pm. I had a day’s money by then but still went home and came out later for another shift. Greedy? No, just skint!!

My satnav has started playing up in the last few weeks. It seems to take ages to lock on to satellites and even when it does it loses the signal intermittently. Another thing it does is un-mutes itself so that the voice starts blurting out the directions so that all and sundry in the back can hear, causing heads to turn. I want to buy a Tom Tom 700 in the next few weeks. It has maps of the whole of Europe included on an onboard hard drive, which will be handy when I go to Spain for a week in September. I plan to hire a car and drive around a fair bit so the new gadget will be invaluable.

My Satnav

Do any of you cabbies out there hate it when a person starts directing you to somewhere you know well? As far as central London goes I would say I pretty much know every street name bar only a few. The worst ones to remember are Mews. There are loads of them all over the place and they often have two, three and even four parts such as Belgrave Mews North, South, East and West and they’re not always in the obvious locations. A lady got in and asked for Devonshire Mews West. I happen to know this one well as Barbara Windsor lives there. This lady I picked up earlier started off from Victoria railway station and started directing me from the word go. I said I knew Devonshire Mews West pretty well but that never stopped her piping up with “take the next left please driver” and "straight on here driver” and all the other turns I had to make to arrive at her destination. I suppose I should be glad she was going the way she wanted to go but I couldn’t help getting riled all the same.

Tonight, being Friday night was busy and eventful as are most Fridays. I can’t help noticing that people seem to be getting drunk quicker these days and by 8 and 9pm I was already having to avoid picking these people up, not all of them just the ones that couldn’t stand by themselves. A respectable looking bloke once flagged me down in Piccadilly and when I stopped he retreated into a doorway and emerged dragging a very drunk male over towards my cab. As he got to the cab I locked the doors and said “where are you going?” to which he replied “not me, him. He’s going to Gants Hill” Not in my cab he wasn’t as I sped off and did a quick right turn into Duke Street St. James’s. I’ve had these jobs before and the longer the drive the worse it is as they have had a good half an hour or more to become semi-comatose. It’s always impossible to wake these people up and as for females they are the worst ones altogether. I only ever got in the back of the cab once to wake a drunk lady up and she started screaming because she must have thought I was going to assault her or something. The next time it happened I had to call the police to wake the woman up but waited half an hour for them to arrive. Who needs that sort of grief? I wonder if Anonymous has any views on that.

One of the last jobs I did tonight was a bunch of young 20 something’s with various drop offs in south London. When the penultimate one got out the last one said “back to Fulham mate”. He was really drunk and almost incoherent but managed to ask if any of the others had given me any money for their ride. I thought to myself “here we go, this one hasn’t got enough money on him” It was going to be a £30 ride all told and I was gearing myself up for some sort of action. He started babbling “bloody women” and tutting over and over and I was getting the hump with him. All I was concerned about was if I was going to get my money at the end of the ride. As we passed a garage with a cash point I asked him if he needed to get any money out. He replied “don’t you worry about that mate you’ll get you’re money just get me home”. His destination turned out to be the Esso garage in Kings Road and he produced two crisp £20 notes and asked for £10 back and staggered into the garage. As I drove off I noticed something on the back shelf. I pulled over and got out for a closer inspection. It was some sort of bag with “First Aid” and a cross on it but it was damp and had all this white stuff all over it. It smelt like battery acid and started warming up my fingers. I kicked it under a car and got my water bottle out to wash my hands. God only know what that could have been.

Night Scene