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

Camaraderie? What Camaraderie?

I started tonight’s shift with a “scream up” at another cab driver. He was on the point of the Paddington rank and I was behind him. As often happens a person will walk up to the front cab and ask for a price or a question in general. Whilst the front cab is dealing with the question other people will appear from the station, assume he’s taken and start getting into the cabs behind. A very pretty young Asian lady got into mine and was on the hurry up straight away. She was going to a party on a boat at Tower Pier and we only had 20 minutes to make the cross town journey (on a Saturday night!!) She also needed to stop and get some cash and please could I hurry. I couldn’t move because the guy in front was still dealing with the person at his window. Knowing the score I waited patiently but after a couple of minutes and some frothing at the mouth from my pretty Asian I tooted the horn. Another 30 seconds and I tooted the horn again. No sign of movement or even the prospective passenger getting in to his cab. I leant on the horn for about 10 seconds, no joy. Out of the cab I got doing a bit of frothing of my own. I knocked on the drivers window and spread my arms in that “come on man what’s happening” sort of way. He half lowered his window and said “What’s your problem mate?” “What’s my fucking problem? You’re holding everyone up you inconsiderate cunt (yes I did call him that) Why can’t you pull over there out of the way and negotiate with her. A few minutes is ok but you’ve been here nearly five and that’s not on mate, you’re taking the piss” He had his map book out so obviously it was a “roader” to somewhere nice and he was trying to negotiate a fair price but you have to consider who’s behind you and allow them to get out. I think my little outburst did the trick as he pulled off the rank and parked a little way up and continued to negotiate. He gave me a dirty look on my way past him and I almost gave him the finger but I thought my insult to him was enough for one day

A Rainy St Paul's Cathederal

It was sort of drizzling on and off all shift tonight, which made it really busy. I was driving along Kings Road when two guys and a girl flagged me down and asked to be taken to Tulse Hill. They were South African and Australian so I knew straight away there would be no tip. A few minutes into the ride and one of the guys asked if I had any music I could play. I put Virgin Radio on and they instantly recognised the song and started singing loudly to it. The song finished and the DJ announced “And now for something really special”. The opening few words “A long long time ago…” produced screams of delight from all three in the cab and they started singing the song word for word. I must admit I love that song too and was gently mouthing the words under my breath. “Bye Bye Miss American Pie” rang out from the partially opened windows as we drove through the streets of Brixton turning heads in our direction. They played the whole song which must have lasted a good eight or nine minutes and by the songs end my fares flopped down in their seat to catch their breath, it was almost as if they’d just had sex. As predicted, we arrived at their destination with £18.60 on the Hickory*, plenty of thanks and good wishes for the rest of my night but they took the £1.40 change from me with out batting an eyelid.

*Hickory Dickory Dock (from a children’s nursery rhyme) = Clock = meter.
Cockney Rhyming slang, it’s a London thing.

A Rainy Kilburn Lane @ 2am

Talking of tips AGAIN they generally add up to 10% of the nights takings, sometimes even more. Tonight for some reason they only added up to 3%, I wonder why.

The shift ended with another disagreement with a cab driver. I was probably out of order but sometimes you have to do what’s best for you. I was looking for a fare to take me towards home and drove onto Victoria rank with my doors locked and my light off. As the first in the queue approached me I shouted out “are you going north ?” They said they were going south and so did the next 2. The fourth passenger was going my way so I told him to jump in. The cabby that pulled up behind me and jumped out of his cab shouting “Oi what’s going on here, why are you fucking brooming those jobs” I said I wanted to go home to which he said “Then turn your fucking light out and go then, don’t come in here picking and choosing, you’re worse than the minicabs” He was bubbling. But as the saying goes, possession is nine tenths of the law. I had my job in the cab so I just leaned out and said to him “Be lucky mate” and drove off into the night.

A Rainy Carlton Vale, Kilburn @ 2am

My Right Hand

Over the last few days I’ve been a busy little boy. Sometimes there just ain’t enough hours in the day to do what needs to get done and the pressure builds up. Luckily it’s been pretty busy on the streets so with just a few extra hours per day I’ve managed to tip the scales in my direction.

I went over to my cab garage today to part with the weekly £180. I asked them what I always ask them every week. That is if they had a better cab for me yet. Jim, the genial Irishman said “I nearly had a lovely TXII for you with air conditioning and a six CD changer”. “Nearly?” says me, “nearly’s no good, what happened?” Apparently the guy using that particular cab was going to see his son in Australia and was going to spend six months out there, effectively forfeiting his cab to the next available bod, me! But it all fell through at the last minute for no given reason which means I have to continue with my shit-cart whilst indecisive Bill gets to keep the Rolls Royce of London Taxis until he makes his mind up. I wish Jim hadn’t told me now.

I have managed to injure my right hand twice in the last week. I do everything with my right hand and I mean everything so I can’t be going round getting injured or more than my hand will suffer. Firstly I was doing a spot of pearl diving as my old chef used to say, but to you and me let’s just call it the washing up. I was washing a pint glass with an England logo that my boys were particularly proud of when it cracked in my hand and the glass sank almost bone deep into my right index finger. I instinctively squeezed the finger with my other hand but I knew it was deep. I let go for a second and the blood started oozing out at a pretty fast rate. It probably could have done with a few stitches but I just held it tight until the blood coagulated. It popped open a few times that night as I forgot all about it and used my hand in the usual manner but eventually it stayed shut and now, about four days later it’s healing nicely. I took a pic of it but you can’t really see the cut in its full glory.

Poor Finger

The second injury was earlier on today. Again I was doing the washing up and as I was cleaning a fork one of the prongs managed to sink in behind the nail of the “bird” or middle finger. I’m telling you man it fucking hurt. About half the prong managed to stick in and as I held my hand downwards the fork was dangling from my finger. I had to pull it out and as I did the blood came with it. It still hurts and is throbbing now after my shift and I’ll probably lose the nail. I recently lost two nails on my right foot after having kicked a chair in anger at the kids several months ago. I’ve really got to sort my life out!!

I started work a few days ago and as I was driving down Maida Vale towards town I got hailed by someone who looked very familiar to me. As soon as she came to the window to tell me her destination I recognised her as one of my parents’ oldest friends which none of us have seen for at least ten years. I’d heard they’d moved to Spain and she confirmed it to me. She was just over doing a bit of shopping. In the space of time it took me to drive her the half mile to Crawford Street we exchanged as much news and gossip as possible before she got out. She offered me the five pounds fare but I refused to take it. Who knows if I’ll ever see her again…frail that life is. (For all family members racking their brains as to who it was, it was Cathy)

I had a little chuckle to myself tonight as I was hailed by four obviously drunk City workers. Three of them stayed across the road as the only female of the group raced over to hail me. She was standing next to some road works and there was very little room for her to get out of my way as I came bearing down upon her. She backed up as far as she could but instinctively tried to go back a bit further and proceeded to fall backwards against those red and white barriers perched on traffic cones which subsequently pulled down a whole row of barriers and cones.. There was nothing for her to hurt herself against and she fell flat on her back with her arms outstretched helplessly. What made me laugh was that the whole thing looked like it was in slow motion. The three guys collapsed in fits of laughter and were really no help to her at all but eventually helped her up. She soon recovered and they started singing loudly all the way to their destination. I rang my daughter on the way and told her to have a listen to the racket going on in the back of the cab and she had a good laugh.
I haven’t posted many photos lately as there just hasn’t been anything that’s taken my fancy but I did take a couple recently of a London sunset.

Sunset over Kilburn

Sunset over Paddington

What a bunch of spastics.

In fact that is probably an insult to handicapped people so I take that back. What I'm reffering to is our national football team who last night went out of the World Cup quarter finals yet again. They did the hard bit and held Portugal to a draw with ten men but when it went to penalties they only managed to score one out of five. A few of the younger viewers at my house were reduced to tears but I have come to expect this sort of heartache so did the next best thing.....went out to work.

I only did 10 jobs tonight 5 good rides and 5 not so good rides.
As per usual after an England game the streets were crawling with drunks but add a defeat into the mix and those drunks want to take it out on someone.

I picked four drunk guys up in Piccadilly and took them down to Victoria and while I was stuck in the Piccadilly traffic they were shouting out of the windows at everybody. There were a few Portugese flags flying from cars and they got singled out with special abuse along the lines of "Ronaldo's dead" and "Cheating cunts".

Later I had another pair of sore guys who threw a bottle out of the window at no one in particular. It smashed on a parked car causing heads to turn.

I don't know why I bother going out after an England defeat because it's always the same. No wonder we get a bad reputation abroad.

The best job of the night took me up to Rayners Lane in north west London. These two had also watched the game but were a bit more graceful in defeat.

Rich Pickings

Productively I had a blinding night last night.
I started at 19.40 to be precise and finished at around 1.15am. 5 hours and 35 minutes to be precise but it was non-stop work and of the good quality sort too (apart from the last one).

The first job was from Paddington Station to Liverpool Street Station, a nice cross-town job to start the day. It was an attractive Italian lady on crutches who said she had broken her leg while back home in Italy skiing. I’m sure some people are really good at it but it’s never appealed to me at all. I use to go ice skating in my youth and spent 70% of the time shining the rink with my arse. It must have something to do with poor balance.

A few jobs later I found myself at the Eurostar terminal at Waterloo. A Scottish couple with kids asked to be taken to the Days Inn Hotel about a two minute drive from there and by the time we arrived the kids had managed to press every button, open and shut every window at least twenty times including the partition, disengage the wheelchair security belt causing an annoying bleeper to sound and put hand and finger prints on all the recently cleaned windows. And as usual the parents were oblivious to it all. If it had been a longer trip I would have had to say something but I thought best not to alienate them for tipping sake.
So we get to the hotel out comes the Scottish money and I get paid the £4 fare and sweet FA else. Que vamos a hacer?

In complete contrast an ultra posh couple stopped me at the light on my way out of Waterloo and the man asked me where I was going. I said wherever he wanted and they got in and we set off for Sloane Square. The fare was £11 and he gave me £15. Much better. I know a lot of commenters on other blogs criticize us cabbies for going on about the tips or lack of them. In general I don’t care either way whether I get a tip, I’m just happy to get paid the metered fare but it is nice when a tip is added. I once picked a guy up who only went a short distance £3.40, or something similar, and he offered me a £20 note. I said I was low on change and did he have anything smaller, he told me to keep the change. But the non-tippers far outweigh the tippers, at least here in London.

The work continued one after the other and after 5 hours I had already taken what it usually takes me 8-10 hours. The next job going my way was always going to be my last one for the night. So after an effortless night I suppose I had to end the night with a bit of grief.

A guy flags me down in James Street off Oxford Street and asks for Fellows Road and adds “the shit bit” to which I could only assume he wanted one of the tower blocks. James Street being one way southbound has an “ahead only” sign so you can’t take a left or right into Oxford Street, you’re forced ahead in to Gilbert Street and then have to do two right turns and a left and then a U-turn in Oxford Street. With all these left and rights it was inevitable that the guy would pipe up, sometimes you just know it’s gonna happen and you even prepare your answer. “Where the fuck are we going mate?” the standard question of the ignoramus. As I explained he started getting more animated and started accusing me of “tucking him up”. I love it when this happens in the centre of town as there’s always loads of police about so I made sure I stopped near a parked police car and told him to get out. If you show any signs of being a pussy these people will exploit that so when I “lose the rag” I lose control and start ranting and raving for them to fuck off and take another cab they soon get the message. So out he went cursing and swearing to himself and I just turned around and went home.

No Comparison

I stopped off to get a drink and came across a new type of Diet Coke in a black can called Coca Cola Zero. Unless you drink battery acid don’t bother. It was revolting and I even think it upset my stomach as I was up a few times in the night to use the toilet. I'll stick to the regular Diet Coke in future.

Talking Dirty

I’m almost back to normal after these last two weeks have seen my bank balance take a serious battering. There were weddings to attend, family functions, clothes to buy, nights off to watch England progress in the World Cup, general day to day living expenses all requiring money that wasn’t being earned for one reason or another. But I’m now focussed and raring to go!! Not.

I did two shifts today. The first one was only a few hours long as I wanted to watch the Spain V France game. I was mostly over on the east side of town and took the opportunity to visit the Beigel Shop in Brick Lane. I had a cream cheese and salmon beigel ( I thought it was spelt bagel!) and it tasted pukka!!!!

Beigel Shop, Brick Lane

I was eavesdropping on a conversation, as one does, and wished I had a tape recorder with me. These two ladies were discussing their sexual exploits and were using language that even an old seadog like me felt uncomfortable with (did I ever mention I used to be in the merchant navy?) I don’t know what it is about posh people but they seem to think that when they get in a cab it’s ok to talk like a sewer because the cabbie is bound to be common and used to such language. Well I wouldn’t say I was common, well not too common, and I am used to the language but not from people like them and I almost said something to them. I can’t think of a dirty word they never used and as this is a family site (ha ha) I won’t repeat what they said but needless to say it was disgusting.

Sex talk

Talking of sex this next picture is of Sussex Gardens in the Paddington district. Who would think that this lovely tree-lined street, which by day is busy with tourists coming and going about their business, turns into a sleazy red light zone which is crawling with prostitutes as soon as the sun sets? During the course of my work I’ve had to approach many of these girls and ask how much they charge for their services for the guy in the back who’s too much of a pussy to ask for himself. I don’t mind asking as long as they make it worth my while but I draw the line at letting any sexual activity take place in the cab. I don’t want no bodily fluids on my back seat.

Sussex Gardens By Day

There are still thousands of cars and taxis driving around with the English flag flying from some part of the vehicle. I must admit as England progress through the tournament I’m tempted to put a couple of flags up myself. We play Portugal on Saturday and I think the country is starting to believe we can go all the way. I concur.

Flying The Flag of St. George

COME ON ENGLAND!!!!!!!!!!!

Hard Graft

I started at 10.45am on Wednesday morning and have just come home at 3.30am on Thursday morning. What does that tell you? Well it’s the longest shift I’ve ever done for a start and it was only done out of necessity. I’ve had so much on this last week that work has suffered a bit. I went to a Stag night last Saturday and the following day there was a family gathering at my parents house which called for my presence. This Saturday me and the kids are going to a wedding and we all have to be kitted out with new gear, hence the Cole Porter (London cabby speak for working all hours).

The replacement Palm handheld I bought recently was a lesser model than the one that was stolen and I just haven’t managed to take to it. So much so that I started looking around for a different one. Enter little brother Joe. He bought himself an iPAQ a few years ago and has never taken it on the road so out of the kindness of his lil ol heart decided that I would benefit from it more than him and promptly delivered it in person yesterday. It’s an iPAQ h5550 and according to this review was the Tungsten C equivalent, which is the one I had stolen. It has built in WiFi and can connect to the net when I’m out working but I have to find a few hotspots to make the most of it. It has many other functions and I’m well pleased with it. Cheers Joe.

I went over to my garage today to pay the weekly rent. I asked when they would be getting any newer cabs as I’m just about coping with the jalopy I’m driving at the moment. They couldn’t put a date on it and even hinted that they may have to get rid of some of the older cabs altogether which would mean that newly arrived drivers such as myself would have to go elsewhere to rent a cab. I’m not bothered as there are lots of garages around but I’ll wait and see what happens before I move on.

There was work everywhere today and I took an extremely decent amount of money. On two occasions today I looked round to see if anything had been left on the back seat and found money. One was a five-pound note and the other was a whole heap of change totalling seven pounds forty pence.

I had a nice run out to Feltham earlier. I almost drove past as I thought it was a drunk loser but it turned out to be a masculine looking female with a lovely personality. She asked me for a price and I said it would probably be anywhere between forty and fifty pounds. She wanted to pay by card but I don’t do cards at present so we stopped at a cash point. She was so easy to talk to and we told each other our life stories. The fare ended up at fifty six pounds and I felt I had to let her off the six pounds as I had practically fallen in love with her by journey’s end.
In complete contrast I found myself on Paddington Station rank later on and there was a guy being rejected by all the cabbies in front of me. At this point I couldn’t see what was going on but the guy decided to sit on the ground next to the rank as other passengers struggled to get past him into the cabs. Wouldn’t you know it? As I took the pole position he decides to try his luck again with me. I locked the doors and left the window open a few inches. He gets up and almost falls back down, a sure sign that he’s drunk or under the influence. Puts his face sideways against the partially open window and says: “Will you fucking take me to Ealing?” His breath stunk of drink. “No I fucking won’t take you to Ealing” I shout at him. “ And what’s more no one else will take you either if that’s how you’re gonna ask them” He replaced his face with his fist and extended the middle finger and with all the hatred he could muster said: “Well fuck you and all your pals, you’re all a bunch of cunts”. I was so tempted to close the electric window on his hand but thought better of it. He backed away from the cab and took up the same position on the ground. A normal person walked up and asked to be taken a few quid away but I didn’t care, I just wanted to get out of the station.

Two Nil To The Ingerland.....

Yes it was two nil to England after they pulled their finger out in the second half. Credit to T&T they defended well but apart from a fantastic clearance off the line by John Terry they hardly troubled us. Bring on the Swedes and maybe Germany in the second round.

I knew it would be busy after the game so I went straight out to work. What I never really thought about was the drunken idiots that would also be out there. You'd think that after watching their country win and progress to the next stage of the World Cup that they would be happy and even chilled out. Not so. Having been a warring island nation since time began people in this country are just born with a fighting gene and love to excercise it at every opportunity. I must have seen at least half a dozen fights on my travels around the city. Police sirens were constantly blazing. I was taking two ladies to Southfields and as I was driving through Putney three guys in England shirts were kicking the shit out of eachother. One of their girlfriends was trying to break it up and I saw her shoved away from the scrum and land on her arse on the pavement. About half an hour later I was driving along the Kings Road and I saw something similar but there was only two of them and one of them was taunting the other guy with a traffic cone, Absolutely crazy.

Workwise I never stopped the whole time I was out. Everybody wanted to talk about the football and by the third or fourth job I was repeating what others had said to me as my own. I got my other cab back today with the fixed suspension (it's still crap though) so it was hard to hear what people were saying because the gap in the partition is on the opposite side to me as opposed to right behind me in older cabs. There is also an intercom in this cab but it's not working.

I only did six hours but I took a full days money in that time.
I took a guy out to Northolt and he was trying to chat me up. What's up with that? I always get them don't I? When we got there he asked me to come in for a bowl of soup!!! Who the heck has soup at home, I know I don't. I did all I could not to offend the guy. I think he really thought he'd cracked it with me but yet again, as in all these events, I had to disappoint him. It turned out to be my last job and I flew down the A40 towards home extremely pleased with my nights work.

Knackered Suspension

Since my last post the weather has cooled down somewhat. From the unbearable heat that we were having it has now dropped down to a bearable cooler temperature. I’m sure it’s only a brief respite and that the sun is lurking up there behind the clouds, but it’s nice all the same.

I’m guessing the ratio but probably one in every ten streets in London have speed bumps of some description or other. There are the smooth variety that only require a minor decrease in speed and then there are those that you must climb up one side and drop off the other. There are lots of in between styles as well and I’d love to meet the people that decide which type are going to be put where and give them a piece of my mind. Collectively, they are the cause of much damage to vehicles. Exhaust pipes and sumps regularly scrape these bumps causing hundreds of pounds worth of damage. Suspension systems also take a battering and it is for this reason that I had to take my cab to the garage yesterday. Every time I drove over a bump or pot hole a loud banging could be heard. Basically the suspension was knackered and I spent three hours at the garage waiting while they fixed it only to be told that they had been trying to fit a wrong part and that I would have to leave it overnight. They gave me an even older cab (94) which had no diesel in it, I had just filled the other one up, so I had to spend more money juicing this one up.

On the work front I’ve been doing OK this last week. As predicted I’m back out working in the evenings driving around with the dregs of society as well as the nice people.

I got hailed by a couple of losers a few nights ago in Stockwell. Why I stopped in Stockwell I’ll never know but these two guys were as high as kites and wanted to go on a drug run. We headed off towards the Tulse Hill area to a council estate and one of them got out and back in three or four times while the other one was whispering into his phone. I hate these types of jobs and if I get the opportunity I generally do what I did next. Both of them went in to a flat leaving a carrier bag on the back seat. And after observing them enter the flat I drove off with about £11 on the meter. I’ve done this many many times before and believe I’ve saved myself a lot of grief whilst losing a few quid along the way. There were two cans of Carlsberg Special Brew (the preferred drink of alcoholics and losers) in the bag which got thrown off Vauxhall Bridge on the way back in to civilization.

Have any of you drivers ever been egged? Is it just a British thing? I got egged for the second time this year in Cavendish Avenue in St. John’s Wood a few nights ago. The other time was in Albany Street next to a council estate. You’d expect to get egged there but not St. John’s Wood. This time the egg splattered on the rear wing so it was easy to hose off at the garage round the corner. I never saw the culprit this time as it came from over someone’s garden wall but the time before it was a gang of kids and they caught the cab lovely while I had my window down and it sprayed into the back through a gap in the screen that the TX’s have, it made a right mess and took me half an hour to clean. Little bastards.

After two years of detouring through Porchester Road, Bishops Bridge was finally re-opened after being completely replaced with a brand new bridge. It is the main access point for Paddington Station from the north and also a gateway to many other destinations. Although you get used to and adapt when a major road is closed it’s nice when it re-opens and eases the traffic in the area.

England play Trinidad and Tobago in their second game in the World Cup today at 5pm. Cabs will be scarce on the roads but I will be out working soon after and expect to “Clean Up”.
COME ON ENGLAND!!!!!!!!!!!

Indian Summer

We’re in the middle of an Indian summer here in London and it’s too hot to do anything. With no aircon in my cab it has all suddenly become too much for me. The World Cup (which one I hear you ask, there is only one World Cup!) is on at the moment so I find myself watching that instead of working. Result? Bank balance suffers. England won their first game 1–0 but made hard work of it. We have an easier (on paper) game on Thursday which should see us progress to the next round, fingers crossed.

I managed to purchase a refurbished replacement Palm for the one I had stolen last week and I am sitting here waiting for DHL to deliver it. They have a tracking function on their website and it says it’s with the courier at the moment but no delivery time. We’ve all waited in for a delivery and without a time it could mean a whole day is lost although I have been pottering about this morning clearing all the coke cans and pizza boxes from last night's WWE event that saw my two sons and their two cousins glued to the TV.

I have actually been doing some work and even with the heat it’s still been busy out there. Again, there hasn’t been much out of the ordinary to report other than people moaning about the cab fare or which route I was taking.

I did come across a strange occurrence last night whilst driving west on Fulham Road. At the junction with Munster Road I came across a bunch of drunk Aussies playing Rugby.
They were throwing the ball to one another American Football style and hitting cars in the process prompting a wave of horn blasts from irate drivers at all four road junctions. My passenger just happened to be Australian and found the whole thing hilarious and even encouraged the guys as we drove past. When I dropped her off and returned the same way they were still at it and one motorist had got out of his car to have a go at them. Summer madness.

My final job last night saw me enter Victoria Station where there was a long queue of people as on most Sunday nights. A youngish guy with an iPod was to be my fare. He asked me how much it would be to go to Seven Sisters in North London. I said around the thirty-pound mark. He thought about it for a few seconds then said lets go. I didn’t like the look of him so I said I’d need the thirty up front. “Don’t you trust me?” he said. “Just covering myself mate, d’you want it or not?” I replied acting tough. He took out his wallet and handed over the thirty pounds and off we went. Him listening to his iPod and me listening to Coldplay performing live at this weekends Isle of Wight Festival on Virgin Radio. I never looked round once the whole way there until I pulled up outside Seven Sisters Underground Station. He was spark-out. I had to shout at him about three times to wake him. It took him a few minutes to realise what planet he was on then another one to realise what area he was in. When I pointed out the station the recognition was complete. He then looked at the meter (£29.80, not a bad estimate) and asked for the 20p change. Well I totally expected that from someone like that but was glad I’d taken the money first as he definitely would have been trouble.

I Believe In Karma

What goes around comes around, Karma, call it what you like. I had a taste of that today and it wasn’t nice. I had to take my Dad to Moorfields Eye Hospital for his pre-op appointment. I can normally park on the taxi rank outside the front door but today there were two cabs occupying it. I put my cab on a parking meter and had to pay £4 per hour. I put in enough for four hours so work that out. All my valuables get locked in the boot when I go off and leave the cab, the only trouble today was that I forgot to lock the boot. The other cab just used to shut but this one has to be locked and lately I’ve been forgetting. I had no reason to take my stuff out until after I’d dropped my Dad home and gone to my own home. I had a nap for a few hours as it had been a long day and at 9pm I decided to go to work for a few hours. I went to the rear of the cab to retrieve my bag and found the boot unlocked, no surprise there. I put the bag in the front with me and started my daily ritual of preparing for work. Where was my money pouch? Where was my £1 coin container with about £30 in coin? And most horrifyingly, where was my Palm Tungsten C PDA? Some dirty rotten bastard had knicked all three things. If they’d have lifted the whole bag out and made off with that they’d have landed themselves with my satnav and my Sony digital camera as well but for some reason they left it behind. The reason I said what I did at the top of the page is because someone had done to me what, as a youth, I did to many people. I must have destroyed a few peoples lives way back when I was a lad with a set of keys that could open anyone’s boot so I just smiled to myself and said “serves you right” It still doesn’t mean I’m not gutted at losing the Palm because I am. I had so much personal info on there and all my databases that I’m going to have to replace it soon. I’ve seen a few on ebay but they want too much money. They’re quite an old model now and should realistically only go for around £50. I’ll keep looking.
It definitely affected my work because I only managed around 6 jobs. The last one took me so near home that I couldn’t resist. I went straight in to look on ebay.

Homecoming

Today (Sunday) was the end of school half term. It is generally always an extremely busy day for work as people are returning with their kids from all over the world. I made sure I got out early to fill my boots and I wasn’t disappointed. It was a scorching hot day so had it not been for the end of holiday then we’d have all been driving about empty as people opted to walk.
I called in at my usual stations, Paddington and Victoria (main entrance and the Raft around the back).

The Raft (Victoria)

The work was continuous for most of the evening. Even the beggar at Victoria was having a good day as he asked me to change some his day’s takings into notes. I counted it all out first and there was £15 there. Not bad for doing nothing all day except making a nuisance of yourself. I only did it as I was short of pound coins otherwise he’d have got the blanking treatment.

The only real blogworthy occurrence of the night was when four people in Grosvenor Square flagged me down and they asked for the Thistle Marble Arch. As they were getting in one of the women didn’t keep her head down and butted the top of the cab. She fell backwards into the arms of the person behind her as if knocked out and started sobbing. This sort of thing happens regularly with the Fairway taxis but never with the TXI and II’s as they are a little bit higher. Many years ago I stopped for a couple that had a baby in a backpack and as they bent to get in the baby caught it full in the face. I had seen it happen but they were oblivious to it until the baby, who had the wind knocked out of him, caught his breath and started screaming and wailing uncontrollably. It was a terrible thing to witness. As always, by the time we reach the destination the passenger has recovered somewhat and walks away from the cab rubbing their head, poor things.

One other occurrence worth mentioning. I was driving along Horseferry Road and was flagged by an unlikely pairing of a well-dressed man and a scruffy black youth. The youth waved the man over to me and headed off in the other direction. The well-dressed man had been looking for his hotel but couldn’t find it. He produced one of those cards with all the hotel details on it. The hotel was a five-minute walk away. I told him to jump in and that I’d whisk him round there in a minute but he seemed reluctant to get in. I said I wouldn’t charge him as I was going the same way and, surprisingly, he was inside the cab in a flash. 30 seconds later he recognized his hotel and started making some funny gurgling noises. I pulled over, he jumped out, thanked me and that was that.

I was so busy that I never stopped for supper. I popped in to an all night shop but couldn’t decide what I wanted. I ended up with a packet of Italian Salami to make a sandwich at home and a packet of ready to eat mangoes, both of which have been duly demolished and washed down with a cup of tea. Goodnight John-boy!!!

On the pull

I hadn’t been to see my parents since the 14th of May so after dropping my son off at his Saturday job I popped round there. My sister was also there doing a spot of spring cleaning and we commented on how this time last year we were doing the same thing whilst my mum was in Spain with my sick dad. Dad remains in good health but has yet another operation to look forward to on his eye. It’s to remove a cataract which will hopefully clear up his vision in that eye. Mum was mourning the loss of Rocío Jurado, a famous Spanish singer. I had never heard of her but mum was really taking it badly and even shed a tear.

I had meant to start early today but England were playing Jamaica in a friendly and it was on TV so I decided to cook some pasta for me and the kids and watch the game. England won 6-0, a sign of things to come perhaps?

I got out the door at 6.30pm and had to find a petrol station that didn’t have a queue. So many have closed down due to leases expiring and plans to build flats on the property that the few that remain are always busy. The BP in St. John’s Wood was empty, probably because it’s the dearest garage in the area. After paying for my fuel and returning to the cab two American couples walked up to me and asked me to take them to the Mermaid Theatre at Blackfriars. The traffic was slow most of the way. I pulled a couple of strokes to get out of it but it always met me on the other side. After about the third stoke one of the women piped up in the back. Did I know it was in Blackfriars? Yes luv I’ve been a cabbie for sixteen years. Why were we taking so many turns? To get you there quicker, haven’t you noticed the traffic? How much further? About 10 minutes. Then the classic one. We’re not tourists, we live in London. That’s a coincidence so do I. I don’t need this sort of shit but it happens from time to time and it takes a lot of effort not to be rude or lose it altogether. Inspite of all that they still gave me a nice tip and told me to have a nice day. I love Americans.

I was driving southwards on Highgate Road when a man flagged me. Did I know where the Forum was? “Yes mate it’s just there” I replied indicating the said building to him. “Well I need to go past that and towards the railway bridge” he said climbing into the cab. The railway bridge was only about 400 yards away. He was telling someone on the phone of his location. As we approached the bridge he told me to stop by a guy on a phone, I assumed it was the guy he was talking to. As we pulled up the guy on the pavement about turned and walked away. My passenger let out a sigh. I asked what was happening and he said that I should just wait there. Not a word was spoken for five minutes whilst I tried to figure out what the hell was going on. You get all sorts of strange ones in this job and as a rule I never make any comments. After the five minutes were up he handed me a fiver, the exact fare, and said that it was the strangest cab ride he’d ever had and got out heading in the same direction as the other fella. Ours is not to reason why etc etc.

I sat next to Battersea Park tonight eating my Satay Chicken and Rice and listening to Virgin Radio as I regularly do when this extremely camp old geezer walked up to the window and said “are you free?” like John Inman in Are You Being Served, the 80’s TV show. I nearly answered, “I’m free” in the same camp voice but he might have thought I was taking the piss out of him so I just said “yes mate where you going?” He said “I’d love for you to take me to the Kentucky Fried Chicken in Marble Arch” I haven’t heard it mentioned by it’s full name for ages as everyone says KFC, but anyway, off we went. He started asking me all the usual questions that passengers ask a hundred times over then basically tried to find out if I liked cock instead of pussy. Fifteen years ago I would have stopped and thrown him out but these days I humour people like that. I asked him if he thought I looked like I might like cock, he replied in the affirmative. He said he always tried it on with cabbies and sometimes got lucky. Not tonight he never. If as many women chatted me up as men do then I’d be a happy man.

Tapering off.

I did another long day today and am completely shattered but if I don’t write this now it’ll never get written. As you’ve probably seen, the blog has tapered off somewhat. That’s due to the fact that I’m doing much longer hours and need to unwind by watching TV and not typing. I’ve now moved on from Lost to Season 5 of Smallville, another great show.

Between yesterday and today I’ve done about 50 jobs so it’s safe to say I’ve been busy. The rain we’ve had recently seems to have gone away for a while and the mega demand for cabs is over. Now it’s just the bread and butter work that’s always there. I’m using totally different ranks during the day. There’s an extremely busy rank outside Waitrose (supermarket) in Marylebone High Street that I keep going back to. It’s only a two-cab rank and it’s not always possible to get on the back. These small working ranks should be just for that…work. But some cabbies abuse them by parking on them and going off to do their shopping or banking.

As the football World Cup draws nearer the amount of England flags that can be seen from every other vehicle increases. Transport for London have allowed licensed taxis to display the England flag but to make sure it doesn’t “get in the way”, whatever that means. Although I can be patriotic I don’t like drawing attention to myself with these sorts of decorations but I will be backing the team 100%.

My camera has been buried at the bottom of my bag for the last couple of weeks so today I took a few with my phone and the quality is not as good.
The Mall is the red coloured road in front of Buckingham Palace with all the flags that is often seen during the London Marathon. I clicked a few off whilst driving down it earlier.

Traffic in The Mall

Buckingham Palace

Cyclists in The Mall

I managed to get on the rank at Victoria station earlier and by the time I made it to the front it had taken about 20 minutes, so only a decent paying job would do. An Asian couple came walking into view and don’t ask me why but I had visions of a trip westwards. My face dropped as they asked for the Thistle Westminster Hotel. “But it’s only around the corner” I protested. “Well we don’t know where it is” said the guy. “Turn right and walk to the second corner and there it is” I said hopefully. “My wife’s tired, we’ve done a lot of walking today, please can you take us?” What could I say? The meter starts at £2.20. When I pulled up outside the hotel it read £2.40. He gave me £2.50 and said keep the change. How kind of him.

When I’m in and around the Paddington Station area I like to get a kebab from Kolossi in London Street. I’ve been going there for years now and always have a good chat with the owner. His face always lights up when he sees me and he comes over and makes me the kebab himself, always over stuffing the pitta bread with kebab meat. I hadn’t been in there for a few weeks but it tasted better than ever, not like the one that did my guts in the other day.

A few days R+R

I've had a couple of days off and have been busy watching the rest of Season 2 of Lost (Yeah I know, sad or what?). But now that mental block is out of the way I can get back to other things.

I started at 18.45 Sunday night and got my first job in....you guessed it Maida Vale. It's a public holiday here tomorrow or later on today and according to the calendar it's to celebrate Pentecost or Whitsun which is the seventh Sunday after Easter, commemorating the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples and the birth of the Christian Church. Anyhow, it felt like a Friday or Saturday night and there were lots of clubbers out and about. I'm doing a couple of evenings but intend to be back out during the day from Tuesday.

I picked up an Irish couple. Both of them were half cut, They wanted O'Neills in Wardour Street. They must have kissed the Blarney Stone at some point in their lives because they sure could talk. Incidentally it's something I would like to do too before I meet my maker. When we got there they wanted me to park up and come in for a drink with them but I gracefully declined their offer. He gave me a fifty pound note for the 9.20 fare and told me to keep the change. When I thanked him profusely he realised he had worded it wrong and said "sorry, I meant keep the coins and give me the notes" I knew it was too good to be true. There was a long queue at O'Neills and his partner suggested going somewhere else but he said he knew someone on the door and they'd get in no problem. As I sat there putting the money away I watched him go up to the doorman and say a few words to him. The doorman shook his head and they ended up joining the queue with the twenty odd other people.

It must have been gay night tonight because the best part of my fares were all to or from gay clubs. Fabric is a club next to the Smithfields Meat Market and I went there no less than four times. I would rather have a cab full of gay men than a cab full of drunk straight men anyday because they know how to behave themselves and the conversation is always more interesting, I also got my best tips from them.

Last Thursday I did a job up to Walthamstow in north London and feeling peckish got myself a Donner Kebab from a place in Hoe Street. Within an hour of eating it my guts were churning so bad I had to go home. The meat must have been rotten or something. I must remember to stick to my regular eateries.

Lost

I’ve been watching Season 1 of Lost over the last few nights. It’s very addictive when watched back to back and I’ve had to ration myself to 6 episodes a night. I’ve now seen the whole season and have to find a way of getting the next season without waiting months for it to come out over here.

I started late today due to watching a double dose of Lost. I was out and about by 1pm. One of the first jobs I had to do was to take a lady whose car had run out of juice to the garage to fill her petrol can.

My passenger at the pump

She brought the can back to the cab full to the brim and all the petrol was leaking everywhere. I made her go back into the pay booth to get a couple of carrier bags to put it in then drove her back to her Mini.

Fuzzy but back at her car

I needed to buy my son a universal remote control for his TV so I stopped at Argos in Victoria. My brother in law Lloyd rang me at the same time and said he was on his way over Vauxhall Bridge so we met up by the shop and had coffee and a Cornish Pasty in Victoria Station. The remote control worked without putting a code in and has apparently got thousands of codes pre-loaded so it will be handy when one of our other remotes disappear as they do on a regular basis.

It was “Cab Rent” day today. Another £180. That’s the third lot since I sold my cab. The weeks seem to come and go so quickly. There was no crack (banter) at the garage today. Everyone was lost in their own little world and nobody wanted to check my levels so lost out on the tip. I needed a few things doing on the cab such as those vibrating wings and those lights on the dash but gauging the mood I thought it best to leave it till another time.

I’ve been updating my Venue Database on my Palmtop handheld and it helped me out a couple of times today with a restaurant and a hotel. Andrew Edmunds (restaurant) 46 Lexington Street W1 and The Ramada Encore London West. 4 Portal Way W3 off A40 Westway.

My Palm Tungsten C, I love it dearly

The rest of the jobs I did today were completely uneventful. There was a bit of rain and the traffic wasn’t too bad. On my way home I decided to put some diesel in rather than do it tomorrow and was greeted by a sign on the pump. It’s a sign of the times when garages have to resort to these measures and I think it’s gonna get a whole lot worse.

Sign of the times

Good Start

I had a cracking first job yesterday from what’s fast becoming the place to pick up. A man flagged me down in Maida Vale. I seem to trap here every time I start work. It’s quite an exclusive area with many well-known residents. I live just a few hundred yards from the main Maida Vale road but in a different borough so my street is nowhere near as posh. Anyway, this guy was all flustered and obviously under extreme pressure to run some errands for whoever paid his wages. First stop and most importantly was a cash point to get my money. From there we went straight into the West End to Massimo Dutti on Regent Street. If any of you know Regent Street during the day it’s impossible to park there let alone wait for any length of time while people nip out to do a spot of shopping. He expected me to simply pull up outside the shop and wait. I told him he had Bob Hope and no hope of me doing that and I would have to wait a couple of streets away. He wasn’t too happy about that but it was the only option. 20 minutes later he returns weighed down with bags and more stressed out than ever. Next stop was Russell & Bromley, a shoe shop in Conduit Street. A bit easier to wait here but still busy with wardens lurking. He was in and out in 2 minutes empty handed. Gucci in Sloane Street was next. He spent 15 minutes in there and I had to drive round the block twice due to being moved on. I was getting a bit stressed myself but consoled myself in the knowledge that this would be a good earner.

Gucci, Sloane Street, Chelsea

Onto Its’u, a Sushi Bar on Walton Street, Chelsea “to get myself some lunch” he said. I tried Sushi recently and spat it out as it tasted revolting.

Its'u, Walton Street, Chelsea

Next stop was The Conran Shop on Sloane Avenue. It had a cab rank right outside the door but the goods must have been ready for collection as he came out loaded with bags within about a minute. Gordon Watson in Fulham Road was next. He was struggling with a heavy box so I jumped out and gave him a hand. Last pick up was a shop in Kings Road called Guinevere. It was all blacked out so I couldn’t see what type of shop it was but he came out with more bags. The back of the cab was looking pretty full now as we drove to the Old Gasworks behind the Harley Davidson shop where he had an office. Total fare for an hour and a half’s work with a bit of stress thrown in…….£60 including a nice tip. One of those a day and life would be sweet.

As he was getting out there were people waiting to get in. I took them in to Central London and decided to get to a bank before a long job took me out of the area. I found a parking spot on Dover Street and someone had kindly left an hour and a half on the meter. At £1 for each 15 minutes that worked out to £6 they’d left on there. I took the opportunity to get myself some lunch from Prêt a Manger in Piccadilly and sat in the cab watching the world go by using up the previous motorists’ parking time. Can it get any better than that?

The only other fare with anything to comment on was a frail old lady I picked up from Paddington Station. They brought her to the cab on one of those buggies and it took her a few minutes to get in, prompting the cabs waiting behind me to honk their horns. We set off towards Liverpool Street Station and I knew it was going to be a heavy journey due to the cross-town traffic. Half way down Park Lane she pipes up with “Driver, where on earth are we going?” “Liverpool Street” I pipe back. “Why are we going west then?” (We were travelling south east) “You’re obviously not a local so why don’t you just relax and enjoy the ride?” she muttered something unintelligible and we continued on our way. The traffic was bad all the way and I half expected her to comment on the ever increasing metered fare. When we got to Liverpool Street Station I had to go and find the Customer Assistance guys to come and collect her with another buggy (leaving the meter running of course). That added another couple of pounds as they took nearly 10 minutes. The fare was £23 and she gave me £4 on top and thanked me for my help. What a nice old dear!
So, the verdict on my first full week of day work? Hard work but quite enjoyable and profitable.