I'm a back.

Well folks, I’m back – refreshed and raring to go. Not.
My last work night was Sunday the 9th of September and I had to leave the cab at the garage. Chris of Titanic Struggles had been working the same shift and agreed to meet me there and take me home to get my luggage and then drop me off at my parents house in Harrow.
I emptied the cab of serious amounts of crap that had accumulated over the last year and finally I put the front of the radio-cassette together with the keys into an envelope and posted it through the letterbox. As we were driving away I realized I hadn’t removed one final thing from the arm-rest compartment – my wallet, with about £500 inside. I could have cried. Worst-case scenario was that the window would be broken and left overnight and I would inform the garage by phone. Before I did that I went back to the letterbox and stuck my hand inside. To my amazement and joy the envelope hadn’t gone to the bottom and I managed to pull it out – almost ripping it. Drama over and I finally came to terms that I was on holiday.

To spare you all the boring details let’s just say that the holiday went well and I did plenty of relaxing, drinking, eating, driving and seeing friends and family.
There is one incident of note, which I will tell you about. Two days after arriving I set out in my hired Ford Fiesta to find a pub that would be showing the England v Russia game live. I found quite a few places and settled for a place on the outskirts of Torrevieja. It was a small community called Chaparral and the bar was called Boz’s bar. Now I’m not a big drinker any more on account of driving for a living. But I have been known to let my hair down (metaphorically – as I have none) from time to time. I started drinking pints of San Miguel and by the end of the game, which England won, I was rat-arsed. I was getting concerned calls from my kids pleading with me not to drive the car back to where I was staying with my Mum. I remember very little of these conversations and have since been told that I was talking pure bollocks down the phone. I remember even less leaving the bar and getting in to the car and flaking out. Being a left-hand drive car I must have thought I was back in London as I got into the right hand side and promptly nodded off with the door wide open and my phone on the dash for anyone to steal. All I remember is someone shaking me and telling me in Spanish that I had been there for two hours and was in danger of getting caught by the police. So, probably still way over the legal limit, I drove the few miles home, the streets were empty as it was almost 2am and then had to endure the wrath of my Mum who was worried sick. All in all a very stupid thing to do but I think I can be allowed one stupid act every ten years don’t you think?
The flight back to England was delayed an hour and my son, who was picking us up got lost on the M1 whilst we waited in the freezing cold for him to collect us.

The following morning I had to collect my cab and waited on my street for a Licensed Taxi to drive along. After twenty minutes of waiting I got fed up and walked the few hundred yards to the nearest miniscab office and was picked up immediately and transported to my destination by a very talkative Somalian guy at a cost of £12.

The cab was waiting for me as I entered the garage but so was a nasty surprise. Jim, the genial Irishman, informed me that I had been photographed running a red light in Parkhurst Road and that another three penalty points would be added to my license, making it nine points in total. Only three more to go for a six-month ban and loss of my livelihood – I’m really going to have to take care now. I paid them £90 for three days rental and drove home. I never came out later on as there were a million and one things that needed doing at home but over the next two nights I managed to earn the best part of a double-bottle.

Whilst driving up St. James’s Street yesterday evening the doorman of Le Caprice was out there looking for a cab for one of the punters. When the guy got in he asked me for the private terminal at Gatwick. Welcome home London Cabby. Chris was on the phone to me at the time and was quite gutted at my luck, as his evening wasn’t going fantastically well. Once down at Gatwick it took a while to find his destination as I only ever take regular passengers to the North and South terminals. I opted for the South Terminal turn off and guess what? It was the wrong one. We got stuck in solid traffic, which added at least a fiver to the already high meter. His terminal was nearer to the North Terminal and as we arrived his pilot was there to greet him and almost bowed at him as if he was royalty. The fare was £101 exactly and he gave me six twenties and waited for the change. I gave him one of the twenties back as I couldn’t be arsed to give all my change away and he just shrugged and walked off.

I only did a few jobs tonight as one of them went straight past my front door and I couldn’t resist the urge to go in. It’ll still be there for me tomorrow, and the next day.

Be Lucky.

Check back soon.

Four More Days to Go

As the countdown to my ten days in Spain continues there has been a flurry of activity on the home front.

My Dad had an appointment at the Hammersmith Hospital today and I had to drive him over there from Harrow. He’d made a remark about being short of breath to a nurse and the next thing he knows is he’s having blood tests, chest x-rays, heart x-rays, ECG’s the works. He’ll get the results in 8 weeks.

My daughter went back to school today. She recently passed all he GCSE’s and decided to study for another year.

My eldest son starts a new job on Monday. It’s an IT based job at a well-known diamond company in central London.

And finally, wait for it, (drum roll and fanfare of trumpets), my other son Michael starts a job, also on Monday. After months of bad luck he has finally used some family influence to secure a post in the warehouse section of a superstore. It’s only temporary for three months but it may lead to something else.

I have been galvanized into action after working out what I will need to put by whilst I’m away. I’m about a week short of reaching my target so a few bills will have to be held back until I return. And I’m sorting out a “rubber dub dub” from a friend of mine who’s offered to help out, ain’tcha Golden Bollocks eXtraordinaire?

I started later today on account of the early start to take my Dad to the hospital. After I got home I had a few more hours sleep and started at around nine-ish. My Orange mobile signal was non-existent and I came back home to get a spare phone and check online if there were any problems with the network. Did anyone else have trouble with Orange on Wednesday evening?

Work was steady and there were only a few twats to report on.

An elderly European twat, I mean lady, from Mayfair to Sussex Gdns via Queensway to drop someone off. The1st passenger gets out and I head for the next drop. I work my way round to Craven Road and decide to take the right into Gloucester Terrace. Then all hell breaks loose in the back.

“What are you doing, this is wrong, this is not fair?” She pipes up screaming and banging on some part of the interior. I think to myself “Oh fuck, we’ve got one”

It’s what I call a nothing decision. You can get to the same destination by going one way or the other and it costs the same.
I remain calm whilst she’s going doolaly.
“I’m not a tourist, I’ve lived in London for twenty years and what you’re doing is wrong.” She continues ranting. I try and explain to her that one way is as good as the other but she seems intent of making an issue out of it.
She’s getting her knickers in a twist for absolutely nothing. It’s actually quite comical.
“Madam……Madam……..Madam” I try and get a word in but she completely gone. Time to switch personalities a little.
“Madam!!!” I scream out. Anyone passing would have to wonder what the hell was going on inside the cab. I seem to have got through to her and she stops to hear me out. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Just calm down, relax yourself, you’ll be home in seconds”. And literally seconds afterwards we arrive at her house. You’ll notice that I never swore at her because inspite of all that was going on I could still see that she was a “Lady”. It did the trick and she did indeed calm down and stated that she was tired and had been on the go all day but I still told her off for unjustifiably “losing it” with me. She apologized and tipped a pound extra and that was that.

Towards the end of the shift I found that I was stuck on £20 short of my target so decided to try my luck on the South Kensington rank. The nightclub, Boujis, located about 50 meters away, was open for business and there were lots of nice people milling about. What do I get? Twat number two. A drunk mess who wants Earls Court, not a fantastic ride at the best of times. Then he says he needs to go via a food outlet. Then he tries to make conversation with me but I’m not really in the mood for his drunken ramblings. He’s younger than me by a good few years yet he talks like an old Etonian.

Him: “So Old Boy, how’s you’re night been?”
Me: “Not great, if the truth be told”
Him: “Splendid, splendid” he’s obviously misheard me.
Me: “What d’you want to eat, there’s a McDonalds in Earls Court Road we can stop at”
Him: “No, no, no. I don’t eat that shite. I want something completely unhealthy like a kebab”

There was a kebab shop at the top of Earls Court road and we stopped there. He got out and paid me. As I gave him the change he said, “Well bowled Old Boy” and waved me off. Strange one that.

I drove down the remainder of the road and headed towards Gloucester Road where I knew Opal would probably yield one last job. It did and it was going to, of all places, my street, only he was in the posh bit. We had an interesting conversation about advertising (I can talk bollocks with the best of them if it means getting a good tip) and he had lots of ideas he was trying to sell to various agencies. I wished him luck and headed back towards the Tesco on Sutherland Avenue to get my daughter her lunch for school later on today.

Only four more working days to go. I’ll start packing in a few days and leaving things as prepared as they can be for my lot here to get through the 11 days without me. I may well make one final post before I go so keep checking. If it’s not there by Sunday night then it won’t be there until I return sometime after September the 21st.

Be Lucky.

The Nose Revisited

It was still light as I passed under the Admiralty Arch this evening so I took the opportunity to photograph "The Nose". It really is a nose isn't it? I'd love to know the story behind it so if anyone knows more than the article in Wikipedia then please feel free to share. For best results click on each picture and magnify them.

Admiralty Arch Today

The Nose View 1

The Nose View 2

Work was pretty brisk tonight after a slow start. Once again my mate Chris had a blinder whilst I was a good 30 - 35% behind him. We stopped for a coffee at Marylebone Station around 10.30 to compare notes and then we both drove onto the rank and within minutes we both had jobs to (him) Swiss Cottage and Gospel Oak (me).

The entire evening was pretty uneventful except for when I picked up a scruffy young man from the bus stop in Rosebery Avenue. He asked to go to Putney and promptly nodded off. All the way there I was telling myself that I should've asked for money up front and was getting all worked up. I was convinced that I was about to get knocked (not paid) and I even rang Chris so that he could witness the knocking, albeit via the telephone. I decided to wake him by shouting at the top of my voice under the pre-text of asking him if he might need a cashpoint enroute. It took a few loud shouts to wake him and I then asked him if we needed to stop at a cashpoint. He said he was OK for money and the manner with which he said it put me a little more at ease. Once we arrived in his street he pulled out a wallet stuffed with every kind of note. He was about to offer me a fifty and then changed his mind for two twenties instead. The fare was £31.20 and that's all I got but I was happy to get paid at all. All I can say is never judge a book by it's cover.......but we do don't we?

My last job took me out to Richmond and then I made my way home via a Tesco Express to buy a few bits for the kids.

Well it's now September the first and I go away on the tenth so only nine days to go and I've got a hell of a lot to do before then.

Check back soon.

His Royal Badness

I had a ticket to see Prince at the O2 with my daughter on Tuesday but decided to work instead. I gave the ticket to her cousin and took them both over there. I did a few hours work and then went back south to pick them up. Traffic was amazingly light as most of the crowd opted for the Underground. The queue for North Greenwich Station was mental. By all accounts it was a great concert and my daughter said she was literally feet away from him at the front. She’s so obsessed with him now that we have to go out later today and buy some “Prince stuff”. God help me.

Prince

On the road

The O2 at night

My friend of many years, Chris of Titanic Struggles, has decided he wants to try nights for a while. He likes the fact that you can fly around London without traffic and claims that the money earned is “money for old rope”. Wait till he’s had a few pukers and losers without money, he’ll be back on days in a flash. We were in constant contact tonight via comms link, that’s a mobile phone to you lot. He had a decent night all things considered and his takings were twenty percent better than mine considering we did similar hours.

I started around an hour and a half after him and finished an hour after he had finished. It took me a while to get going after my first job from Paddington Station and I knew it wasn’t going to be a great night, well it was only Wednesday.

I was on the rank at Victoria when a guy started walking down the line. “Click” went my central locking. He wasn’t too steady on his feet, infact he looked rat-arsed drunk. He got to my window and asked if I took Credit Cards. I did, but I wanted to know a little bit more before I agreed to take him. He wanted to go to Twickenham in South West London and he’d give me a nice big tip. A forty-pound job I thought, plus possibly a fiver tip, what the hell? “Yeah jump in mate”. He started complaining about why all cabs don’t accept Credit Cards and I had to explain that as we were all freelancers and that it wasn’t obligatory to subscribe to radio circuits that only about twenty percent of London Taxis had the necessary equipment to process Credit Cards. I don’t think he gave a shit for my explanation and proceeded to nod off. The ride was uneventful until he awoke at the St. Margaret’s Roundabout and told me to turn after the Stoop. He then said something that always gets my back up. “Was that me or you that just farted”. I knew it wasn’t me because I’d decided a few years back to never fart with passengers in the cab as they (the farts) invariably end up traveling backwards. “Well you should know if you just farted mate” I said indignantly “but I’m fucking sure it wasn’t me,” I continued. He then went off on a rant saying who’s ever the fart belonged to must have had Chicken Curry (definitely not me as I had steak). He’d probably farted in his sleep and woke up engulfed in the fumes. I should have thrown a match in and ignited the fumes then we’d have known who the culprit was. He then started directing me to his road and after a few turns we arrived. Out comes the American Express Corporate Card. The equipment I use to process credit cards is the XDA II Pocket PC that is also my Xeta terminal for work. Everything has to be entered manually and then authorized by the control room. The only down side is that credit card jobs can only be processed at the end of the journey so by the time a problem arises it often to late to do anything about it. The first attempt came back “Invalid Card” as did the second. Having never had a card declined since being with Xeta I’d almost given him the card back and let him walk off. I had to tell him “Sorry mate the cards no good”. “It’s a business card, I use it all the time mate,” he answered back. “Well I’ve tried it twice and it’s not having it, you’ll have to pay cash”. I started getting annoyed at his body language and was preparing to spring (yes, me, spring) out of the cab and punch his lights out. He produced a personal card from his wallet and I had difficulty in reading the worn numbers to manually enter them but eventually managed to enter them. I gave him the receipt to sign and he entered a £5 tip which made me feel a bit of a dick for getting annoyed at him but I made a mental note to not accept credit rides from drunk arseholes unless I can get the money up front or somehow verify their cards first. (I think I could’ve done it over the phone but never thought I’d need to.

As I was driving back in to town this message came up on my terminal and brought home to me the dangers of going about one's business.

Sobering Message

On the way back in to town I passed by Hammersmith and trapped a job out to Popes Lane in Gunnersbury. For some reason I started driving like a maniac and had the Asian guy outside his front door within a few minutes. He passed a twenty through the partition and said “you’re an amazing driver” to which I thanked him for his kind words.

The work had dried up by now and I had to drive all the way back to Victoria before I got my next fare. After a twenty-minute wait I ended up with a short hop to Vauxhall Bridge. Back at Victoria and another twenty minute wait for a marginally better job to Kennington. As I was pulling away from that one a guy hailed me in Kennington park Road and asked for Canonbury Grove. He was drunk or high or something and was soon out for the count. It took several loud shouts from me to rouse him and a few more minutes for him to realize what planet he was on but he eventually paid up and gave me a decent tip as well. I was now ready to go home but kept my light on all the way through the Angel, Pentonville Road, Kings Cross and Euston Road.

It was desperately quiet and there wasn’t a hand in sight. Oh well, tomorrow should be a good day.

12 Days to go.

Check back soon

The London Nose

I got a call from a cabby mate of mine. He wanted to test my knowledge, as he does from time to time, and he had a very obscure point to test me on. There are many, many adornments, anomalies and protrusions situated on buildings all over the capital such as “the policemans hook” or Hitlers dog or the one he asked me about, the London nose, which, until highlighted by somebody else, are almost impossible to find out about. As ever, I am always intrigued when something like this is brought to my attention and I will have to verify it with my own eyes the first chance I get. I checked Wikipedia and found that they had a short paragraph on the nose in their “Admiralty Arch” section, and I quote: “An infamous feature of Admiralty Arch is its "nose". On the inside wall of the northernmost arch there is a small protrusion the size and shape of a human nose. There is little or no public information as to why it is there. The nose is at a height of about seven feet, and would sit at waist high for anyone riding through the arch on a horse. Tradition holds that it is Napoleon's nose. It was to be rubbed by anyone riding through the arch.” I have since passed through the Arch and witnessed this nose for myself but am yet to rub it, so I can now use it in my repertoire of places of interest when I’m chatting to a passenger. I have yet to witness the Policeman’s Hook (St. Martin’s Lane area) or Hitlers Dog (Location unknown to me), and probably a hundred other curiously interesting things around town.

After my trip to Manchester last week the cab has really been misbehaving. The gearbox has been leaking constantly and several large puddles of fluid have formed on my drive. The engine has been emitting serious amounts of black smoke and I have had several cabbies and motorists pull up next to me to tell me what I already know. A sign of how bad things are with the gear box really hit home when I picked up four large men on one particular night and struggled to climb Muswell Hill. I ended up putting the cab into first gear and praying it would make it. By the Friday just gone I’d had enough and drove to my garage. £400 rent was owed and I had to overdraw the money from a cashpoint as I never had it on me. The owner was in the office as I arrived and I told him my problem expecting some sort of bullshit. He got a mechanic straight onto it and the mechanic took it for a road test to see what he was dealing with. When he came back he said to me “D’you want the good news or the bad news?” “Go on” I said. “The smoke problem I can sort out but the gearbox is fucked. I found bits of clutch in the fluid”. “Lovely” I joked. The owner was standing there hearing this too and started muttering something about a thousand pounds under his breath. It was decided to make an appointment for the gearbox to be overhauled at a garage in East London and they would call me with the exact time and date, probably next Wednesday. Here’s hoping they can put things right for once and for all.

As my holiday draws ever nearer the urgency to work harder increases, but it still isn’t at the critical stage as I still go home all to easily. Now that the football season has started I find my self staying in to watch games when I should be out. The last ten days will probably see me “wake up” and get my finger out.

Friday night was, as expected, extremely busy. I found myself working in and around north London. I would get all the way in only to trap a job back out to places like The Angel, Stamford Hill and even did one as far as Woodford.

This weekend is the Notting Hill Carnival and preparations were well under way this evening for Europe's biggest street party. Many streets are closed off during this time and traffic is always chaotic. I will try and avoid the area if at all possible.

Hopefully there’ll be something a bit more “meaty” to blog about in a few days so I’ll leave you all with that to look forward too.
16 days to go.
Check back soon.

Uncle Joe

I went on a road trip to Manchester yesterday with my daughter, my sister and my niece.
My uncle, Joe Silmon, who lives there, was celebrating his 70^th birthday and family members from all parts of the country converged on his flat in the Longsight area of the city. He has been a jazz musician most of his life and is quite well known in the North West and although I’m not a jazz lover I did enjoy the two hour set he played with his band mates. After an early start and an evening of celebration I then had to drive for another four hours back to London and never hit the pillow until 5am this Sunday morning.

Joe Silmon

These last few weeks have seen me working away as normal trying to get money together for my forthcoming holiday in Spain.

Whilst sitting on the South Kensington rank recently an elderly lady slowly approached me and asked to be taken to the Chelsea & Westminster Hospital on the Fulham Road. As the rank is positioned in the middle of the road there is no kerb so it is harder for some people to climb into the cab. This lady was having some trouble and I offered to give her a hand, which she accepted. I got in to the back through the other door and suggested that I pull her in but she said it would be easier if I got behind her and pushed her up by her backside. Reluctant to do this, I checked with her that it was ok to “touch her there” to which she consented. Nothing for it but to place my hands on her mushy butt-cheeks and give her a gentle shove. The seat of her leggings were soaking wet and as I turned away I had a sniff to make sure it wasn’t piss. Well, wouldn’t anyone? I couldn’t decide whether it was piss or whether she’d been sitting on a wet bench somewhere but as soon as I got back in my seat I took a couple of wet-wipes and washed my hands. Her exit from the cab was much easier and she gave me a two-pound tip. Once away from there I pulled over and wiped the seat with some McDonald's tissues and sprayed a bit of air freshener and nobody was any the wiser.

It’s Thursday night and I’m number two on the rank at Victoria. An enormous bloke accompanied by a little old lady approach the front cab. The guy has to bend down to speak to the driver. The driver then shakes his head and roars off. I’m next. “How much to Highbury mate?” he says to me. “About twenty to twenty five” I reply. This guy is massive and he has an enormous belly. His T-shirt has ridden up over his belly and he made no attempt to pull it back down. He looks in-bred and above all like a complete loser. The old dear with him looks like she’s had a hard life but keeps quiet. My Spidey-sense says “No, don’t do it”. My mouth says “OK mate jump in” but my brain is saying “don’t be a cunt, drive off like the other bloke did”. And off we go. All the way there this guy is telling this women to “shut the fuck up” and calling her a “stupid bitch”. From what I could gather they are looking for something in one of their bags, perhaps keys, maybe money. Anyway, we arrive at one of the side streets next to the old Arsenal stadium. He gets out leaving her to deal with the money. The meter reads £23.40. She places a hand full of shrapnel into my cupped hands and I start to count. There were eight pound coins, four Euros and a few cents. “There’s not enough here love” I tell her. “That’s all I have,” she replies in a near to tears voice. I just knew they were going to be trouble. For all I knew the guy at Victoria probably had them in his cab before. “I’ll see if there’s any money inside,” suggested the old girl. I knew there wouldn’t be so taking a small amount of pity on her I said to her “D’you know what? Just go, OK?” And then as if she’d been expecting me to say that she said, “Thank you, may the Lord bless you and bring you good luck” I couldn’t help but think it was a tried and tested way of them getting home for under a tenner but as long as it only happens once or twice a year I can live with that.

It’s now almost eight in the evening and I’m off to work.

23 days left until my holiday.
Check back soon.

It's Too Hot Man!!!

After all the rain in the last few weeks the weather has now done an about face. I’ve had to do a few early turns this week and the heat and brightness have been unbearable.

I haven’t had much time to blog in the last few weeks as I’ve been otherwise engaged earning a living and running a household.

My daughter is now back from San Diego and the peace at home has now been shattered.

All of a sudden she’s in to Prince and wants to go see him in concert at the O2 in a few weeks. Her Nan has booked the tickets and she wants me to take her on the night. More loss of earnings!

I’ve spent the last few weeks ferrying different people too and from Luton and Gatwick Airports. I’m due to collect my niece and her friend from summer camp tomorrow and take her friend to Luton Airport for a flight back to Malaga in Spain. My niece is staying an extra week and then she too will need to be taken to Luton Airport.

I paid my £800 cab rent last week and by Monday £400 will be owed again.

I gave the mechanic at the garage a list of faults to be getting on with and was pleased with the results of his labour. An annoying rattle from somewhere at the back was stopped and that burning gear oil smell also seems to have gone. Don’t get me wrong it’s still a heap of shit but it will do for now.

I’ve been doing some nice rides on Xeta these last few weeks. Most of them are LUL (London Underground Limited) rides which only pay 75% of the meter but most of the ones I’ve done have paid over forty pounds. The last one I did on Wednesday night was a 7 hander starting at Knightsbridge and picking up and dropping of at various destinations and ending up in Cockfosters in North London.

I worked two shifts yesterday and did all cash work as for some reason I missed out on the account work. There was plenty of street work and my main pick up area was Victoria.

In spite of all the troubles we’ve had in the last month there are still plenty of tourists in town. Whilst sitting in the traffic in Oxford Street yesterday an Australian lady jumped in and asked if I accepted credit cards. Thinking she was going on a road trip I said yes and she named her destination as Harvey Nicholls. She then proceeded to complain to someone on her phone that she had left her credit card at home and that she was on a major shopping spree and how the hell was she going to be able to shop without her card as she had no money and no means of getting any. I’m thinking to myself how the hell is she gonna pay me never mind her shopping. She then started talking to me about it so I took the opportunity to ask her how I was getting my money. Apparently, she had a corporate card on her but her personal credit card was on the table at home and she was in town to shop for a forthcoming wedding. Without her own card she would just have to window shop – only a woman could do that. The fare was £6.60 and that’s all I got.

An American lady called me a “wanker” the other night because I wouldn’t take her and her pals to Oakwood for £40. I thought the price would be nearer to £50 and when I told them that they surrounded the cab and got all argumentative and hostile on me. I said “if you’re going to quibble for £10 then forget it” and started driving off, which is when that lovely world was issued to me. I get insults hurled at me on a regular basis, it’s just one of the delights of being a cabby.

I’m writing this on my break. I’ve already done four hours work and have come home to cool down before the Friday night madness. I’ll see if I can steer clear of any trouble tonight!
38 days to go.
Check back soon.

PICTURE WARNING!! Not for the faint hearted.

It’s all gone a bit Pete Tong these last few days. For one reason or another I have lost the impetus to work full shifts and have only managed half shifts or days off. It started on Monday when I was asked to make up the numbers in the darts team. As it turned out we won for the first time this season. I think a lot had to do with the new darts I bought myself at Gerry’s of Wimbledon last week but the rest of the team would beg to differ, especially one player, Steve, who managed to score his first ever 180.

On Tuesday I was just gearing myself up for an early start when my brother in law rang me for directions to a far away place. His Tom Tom software recently got erased from his PDA and he needed to take four Indian guys on a two hundred mile road trip to Llangollen in North Wales. It was a complicated route so I decided to stay at home and constanly update him via the phone. The journey was a nightmare for him as it had started during the rush hour. About five hours into the trip and they changed their destination to Chester, near Liverpool. The meter total was £706 and there seemed to be a problem getting the money together. I was listening the whole time on the phone and caught comments such as “It’s a lot of money” from one of the passengers followed by “yeah and it’s a long journey as well” from my brother in law. He hadn’t expected to be paid the full amount on the meter and had sugested they pay £600 but after much screwing around he eventually cut his losses and settled for five. I then had to guide him to the M6 for the journey home and only when he was safely London-bound did I decide to go out for a few hours myself. I managed a multi pickup and drop LUL job from Earls Court eventually ending in West Sutton to finish my shift about five hours later. The brother in law was only just reaching London’s outer limits by then. He took the next day off through fatigue so lost the gains he’d made the day before. Sometimes these “roaders” are just not worth it.

Yesterday I paid a visit to my parents’ house. My mum was flapping because her nine-year-old washing machine, which she’d recently spent a fortune on getting repaired, was on the blink yet again. She was in a dilemma about whether to have more repairs done or to buy a new one. I convinced her to get a new one with a five-year warranty and drove her straight to Comets before she could change her mind. The one she wanted wasn’t in stock so she picked another one, which was, and I put it in the cab and drove her and the machine back home. It was easy enough to plumb in, something I’ve done a half dozen times before. I told her I’d get rid of the old one and she tried to get me to remove all the new parts from it such as the new water pump and an extra long waste pipe that was attached to the pump. I checked the pipe against the new one and found it wouldn’t fit but she took it and put it away “just in case it comes in handy one day” but the water pump went with the machine which I left for the bin men to collect. By the time I got home I was knackered so only managed a few hours in the saddle before calling it a night.

This morning my legs were as stiff as boards after all the heavy lifting yesterday and I barely managed to walk downstairs. I had to go back to my parents’ house to connect a TV up so that my mum could watch her beloved novellas (soap operas) on the Spanish satellite channel TVE. I had a bite to eat up there then came home to nap for a few more hours. I was at work by 6.30pm and it started pretty slow. It eventually got busier and I trapped a nice job down to East Croydon. I was making my way back to the Kensington area to await an LUL job. The LUL jobs were just being issued on the radio when I trapped, what looked to me like a drugged up girl wanting to go to George St. I thought to myself that it would only take about ten minutes and even if I got offered an LUL job I would have time to get back and do it. So, I’m northbound on Park Lane and the smell hits me.

Me: Don’t tell me you’ve got sick?
Girl: Sorry
Me: For fuck sake what’s wrong with you women?
Couldn’t you have asked me to pull over?
Girl: I didn’t know I was going to be sick.
Me: I bet if you were at home you would have run to the toilet.
Girl: I’m really sorry. I’ll pay for it.
Me: You’re dam right you’ll pay for it and it’s gonna cost ya fifty quid!!

I was in danger of losing control and the expletives were flowing a bit too freely so I decided to check myself and calm down. I think she was a bit frightened and I’d hate that to be my daughter being insulted in the way I was insulting her but as I’ve said before when I lose it anything’s possible. She asked me to stop at the next ATM and asked how much she’d need to take out. We were at Marble Arch by now and there was twelve forty on the meter. I’m entitled by law to ask for up to forty pounds and one look at the carpet told me it would have to go. I told her fifty would cover it. Whilst she was at the ATM I took a picture of the puke. As well as the puke on my carpet she had a lot of it on her clothes too. She got back in and I drove her home to George Street where she handed me the fifty pounds and ran, embarrassed I should think, into her building. I drove straight home and washed as much out as I could and hopefully there’ll be no smell there in the morning. We’ll see. I was quite gutted as I wanted to do a bit more work but from past experience it’s best to try and neutralize the smell before picking up passengers as they can always tell.

The cab payment thing never happened on Wednesday like I thought it would so unless I can scrape £400 tomorrow by close of business it will be £600 due on Monday.

59 Days to go for my holidays.

Check back soon.

Nice and peaceful

It’s noticeably much more peaceful and quiet around here since my daughter went on holiday last week. No rows with her brother Michael. No “where’s this dad?” “where’s that dad?” “Can I have some credit for my phone?” “ Can you drop me to school?” I think I’m benefiting from the undisturbed sleep-in in the mornings as I go to work feeling completely relaxed and relatively stress-free. I think even the dog notices she’s not here as he spends more time pestering me to keep him entertained. She’ll be there for another few weeks so I’ll make the most of it while I can.

I attended one of my cabby mates’ 25th Wedding Anniversary yesterday. The weather stayed fine after all the rain we’ve had and there was plenty of food and drink for everyone. I spent a lot of the day standing and really felt it in my legs this morning.

London has been hosting several events in the last week that have caused roads to be closed causing major traffic problems. For the last few days the Tour de France has been preparing to start and there have been trials and the start of the race proper was today. (Can anybody tell me why the Tour de France is starting in London?) All the routes through the center of town have been seriously disrupted and some fares have gone double what they should have, some even treble. I did one job from Great Queen Street to Victoria Station, which would normally go a tenner, and at the drop off the fare was twenty-five pounds and the guy was squealing like a pig at the journeys end. It’s great if you haven’t got a conscience but unfortunately I have and often find myself knocking a few quid off.

I think it must be open season for kids to throw stuff at taxis. Another kid recently threw an apple at me but it bounced off the side of the cab. Whilst driving back to town through Barnes a few days ago I saw another boy getting ready to throw something at me but I slammed on the brakes and screamed at him and he ran into his house. Little buggers!!

The payments from my radio work have started to come through each week and it’s really helping me sort my finances out. The cab rent will be paid by Wednesday with only two weeks owing, which is good going for me. I’m compiling a list of problems that are actually now pissing me off and I am going to demand something is done. As I’ve said before I could change garages but I don’t want to and I can’t ask for another cab because they are reducing their fleet because of recent changes in the emissions laws which is causing the sale of the older cabs. It’s just a matter of putting aside some time so that it can be spent in a cramped office drinking lots of coffee and talking a lot of bollocks with similarly pissed off cabbies while the work on the cab is carried out.

A few days ago, I think it was Friday night, I picked up an extremely posh couple as they frantically waved me down in Piccadilly. “You’re like goldust tonight” the man said to me. Not really in a talkative mood (am I ever?) I mumbled something back and off we went towards Kensington. “Do you know we’ve been looking for a cab for the last twenty minutes?” the woman piped up. What could I say but “Oh yeah?” “Yes. We started off at the Embankment and eventually had to get a bus to here. I’ve never felt so humiliated in my life.” They looked ordinary enough to me; in fact I wouldn’t have given them a second glance so God knows why they’d feel humiliated to be riding on a bus. I suppose you’d have to be stuck-up to think that way in the first place. I nearly said something along the lines of “What, are buses not good enough for people like you?” but as ever I held my tongue and received a £2 tip for doing so. Sometimes you just have to keep schtumm!!

I’m counting down the days (63) until my own holiday on the 10th of September. I’m flying to Alicante where I will hire a car and drive to my parents’ flat in Torrevieja in southern Spain. I’ve even bought the Tom Tom map of Spain and Portugal so that I can use my satnav over there. Bring it on.

Oh Sh**!!

It’s all happening here in London, again. 2 car bombs in the West End and one up in Glasgow. The fact that they failed to go off matters not. What does matter is that we’ve all got to be on the look out for these maniacs and suffer the repercussions that normally comes with these events such as a drop in business as tourists decide to give London a miss for another year. There’s no point asking why as we all know the answer. What does get me is that these people, for the most part are British citizens. They’ve chosen to settle here or have even been born here and have enjoyed the freedoms and benefits a country like ours provides. To go and do what they’re doing makes no sense. They haven’t suffered as a result of Britain’s foreign policy. It’s a mad mad mad world and it’s gonna get worse.

So, early on Sunday morning, in the midst of all the extra security at our airports, I drove my daughter and her grandparents to Gatwick Airport to catch a flight to Charlotte, North Carolina where after a three hour wait they would catch another plane to San Diego for a three week stay with my daughters mother. As it happened, it wasn’t too painful and they have since landed and been collected and even sampled the delights of a Denny’s diner. My father in law was amazed at the size of the steak he was served and I told him to expect more of the same wherever they ate as it’s a well-known fact that everything’s bigger and better in America.

I had some work done on the suspension of the cab last week. Ball joints, tracking, shocks and bushes and it’s still a heap of shit. Every seam and bump in the road can be felt, how nobody has complained so far is beyond me. Another problem it has is when under load and going uphill there is a strong smell of burning transmission fluid as it must be leaking onto the exhaust somewhere. I told them this and they changed the oil instead of trying to find the leak. Other than that it’s performing pretty well and earning me loads of money.

The Xeta is still not pumping out the work but as long as I can do at least £50 a day on it I’m happy. I was doing a London Underground job yesterday where you have to pick up and drop of between 1 and 8 people. The job I did was a three-person pickup and the first passenger was out before the other two got in. The second passenger got in at Gloucester Road and had to connect with another taxi in Acton. My Third passenger was late. In fact she never appeared at all and the one already in the cab was fretting about missing her connection. I got onto control and was told I’d be contacted once a few calls had been made to LUL (London Underground Limited). Fifteen minutes later, no passenger, no phone call and plenty of grief from the pretty one in the back. She’s trying to ring her supervisor on her phone but is also having crappy luck. It’s all starting to get stressful. Another fifteen minutes later and nothing. Ten minutes after that I’ve had enough. Don’t they realize we’re human and that we’ve got emotions? I shouldn’t really give a shit because I get my money whatever happens but these people we’re picking up and taking home have done their days work and have to hang around like cattle whilst incompetent arseholes figure out where the network has broken down. I call control trying not to “lose the rag”. “Any chance of someone letting me know what the hell’s going on?” “I beg your pardon?” comes the reply. There’s only one or two controllers in the office at night and this voice was new to me. “This is Delta x x at Earls Court Station. I rang almost forty minutes ago to inform you that my final passenger was late and now she’s forty minutes late and the other passenger I have is worried she’s going to miss her connection can somebody please sort this out quick before I explode!!!” The controller puts me on hold to some nice 70’s Soul tune; I think it may have been Luther or Lionel. She’s back on the line in less than 60 seconds and tells me to leave without the final passenger. That was a shame because the final passenger was going to Southall and it would mean that the job would end after the one in the back got out at Acton. Clutching at straws I asked the controller that if my passenger’s connection has gone can I make a job of it and take her home to Sudbury? “No we’re not authorized to do that she’ll have to contact LUL herself” “What a bunch of cunts” I thought to myself as I hung up the phone and gave the passenger the bad news. Needless to say we arrived at Bollo Lane in Acton and her connection was long gone which would then leave her stranded at 2am in a dark and dodgy area. She tried to ring her supervisor a few more times and looked ready to cry as she got no reply. Fuck it; I was finished anyway so I drove her home to Sudbury free of charge. She was extremely grateful and thanked me profusely. It was time for a good deed anyway so hopefully it will reflect in some good luck for me anytime soon. Here’s hoping. As I was making my way home the controller rang and asked me where I’d dropped the passenger as her connection was waiting for her. Oh Shit!!

Xeta

I seem to have found the secret to eternal wealth and happiness. Well it’s really no secret. I’ve always known that to get what you want you have to go out and earn it. From last Sunday I have been putting in some serious hours and reaping some serious rewards. I can’t say too much as a few of my readers hate it when I reveal specifics for fear of arousing the interest of the people that take notice of these things.

So without revealing too many details I have to tell you that last Sunday was my best day ever. I recently joined the Xeta radio service and have been doing account work and cash alike. One of their accounts is with the London Underground and from midnight 7 days a week we have to take all members of staff home to every corner of London and the Home Counties. I have done this sort of work whilst on other circuits and the account seems to follow me around. As a gentle re-introduction to my radio-working life I was allocated a job with six pickups and six drops. The cab only seats five so the sixth pickup would obviously have to be after at least one passenger has got out. The first pickup was at Victoria Station and the passenger was almost 20 minutes late in appearing causing a chain of complaints all down the line as everyone else wondered where the hell I’d got to. I should also say that it’s not a conventional radio circuit. I have an O2 XDA IIi PDA as my terminal and any communication with control is via mobile phone. Needless to say I was called a half dozen times asking me my present location and eta to pick up. The six pickups were Victoria, St James’s Park, Westminster, Embankment x2 and Barking and the drop offs were Mile End, Upton Park, Barking, Upminster Bridge, Upminster and finally Grays Station in Essex. My satnav and mapping equipment really came into it’s own here and I was glad for it. I’d started the day at 11.30am and by the time I’d dropped off at Grays Station it was 1.45am on Monday morning. I never got home till 2.30 so at 15 hours in the saddle I have to say that’s the longest I’ve worked…ever.

I also did a rare job out to Heathrow as the train service from Paddington was down. My fare was a young Pakistani guy worried that he’d miss his flight. He had three hours from point of pickup and it only took 30 minutes but he never stopped fretting the whole way. Then he asked me for some discount from the £51.80 fare so I knocked the £1.80 off the end. How generous am I?

I used to work the airport years ago but it’s been a while since I entered the feeder park where all the cabs queue up. The main reason I haven’t been there is because a Cab Tag needed to be purchased at a high cost and I have always been put off by this but seeing as I was having a good day I took the opportunity to buy one. The actual tag was free for first timers so I only had to put credit on it in order to enter the queue. The waiting time was minimal and I was allocated Terminal 1 as my point of pick up. The traffic back into the Terminal area was manic and to make matters worse I had it in my head that I was picking up at T3. As I arrived on the T3 rank I realized my mistake and had to pull off and drive all the way round again. I ended up with a local to the Thistle Heathrow and had to ask another cabbie where it was as I’d been out of the loop for too long. You’re given an hour to complete a local and then you can go straight back to the Terminal and hopefully a nice job out into the countryside or one back in to town. Mine went in to Piccadilly and straight back into the work.

Last Sunday was the 25th anniversary of our victory in the Falklands War of 1982 and there were celebrations in Horse Guards Parade. Veterans proudly displayed their medals and I was hoping to pick one up so that I could let him off the fare. I never managed to pick one up but my brother in law did and never charged the fare.

Since Monday I have been out continuously working 12 hour plus shifts. Inspite of all that hard work I once again owe 4 weeks cab rent but it should be paid by Monday. I have a list of faults I need them to look at, most importantly the suspension which is making some extremely weird noises. I also had to change another wheel recently as the tread was below the minimum limit allowed.

My holiday is now booked and paid for September the 10th. I now have to work towards that and make sure there is money to meet all bills while I’m away and that I have enough spending money. Roll on September.

BT Tower

What a pleasant week I’ve had!!!

During the last week I’ve been screamed at, insulted, reported and stoned. And I don’t mean stoned as in illegal substances either.

The screaming happened as I was taking a fare to South Kensington from St Johns Wood. She’d only given me the area and not the street name so as I approached her turning (Thurloe Street) I was unaware I had to take the left and drove straight past it. The scream of “left, left, left!!!!” could have curdled milk and poisoned you to death at the same time as it was both screechingly loud and venomous at the same time. I’m sorry but I only have one word for women like that: SLAGS. On the phone all the way, not paying attention, expecting you to be mind readers and then talking to you like shit. I should put a sign up saying something like “If you’re a slag then fuck off!!”

As you may be able to guess I’m feeling pretty belligerent at the moment, probably not the best time to do this post but what the hell.

The insults were thrown at me as I stopped for an American guy who could barely stand up on the corner of Kings Road and Limerston Street last night. I should’ve done what the three other cabs before me did and just drive past him but I always feel like I can handle most situations. So he gets in and slumps in the back seat.

Me: Where to mate?
Him: f^$@&^$$(incoherent babble)
Me: What?
Him: (Starting to close his eyes) c@&*p^%$”$£$ (more incoherent babble)
Me: I need an address (loudly)
Him: Dunno
Me: I can’t take you without an address.
Him: Drive (indicating forward)
Me: No I need an address otherwise you’ll have to get out.
Him: Fughhh Offf!!

I jumped straight out of the cab and ran round to the nearside, yanked open the door and told him “I’ll give you fuck off you cunt, out!!!!!” He starts eyeing me up to see if he fancies his chances then starts telling me to fuck off again. There was a restaurant full of diners eating al fresco right by where I stopped and they were all enjoying the show. I knew they’d all be witnesses should matters take a turn for the worst so I made sure I just kept control. “get out of the taxi now!!” “Fuck off” he responds. Nothing for it but the old make out you’re calling the cops routine. I get back into the cab and make like I’m dialing and then fake a whole conversation with the emergency services controller making sure he could hear me describing him as a “little bald fat yank wanker”. (No offence to any decent Americans out there but when you lose it things just come out the way they do). That did the trick and he started getting out of the cab. As he got out I said “why don’t you stick around and then you can tell the cops to fuck of as well” He hurled a final few insults at me and walked off towards Sloane Square. Some people.

The “reporting” if you could call it that was a few days ago. I started work around 8pm and made my way to the Paddington Taxi Rank. There were no cabs on it and there was a little kid around 10 years old on a bike weaving uncertainly on the empty road. I gave him a wide berth and waited at the lights. Next thing he pulls up alongside my open window and says that I nearly ran him over. He was just trying it on as I was nowhere near him. I told him to get lost and that he was trespassing on station property. He proceeded to write my number plate down on a scap of paper and declare that he was going to report me. 10 years old and he’s already behaving like a twat. This country is in deep shit!!

And now to the stoning. Driving south along Grays Inn Road. A black kid with a hooded top is standing in the centre of the road. As I pass he throws a handful of stones at me. Luckily the four windows were down as it was hot but unluckily I caught one in the face. The kid runs off laughing while I pull over to check in the mirror. A lump is developing nicely and strangely I feel no pain, just a numbness spreading across my temple. Why he did that to me I have no idea. He probably did it for a dare or to look big in front of his mates but it won’t be long before he kills someone. I really despair of what is happening in this country.

I need a break and am planning a trip to Spain in September. I can’t wait.

My name is not Chris.

Hello there, avid readers.
First and foremost, my name isn't Chris. If you read "Chris the trouble magnets" comments in my last post, Chris being the person I was writing about, you'll see he mentions my name or one of a few names I go by. To date I answer to at least four different names.

Now that we've got that cleared up i'll reply to a few comments.

Ted Martin: I had an idea I read about it on your blog. I'd love to be able to have a laptop with lots of attatchments and gizmos but there's no way I'd be able to have a stand for it in the area immediately to my left as that is where we put luggage, unlike cabs in the US where they have enormous trunks (we call them boots). So I guess i'll have to settle for the much smaller PDA and subscribe to an isp like T Mobile that has WiFi hotspots all over town. Love your blog. Keep it up.

Jo: Hi there sis. I love over nuked pasta. Not overcooked where its all soft but over nuked where its crispy or even chewy at the bottom of the container. They do some lovely fillings for baguettes in the Piccolo my favourite being barbeque chicken. I've been going there for practically the whole 17 years I've been a cabby and only ever heard of one case of someone I know dropping two stones in a few days because he caught salmonella from a dodgy chicken escalope. What was yer man thinking taking you there for a meal? You'dve had a better feed up at the taxi shelter in Warwick Avenue or the Royal Oak!!

Tomartin: Feel free to use any of my material as it's there for everyones enjoyment and use but just don't expect me to participate in anything as I don't have the time or inclination.

Cabhack: I read so many blogs when I have the time and often link to them from other sites that I forget where I read them. I enjoy all the cab blogs and many others too. I read yours all the time and enjoy your stories so consider yourself "Blogrolled".

If any other cabbies want me to blogroll them just let me know.

Over the last few days I have watched the whole of 24 season 6. Jack's the man.

Since my last post I have paid the £800 cab rent and am hoping to pay a single week in the next few days before it runs into two weeks again. They never said a word to me and secretly I think it suits them to have some of us pay late as it just gets put straight into a paypacket for one of the mechanics.

The only incident worth writing about happened last night. It was fairly quiet and I was driving along Oxford Street towards Marble Arch. At the traffic lights I had more or less made up my mind to call it a night when one of my backdoors opened and a very evidently gay 50 something got in and asked for Ealing. He started rambling on about having been touched up by a rugged unshaven type without his permission in a bar close by. I knew I'd be blogging it so started goading him to tell me more about it. He went on to describe the ettiquette involved in these places and how this guy seemed to ignore it. He said in cases like this you would have to slap them across the face and tell them, in no uncertain terms, to go away but as he was only slightly built and the offender was "massive" he felt scared. I think he mistook my interest as a sign that I wanted some sort of involvement with him as he then proceeded to "chat me up". I laughed inwardly and just humoured him. We got to talking about all sorts of things "gay related" and I think he thought he'd cracked it when I gave him the bad news that I was not a cock lover but a pussy lover. After a while he asked me to pull over in Uxbridge Road and proceeded to puke his guts up between the cab and the kerb. He felt much better and declared that none of it had landed in the cab, much to my relief. He carried on with the sales pitch of why I would love to take it up the arse and to nosh a bloke off but I'm glad to say that I'm still 100% hetero sexual as we speak. He puked up once more in Ealing Broadway and soon after we reached his house. He'd also been talking about his dog and me about mine so as a last resort he asked if I'd like to come in and see his doggie. I think not.

Check back soon

It always happens to Chris!

Tuesday’s shift started with me putting £30 diesel in the tank at the Texaco in Edgware Road. I shot round to Paddington and got my first job, a shortish one to Mayfair. Being the third cab I had to wait for the other two in front of me to load up and pull out. The front cab was loading about 5 passengers and shitloads of luggage so it was taking quite a while and everyone around me was getting impatient. I already had the meter running and from the £2.20 flagdrop it had increased to £3.40 when the lady in the back pipes up. “Do I have to pay for being stuck here?” Luckily she caught me on a good day and I’d fully intended to reset the meter before she spoke. I told her so and she calmed down. The front cab was still trying to get all the luggage in the cab but was making extremely slow progress. In the end I had to reverse out, as it was, by this time, all clear behind me.

Being a Tuesday, I never expect too much but this one was turning out to be a good one. Most of the jobs were under ten pounds but if you do enough of them in quick succession it makes for a great shift. I ranked up at South Kensington at least 5 or 6 times. When I sit on ranks I like to scan the area with my iPaq to see if I can lock onto any wireless networks. Lot’s of them come up but are nearly always secure. I managed to lock on to the Pelham Hotel signal but my browser defaulted to the hotel homepage and wouldn’t let me surf the net. I read on someone’s cab blog that they use a laptop with an internet connection that only costs them $60 per month for unlimited browsing. Is that possible? I’d like to do something like that here so if anyone has any suggestions drop me a line.

So whilst admiring the Pelham homepage a guy walks up and asks for Richmond. I love jobs out that way. He was on the hurry-up as his girlfriend had arrived on a train at Richmond station and was waiting out front for him. He asked me to step on it and that he’d see me ok at the end. We got there in about 15 minutes and she was there waiting. He said to keep the meter running as they were going on. The little forecourt at Richmond Station is very tight and I was sort of in everyone’s way so I hoped he’d hurry up. He seemed oblivious to my problem as he stood there chatting and kissing her. In the end I had to honk the horn and as nicely as possible tell him to get his arse in gear as it was getting stressful. Once back in I said “where too now?” “Back to South Kensington please driver” It doesn’t get any better than that.

Wednesday’s shift was totally uneventful apart from the fact that I stopped at the Mayfair Piccolo for dinner. Spaghetti Bolognese, Chicken Escalope, a buttered baguette, two homemade custard tarts and a large latte all lovingly prepaired for me by Tina. I sat on the Intercontinental rank along with a few other dining cabbies and felt thoroughly bloated after eating all that. Although it was uneventful I still managed to take £8 more than Tuesday.

I never slept a wink on Wednesday night as I had a few things on my mind. I had to go for my annual retinal screening this afternoon and hopefully they won’t find any problems with my eyes. Michael came with me and after the screening we went to the café in Kensal Rise for lunch. I had Chicken Curry rice and chips and Michael had Spag Bol. I went home after that and got at least four hours sleep. When I got up there was no one at home so I had to ring around to see what everyone was doing.

I was at work by 8.05 and went straight to Paddington where my first job took me down to Hammersmith. After a few more jobs I got a call from my cabbie mate Chris. He normally works days but has been doing a lot of work on his garden and occasionally comes out to play at night. Whenever Chris is out in the evenings the chances of some sort of occurrence happening are greatly increased because he is the type of person that that sort of stuff happens to. Over the years he has had to call the police out on several occasions because of passengers pulling some shit or other on him. Tonight he picked up two people heading towards West Hampstead. The guy got out first and left the extremely drunk woman to go a further mile up the road. He was on the phone to me at the time and I heard him call through the partition to wake the lady up. It took several attempts by him for her to realize she was on planet Earth and she eventually woke up. I heard Chris tell her the price, which was around £15. As it was getting stressful he said he’d call me back. When he did he said that she’d had no money on her. She wanted to go into the house to get it and when Chris asked for some collateral she refused and called him a tosser. Wrong thing to say. Doors locked, next stop Fortune Green Police Station. He’d parked outside the Police Station and, reluctant to leave the cab unattended lest she get away he attempted to ring those inside. All they had to do was come outside and sort it out but they kept him waiting ten minutes. Chris flagged another cabbie and asked him to go inside and see what was keeping them. They eventually came out and mediated. She agreed to let Chris hold her phone whilst she went indoors to find some money. She came back out penniless and they had to drive back to West Hampstead to the Barclays. The fare had increased from £15 to just under £30 and he said she had tried to give him the £30 plus an extra £10 for his troubles but Chris refused the extra money (He’s funny like that ain’t ya Chris?) I would’ve took the money and then slagged her off for calling me a tosser but that’s just me. Thankfully these occurrences don’t happen too often but I suppose it makes for good blogging fodder when they do.

So whilst Chris was having fun trying to get paid I was quietly going about my business of driving hither and thither for maximum returns. A nice little five job sequence happened for me during the above period. Oxford Street to Waterloo, Waterloo to Bermondsey, London Bridge to Clapton, Shoreditch to Greenwhich, back through the Blackwall Tunnel and up onto Canary Wharf where I was tested for explosives by the keen security guards. Passing the test (I’m no Al-Qaeda) I trapped a job 100 yards short of the rank all the way to Lavender Hill. £118 is what I netted for that little burst and after a really tough week I finally have enough to pay my cab garage the £800 tomorrow. I’ll be glad to get that out of the way yet again and I’m sure they’ll be glad to see me. On my last visit there I had asked them to ring me if the money wasn’t paid after two weeks but I never received the call. Well it’s hard to receive calls if your phone’s switched off!!
Check back soon.

Well done Mike!!

Since my last post I have managed to watch the final episode or season finale of Heroes and have also managed to cram in the whole first season of Jericho, which I found extremely moving and thought provoking. Anyone agree?

Also on the home front my son Michael and me entered an annual darts competition at our local social club. We both beat off stiff competition and met each other in the final, which my son won. Well done Mike. It was his first solo effort and it gave him a great lift after what has been a depressing few weeks of job hunting. Hopefully his high spirits will continue into the next few weeks and he manages to find himself a job.

I’m just about there with the cab rent (£800) and it should be paid by Wednesday or Thursday at the latest.

It has rained continuously here for the best part of the whole of last week. Fantastic for business but you have to put up with all the moans and complaints from the passengers.

The Chelsea Flower Show has been on this last week providing endless work well into the evening. I ranked up at the Bullring entrance on Thursday and managed to snag a job out to a hotel next to Windsor Castle.

I came out to work at 7.20 pm on Saturday evening and trapped immediately on Maida Vale. It went down to Victoria Embankment. From there I headed for Victoria Station and as I arrived I could see it was moving quick. The beggar had positioned himself at the head of the rank and was trying to ponce money off all the drivers as per usual but also as per usual he got SFA from me. A young Italian couple approached me with a bit of paper. I don’t know what it is about bits of paper that gets me all excited, probably the thought that I could be doing a job to somewhere remote and expensive. This piece of paper had the name of a hotel out in Woodford Bridge, a very nice ride. I tried to explain that it was far away and told them how much it would be. They ummed and ahhhd and eventually said yes. They’d booked a cheap weekend break on the Internet and hadn’t bothered to check how far from the center of London the hotel was, a common mistake some tourists make. To add insult to injury the nearest underground station was a fair old schlep from the hotel which didn’t please them none either.

Back in town the work was relentless for a Saturday night. A couple of lookers approached me on the South Kensington rank and asked how much to take them to Inferno’s in Clapham. I quoted “the best part of twenty quid” to which they said, “Could you call it fifteen because we’re lovely?” “Lovely don’t pay the bills” I retorted and got called a miserable old sod for my trouble.

Sunday was mega. By rights it should’ve been quiet as it was a bank holiday weekend but I suppose people were taking advantage that they never had work the next day and decided to go out instead. Clubs that would normally be closed were open and doing a roaring trade.

It was raining pretty hard as I made my way around Berkeley Square. As I exited onto Bruton Street I was flagged by a soaking wet member of staff from Griegs Grill in Bruton Place. She said she’d been standing there for ages waiting for a cab for a couple of Australian customers but cabs were a scarce commodity at that time. I said she’d be well tipped for her efforts and drove her back round to the restaurant. As she got out the customers were impatiently waiting for their cab and never even thanked her, let alone tip her, for what she just had to endure to get them the cab. I almost said something to them as I drove them to the Basil Hotel but thought better of it as it was none of my business. Needless to say I got SFA tip wise either but I’d already expected that.

I dropped them off and decided it was time for my favourite Chinese in Battersea. I haven’t been there for a few weeks so my mouth was watering at the thought of it. I rang my order through and was there in ten minutes. I noticed the jovial chef wasn’t there and hoped the food would still taste the same. It never and I was hugely disappointed. What must one chef do different to change the taste so much?

Today’s shift saw me do my first six jobs from Paddington. 1st job Paddington to Eden Park Hotel £5. 2nd job Paddington to Goldhurst Terrace £17. 3rd job Paddington to Talbot Road £6.20. 4th job. Paddington to The Landmark £8. 5th job Paddington to Crawford Street £7.20 and finally a decent 6th job from Paddington to the new Hilton Hotel at South Quay in the Docklands for £32.

A while later I dropped of at the Ibis Euston when a couple of guys got in and declared that they’d just been to Wembley to watch the football. Thinking they were supporters of the winning team I congratulated them only to be asked if I was taking the piss. All those midland accents sound the same to me so I countered with “you think you’ve got problems, I support Leeds”. They had a good laugh at that and by the time I dropped them at Leicester Square to drown their sorrows we were all best mates.

The shift finished with a flurry of 4 jobs starting with a Maida Vale to Westbourne Terrace, a Bayswater to Knightsbridge, a Knightsbridge to Barons Court Station and finally as I was heading home, a snogging pair of blokes from Bromptons (gay club) to Queens Park (no joke), which happens to be, a stone’s throw from home.
All in all, a good shift. Lets hope for more of the same over the coming days.
Check back soon.

Heroes

I’ve had a busy week, all things considered.

After regularly reading that Wil at Paradise Driver loves the program “Heroes” I decided to scan the net for a site that would allow me to watch them for myself. I found a great site but won’t name it as the last time I mentioned a site it got taken down. So after a couple of episodes I was hooked and finally managed to catch up with everyone else by watching episode 22 before I went to work today. Great show. I’ve also been catching up on all the other ones I watch such as Lost, Smallville and CSI so there hasn’t been much time to blog after work. Oh I also went with my daughter to watch Spiderman 3. Whilst other people I have spoken too never enjoyed it I thought it was great and the special effects excellent.

You may recall me mentioning about the immobilisers on these cabs (TXI’s only) Well I had mine disabled recently and it’s been great just being able to jump in and start the engine without all the button pressing malarkey. Whilst sat on the Holborn Viaduct Rank (a notorious immobiliser dead zone) a cabby sauntered over to me and asked if I knew about immobilisers. I pre-empted him and told him his problem before he told me it, I demonstrated how mine wouldn’t work either (the central locking still works with the same remote control but not in a dead zone) and asked if he knew the four-digit code to enter on the keypad under the visor. He had a code but it never worked. I told him that he’d have to move the cab away from the dead zone by pushing and offered to help. We pushed it off the rank and across the roundabout into Charterhouse Street. He pulled up a hundred yards away and tried the remote…..nothing. I tried…..nothing. Oh and by the way, I was breathing out of my arse at this point after that marathon cab push. We were another hundred yards from the rank in Farringdon Street so I said I’d push him there and that would be it for me, he was on his own. We had to wait a few light changes for a clear path and eventually I got him onto the rank. My ticker was going ten to the dozen and I felt odd. The cab never started and I left him to it. I never heard him say thanks but he probably did. It took me ten minutes to walk back to my cab and another THIRTY before I felt well enough to carry on working. I must get in shape.

Later that night I was driving past the coach station when a man hailed me and asked if I would take the old man standing next to him down to Lewisham. He looked like a “down and out” so I asked if he had any money on him. He said he had plenty money so I accepted. To cut a long story short he said he wanted Mayow Road. After checking on my digital a to z I discovered it was nowhere near Lewisham and a lot closer to Forest Hill. By going the Lewisham way the fare would be at least ten pounds dearer. Inevitably the old fella started piping up. I’d already made up my mind that I would knock the tenner off even though I was quite within my rights to ask for it. We arrived at his address and I told him to call it thirty instead of the forty on the meter. He pulled out a twenty and said “that’s all I’ve got”. After the event I thought I shouldn’t of, but at the time I had to unleash the pent up anger so I slagged him off something rotten. He was trying to get away from me but I followed him as he tried to get away from me and called him all the bastards and cunts under the sun. I still never got my money but I felt better. This job is unique. If you enter a shop and buy something you pay first. In this job you pay at the end so if there’s no money you’re out of pocket and left with two options. You call the police or you take it into your own hands. There is no way I would ever hit anyone let alone an old man but I’m also not going to let anyone take me for a mug so all in all I felt vindicated. If you’ve never done this type of work then don’t pipe up with venomous comments, as you’ve got no idea how it feels to work for nothing.

I drove back to Victoria and the next fare asked how much it would be to Islington and then onto Willesden Green. I started off by saying around thirty but decided it would be more. He’d already turned away from me as I said it would be nearer to forty. They got in and he directed me to Newington Green, six to seven pounds past Islington. He gets out, (meter is on £26) gives me thirty and says “Make sure she gets home safe”. I say “it’s gonna be more than this mate” He says “you said thirty” Blah blah blah. After being knocked by the old fella for twenty pounds then this twat not hearing me say forty at Victoria I blew my stack. Plenty of F’s and C’s issuing from my mouth as he tried to calm me down. The upshot was that she got out with him and I got to keep the thirty. I would rather of taken her to Willesden Green as it took me home but it was probably better that I never.

My mate Chris rang me as I slept in on Friday lunchtime to ask if I wanted to take a Spanish lady to the airport as he had other plans. He put her on the phone and I spoke in Spanish and arranged to collect her from the new Haymarket Hotel (entrance in Suffolk Place chaps). The cab was in dire need of a wash so I got up and hosed it down on my drive. He’d also said that Haymarket and the surrounding streets were in gridlock so I should get there early. I got there 20 minutes early and she emerged five minutes after the arranged time. I tried to make conversation with her and managed to prise out of her that she lived in Pollensa in Mallorca in the Balearic Islands. I mentioned that my sister lived there but found her to be, quite frankly, what I would call a miserable cow. She perked up a little as a motorized settee passed us on the M4 and asked me questions about it. It basically looked like a standard household settee with a man sitting on it but bombing along a very fast road. I was as amazed as her. I’ve seen motorized novelty vehicles such as the settee and a bed driving around town but have never seen them on the motorway. This settee must have been doing at least 60 mph and looked totally unsuitable, security-wise, to be on such a dangerous road. I would have loved to get a photo of it but it all happened so fast. We arrived at Heathrow and she promised to use me the next time she was in town but to be honest these pre-arranged pick-ups are more trouble than they’re worth so I probably won’t bother.

Tonight’s shift was extremely busy mainly due to the fact that today was FA Cup Final day. The first one at the newly re-built Wembley Stadium. Most cabbies had opted for the night off which meant loads of work for the rest of us out there. The Pride of Paddington pub close to the station was bursting at the seams as I passed it. All you could see was Chelsea fans celebrating their teams’ victory by singing and dancing on the tables. The pub usually caters for the many tourists that stay at the surrounding hotels but they were nowhere to be seen tonight as that sort of rowdy behaviour can be quite intimidating to those not used to it.

I haven’t been to the cab garage for two weeks and I’ve been driving around with a blown headlight for the past few days. The other one decided to pack up as well so I pulled into the garage at Clipstone street to buy two bulbs. £5 each!!!! Robbing bastards.

You’ll remember previous posts where I described how hard it can be to change head light bulbs on the TX’s due to the awkward design but the three years of owning my own TXII proved invaluable tonight and I had both the bulbs fitted within fifteen minutes.

One job followed another wherever I went and strangely for a Saturday night there were no losers about. Or so I thought as I made my way towards NHG, that’s Notting Hill gate to you. A Polish type guy (don’t quote me on that) flagged me at the bus stop outside McDonalds and said “Hello Mike, how much for to go to Homchurch please?” “You mean Hornchurch?” I corrected. “No Homchurch near Upminster” He did mean Hornchurch near Upminster and there were three other dodgy looking guys getting nearer to the cab by the second. My Spidey Sense was tingling and after the other night (see above) there was no way I was going to ignore my gut feeling. “I’m not going to Hornchurch” says me. “Why not” says he sounding positively menacing. The others had all gathered around him and were checking the contents of my drivers compartment for anything snatchable. “Because it’s too far and I’m almost finished” I could’ve gone on to explain that I’m not obliged to take anyone over 12 miles if I don’t want to but somehow I think that explanation would have been lost on him so I did the next best thing and said “Be lucky” and drove away leaving the four of them standing there staring dumbly. A few yards along I pulled up for a nice couple wanting to go to West Hampstead. “You’ll do for me” I thought. I was indoors within 25 minutes and not out in the wilds of Essex dead in the water.

Check back soon.

Dodgy KitKat?

I did manage to get out on Monday but only for two jobs. There was some sort of rally/march happening in town, something to do with immigrants wanting more rights, which caused most of the roads in and around Trafalgar Square to be closed off. This always causes major headaches for us as it can be difficult convincing a passenger that a major detour will be needed to avoid becoming gridlocked. Some of them are convinced that you are just trying to get more money out of them.

Of the two jobs I did manage to do one of them took me from Paddington Station out to Bow, a nice ride at any time, which metered £32. On the way back via Whitechapel Road, always on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary to photograph, I pictured a Police car taking a piggy back ride followed by his buddy. The Gherkin is conspicuous in the background.

Whitechapel Road (WestBound)

So due to the rally/march I decided to go home and resume later on. That never happened. I went with Michael for a pub lunch in Cricklewood and then paid a much overdue visit to my parents. Two of my sisters and my brother decided to pay a visit also so together with their kids there were 11 of us visiting in all. I was still counting on going back to work later when my cabby mate rang to ask if I’d like to go up to his house with Michael to watch the Charlton V Spurs match on his 50” plasma. He has Sky HD and I couldn’t believe the picture quality. We left there around 10pm and that was the conclusion of the May Day Bank Holiday.

With practically three whole days off behind me it was important to get an early start on Tuesday. I dropped my daughter off at school and went straight in to town. After a few jobs I was gagging for a coffee so I went to the Prêt a Manger in Horseferry road. Apart from coffee and sandwiches they also do a selection of hot wraps which I have taken a shine to lately. I had the chicken and jalapeno peppers wrap together with a packet of parsnip crisps and my extra shot latte. I sat outside the new Home Office munching away and contemplating my life. No sooner had I finished than I was approached by a suit asking to go to Kings Cross Station. Once I’d dropped him off I drove around the block for a sniff on the ranks. There were a few cabs on the St Pancras rank so I opted for the Kings Cross rank instead.

St Pancras

It was quite a pleasant morning back at work and only one job got a bit stressfull traffic-wise. I picked a guy up in Bolton Street who asked for St Pauls. I opted to go left, through Piccadilly, Trafalgar Square, The Strand and Fleet Street. Big mistake. The 10 minute journey took 40 and he was one of these passengers that never say anything but you could feel by his body language that he was thinking “why has this c*** taken me this way?” I probably would’ve been thinking the same thing. I should’ve gone right and down towards the river, Puddle Dock and Queen Victoria Street. You live and learn.

I went home after that job as I hadn’t intended to work the whole way through. After eating dinner with the kids I took a nap and grudgingly came back out at 10pm.
I made it all the way to the Hilton on Park Lane before I trapped. A suited and booted couple to Charing Cross Station. Considering it was now around 10.30pm and I was in Central London there wasn’t much work about. I drove out of the West End and ended up in South Kensington. As I came round the one-way system heading for the rank I was flagged by a couple and asked to take them to Dancer Road in Fulham. The bloke was well pissed and kept snapping at the lady who just sat in silence. When they got out I could see that she’d been quietly crying as her faced was streaked with tears and her make-up was all smudged. She stormed off towards the house as the bloke paid me muttering “Women!!” under his breath.

I drove to the Esso on Kings Road as I needed diesel and bought myself a plain chocolate KitKat. No sooner had I eaten it than I felt sick. Proper sick like I was going to vomit.
Whilst sitting at the lights at Gunter Grove I decided to go home. Just as the lights are about to change a Chinese couple come from nowhere and ask for LCA (London City Airport) It’s like 1am now and I’m feeling queasy, do I do it? At £45 I’d be a fool not to but how I never puked is a mystery. I had the “mouth filling with saliva” thing the whole way there. They never wanted the airport itself, they just used it as a marker and actually went a few minutes past it on Albert Road. On any other night that would’ve been an enjoyable ride. I drove straight home from there via the North Circular Road and luckily the sickness feeling had more or less passed by then. Thank God.
Catch you later.

Freaky Fridays

Friday was a good night for me. I generally spend most of each and every Friday evening avoiding the West End like the plague due to the amount of undesirables that frequent it. In full swing, the West End can be like a labyrinth that has no way out, even for the experienced cabbie. This is due to people being under the impression that they’re going to find a nice little parking space with their name on it. Another thing people do is to wait for a parking space. If they see someone walking towards their car they’ll simple put their hazard lights on, hold everything up behind them and wait the 2,3 or 4 minutes it might take these people to enter their car, put their seatbelts on, check their faces in the mirror and maybe even add a little make up and eventually drive off. The drivers who’ve been patiently waiting are then treated to a painful show of how not to park whilst they watch these people, the larger percent of who are female (sorry ladies but the myth is true that most of you can’t park, let alone drive), try and line their cars up and back in to the recently vacated space. It’s a phenomenon that people have got used to as no one ever seems to honk the horn and may well have to repeat the whole procedure again in the next few seconds. Places like Soho Square and Wardour Street are notorious for this and best avoided unless absolutely necessary.

Once you have fought your way out of the West End the chances are that within two jobs you’ll be headed right back into the thick of it. I always inwardly groan but never refuse. I do try and put the passenger off by saying that the traffic is the worst I’ve ever seen it but they never seem to take my advice until we’re at a standstill in the last third of Piccadilly at which point they bale out leaving you stuck and unable to earn another penny until you’re out of it.

So, given all of the above I always like to try and stay in and around the Kensington area where the fares are of a better class and the traffic a hell of a lot lighter. I’ve found a lot of the people who are on a night out in Kensington will be from west or south west London. The bulk of the hailed fares will end up in places like Clapham, Putney, Wimbledon, Battersea and occasionally way out west into the countryside.

I did a nice job from the Crabshack in Kings Road out to Twickenham and Strawberry Hill. These four young ladies were well oiled and it didn’t take long for the sexual innuendo to start flying and the giggling fits to follow. A few years ago I would have felt uncomfortable at being included in these sorts of antics but I just take it in my stride now and give a little back without going over the top. The upshot of it all was that two of the young ladies flashed their boobs at me almost causing me to have an accident.

As I drove away from the drop in Strawberry Hill I headed back towards Twickenham High Street. My light is always off as a hail there will generally take you further out into the unknown. Whilst waiting at the traffic lights another couple of young ladies asked if I would mind going to Notting Hill. Would I mind? It’s unheard of but no I wouldn’t mind and get your sweet little arses in the cab. These sort of opportunities are very few and far between but when they happen they could be describes as better than…….sex!!

Notting Hill is always buzzing, day or night so the work just flowed for most of the evening.

I went to the taxi drivers restaurant at the Royal Oak as I was short on pound coins and took the opportunity to grab a ham salad sandwich and a coffee. With the full intention of resuming work after my snack I got talking to a few people down there and eventually called it a night instead.

Saturday and Sunday just never happened for me. I couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm. Today, Monday, is the Mayday Bank Holiday and it should be pretty busy all day plus the meters are on rate three all day which is always a great help.

Here's a joke for your enjoyment. Check back soon.

Forging Ahead

I don’t know what all the fuss was about. I can be my own worst enemy at times. All the problems I have been bleating about these last few weeks are now behind me and the cab is in tip top condition (barring the gearbox problem).

I took my daughter to school on Wednesday morning and then went straight to work. After four jobs and forty quid I dropped off at Seven Sisters Road and drove straight round to M&O. The girl behind the jump had to get a second opinion on whether my garage was “OK”. That means are all the accounts up to date with no outstanding money owed. After a few minutes one of her colleagues confirmed the garage was a good’un and promptly dispatched a worker to come outside and upgrade the tariff on the meter. I think he was waiting for a tip but I’m fed up of tipping everyone so I just said thanks, got in and drove away. Next stop was M.A.M Auto Electricians in the next street. I asked them to disable the immobilizer that has been giving me problems in certain parts of London and also to re-earth the For Hire sign that has been flickering of late. They told me to come back in an hour so I bought a paper and went to a nearby greasy spoon and had a Full English Breakfast. When I returned to pick the cab up I tested everything was as it should be and then put a tenner in the tip box in the office which meant that they got M&O’s tip as well as I had the hump earlier.

I drove home, testing the meter on the way, and found it went slower not faster, probably just me being paranoid. I had a good sleep and never surfaced till 6. Michael, still keen to do the cooking, went shopping for me and cooked Penne pasta with a sun dried tomato stir in sauce and meat-wise they had turkey escalopes and/or chicken kievs. I could get used to not having to cook anymore, it’s one thing less to worry about.

I was at work by 6.30pm and my first job from Paddington took me down towards Camberwell. On the way back in to town I juiced up at the Esso in Wandsworth Road. I was queuing behind a black guy and the guy behind the counter was a white South African, pretty unusual in petrol stations as the bulk of the counter assistants tend to be Asians. Well this guy was being all polite and asking the black guy if he needed anything else and to have a nice day and all that sort of stuff and generally trying too hard when the black guy turned round, looked at me and let off one of those long teeth-kisses. I just burst out laughing which set off the black guy as well. You get so used to ignorant or uninterested petrol station assistants that anything out of the ordinary take a little getting used to. When my turn came to pay I just plonked the twenty on the counter and hurried out before the South African had a chance to try his routine on me.

A few jobs later I was driving past The Swan in Bayswater Road when three Americans flagged me down and asked to go somewhere famous. “What do you mean somewhere famous?” I asked. “Somewhere where we can tell folks back home that we’ve been to, like a famous pub or something” I hate being put on the spot but famous pubs we have plenty of. There’s always half a dozen listed in most tourist guides and these always include The Red Lion, The Grenadier, The Antelope and the Duke of Wellington. They liked the sound of the first one so that’s where I dropped them and received a five pound tip for my efforts.

Todays (Thursday) shift was also in two parts and was probably as busy as yesterday if not busier. The difference being that I came home and went for a sleep and decided to give Michael a break from cooking so we had a Chinese take away instead of a cooked meal. I then went back to bed instead of going straight back out. I finally dragged myself out at 10.20pm and headed straight for Paddington. The best job of the night was a guy who flagged me down in Eaton Gate and exclaimed “I’m fucking starving mate, where can I get KFC?” It was five to twelve and touch and go whether his craving would be satisfied but I headed for Gloucester Road and hoped for the best. As we arrived the staff were just closing up and my guy jumped out and pleaded with them to let him in. No dice. He had to settle for the Burger King next door and came back over to ask me if I wanted a burger. I did but don’t like being bought them by my passengers so declined. I once accepted an offer from a passenger and we sat in the back of the cab eating McD’s and listenening to all of his drunken ramblings, but at least the meter was running. So after my passenger came back from the burger king I drove him back to Chester Row and he gave me £20 which included a good tip.

It is now 7.50am Friday morning and I still haven’t been to bed. I have to drive my eldest son Danny down to Putney to collect his first paycheck and then over to Notting Hill Gate to cash it and then to his bank to put some money in to cover his next round of bills.
It’s just as well I don’t have to do a morning stint today so I should be home and in bed by around Midday.

Catch you all later.