Since my last post I have spent a week in the land of Spain where I go once a year with my mother. I never really enjoy it I just wait for the week to end and then return and get back in to my routine. I was a bit apprehensive of flying this time when I saw that my plane was to be an Airbus instead of the usual Boeing 737. But it all turned out ok and the return flight was the exact same plane as I sat in the same seat and noticed a few tell-tale marks that I’d seen on the way out.
When I arrived at Luton Airport last Wednesday (17th) Chris collected us and after dropping my mum at home he drove me to the cab garage to collect my cab. I rang the garage to let them know I was on my way and the owner got on the phone to tell me he thought that I was taking two weeks off and that he’d rented out my cab to someone else. I was to ring him the next day to see if he had anything else available. Fine, thought I. I’ll use this as an excuse to find another garage as I’d been wanting to try somewhere else for ages. Chris had a trade paper in the cab and we started looking through it and trying a few numbers. Nobody had any cabs immediately available and it was looking like I’d be taking an extended holiday. Just when I was getting used to the idea of an extra day off my regular garage rang me back to say that they had a TX4, which I could use for a few days. It’s the only one in the garage and the regular driver was away on holiday. I went straight round there to collect it. I’d heard a lot about these cabs such as the smoother suspension and the faster acceleration but at the end of the day it was just another cab, which would cost me another forty quid a week if I were to rent it permanently. I worked it for two shifts, Wednesday and Thursday, and to be honest, I wasn’t overly impressed and was actually glad to get my own TX1 back on the Friday. The owner told me he’d taken it to have the gearbox serviced but as soon as I drove it out of the garage I could smell the gearbox fluid burning on the exhaust, a smell that wasn’t there last week. I’ve been working it all week and have even driven to see my girlfriend who lives in Suffolk and the smell has been there permanently. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it much longer so hopefully I’ll get a call from one of those other garages that took my details to tell me that they have a nice cab waiting for me.
On the work front it’s been pretty steady. I always think that after the school restart at the beginning of September the work picks up until Christmas and then dies off again.
About a week before I went to Spain I picked up three guys in the West End and they asked to be taken to Mile End. They were chatting away to each other and as I drove through Whitechapel one of them asked me to stop for cigarettes. I pulled in to the Shell garage on Whitechapel road and one of them got out. The one who seemed the most dominant of the three calls out to me and says (in a strong Russian accent) “hey, can you stop the meter?”
Me: What for?
Him: Because we are not moving.
Me: But you are still in the taxi enjoying the comfort.
Him: But we are not going anywhere.
Me: Tell me something, would you work for nothing?
Him: No
Me: Well then. The meter stays on.
Him: OK I understand. Business is business.
Me: Exactly.
The other guy returned with the cigarettes and we proceed. A few minutes down the road and the Russian (I think the other two were Scandinavian) says that we need to stop again to buy some Vodka. He’s actually getting on my tits now with the way he speaks to me but I play it cool and start looking for an open off license. He starts directing me to Roman Road and is telling the other two that they’re going back to his place to have a good drink. All of a sudden one of the Scandinavians asks me to stop and turns to the Russian to tell him that they’re not comfortable with whats happening. The other Scandinavian was very quiet and had his head bowed, as if embarrassed. The first man starts telling the Russian that they don’t mean to offend him but they just want to go back to their “nice, safe hotel” in Central London. The Russian starts getting all offended and tells them that in his country if you refuse to have a drink of Vodka with someone its taken as a massive insult. So this goes on for a few minutes with me sitting there, the meter ticking over and the other man sitting silently until eventually the Russian gets out leaving me to drive these two guys back to their hotel in Portman Square and pocket a nice fee of fifty pounds. There was definitely something dodgy about the Russian and they could see it. As soon as he got out the two Scandics started jabbering away in their own language and were laughing and joking with each other, no doubt relieved at the close shave they’d just experienced.
I had one bit of grief worth mentioning last month when a man approached me on the rank at Victoria. He asked me to take him to Enfield. As he opened the door another man got in instead. They were obviously together but only this man was going to Enfield and he was rat-arsed drunk and instantly fell asleep. As I wound my way through the streets he suddenly awoke and opened one of the doors whilst I was stopped at the traffic lights in Harewood Place. I thought he was getting out so I pulled over and stuck my hazards on, blocking everything behind me. He never got out so I asked him what he was doing and he told me to carry on, waiving me forward. I knew at that point I wasn’t taking him any further and asked him to pay up and get out. We started arguing and I jumped out and started shouting at him whilst everyone in the McDonalds enjoyed the show. He was accusing me of all sorts and reckoned it should only cost a tenner to Enfield from Victoria and that he’d done the trip many times before. I changed tactics and started talking to him more gently saying that I was trying to earn a living to support my family and was he always in the habit of ruining cab drivers nights etc etc and he eventually came round to my way of thinking, paid up and nearly got run over in Oxford Street as I drove away. I think I’m getting better at spotting the nutters and dealing with the situation before its too late and I’m caught out in the sticks seriously out of pocket.
The best four days of the week are upon us now so hopefully I can earn plenty and have a few stories to tell you over the next week.
Check back soon. LC
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Get Well Soon Ed
Hello everyone and apologies for the slow down in posting but as I said in the last one I’ve been otherwise engaged. Talking of which I recently spent a few days out of town visiting aforementioned person and enjoying the delights of the east coastal towns of Lowestoft and Great Yarmouth. Being an ex-seafaring person I took the opportunity to do a bit of boat-spotting and visiting in the ports of Felixtowe and Lowestoft and all those happy memories from my days gone by came flooding back. I think you have to have done it to appreciate it. I also bought a souvenir boat to go with my ever-growing collection in my maritime themed bedroom. We also visited the model village in Yarmouth and I was overheard saying that it was similar to the one in Beaconsfield to which the village person said “yes but this one’s better than Beaconsfield”. I’m not sure about that but will have to check it out again some day.
So as my annual trip to Spain approaches I have to say I don’t really fancy it this year. I could think of a few better things to do instead of sweltering in 90-degree heat for a week with my mother but as it’s an annual commitment then I’ll just have to grin and bear it.
While I’m on the subject of family may I just mention my cousin Ed who is recovering in hospital in Northallerton after a serious operation. Me and all my family wish him a speedy recovery after a very serious scare and our thoughts are with him, his mum and dad and his brother and sister at this time.
I’ve had some really nice jobs since I last posted.
Saturday the 2nd of August saw me sitting third on the South Kensington rank when a lady weighed down with shopping bags approached the front cab with a piece of paper. He shook his head and she approached the next one. He also shook his head and finally arrived at my window. The piece of paper was illegible but rather than refuse her I asked where she was going. In a heavily Russian-accented voice she asked for what sounded like the Pilsbury International Terminal. “Never heard of it” thought I, but never one to give up – in my thirst for knowledge- I took another look at the paper and noticed it was a map and ringed on it was an area east of London, not east London but east of London so putting two and two together I said “do you mean Tilbury??” “Da Tilbury” she exclaimed. I’d done a trip to a passenger ship here many years ago so I knew exactly where she wanted. Funnily enough on that occasion it was also Russian. I told her the fare would be in the region of £100 and she tried to haggle me down to £80 but I said no and off we went. The journey was uneventful but very pleasant and more maritime memories came flooding back as I approached Tilbury docks, as this was where I went on a ships visit as a student of the sea school in Gravesend in December 1978. (For any merchant sailors out there the visit was to the OCL container ship MV Discovery Bay. ) As I arrived at her ship the meter read £98.80 so not a bad estimate and she handed me £95 in notes and started fumbling about for the rest so I told her to forget it. As I was preparing to leave a couple emerged from the vicinity of the ship and asked if I was for hire. Now I’m not supposed to pick fares up outside the Met but as they only wanted to go locally I agreed to take them and I dropped them at the Park Inn at Thurrock and then made my way back to London.
The following night I was having a coffee with Chris at Marylebone Station and after we finished he went towards Paddington and I drove onto the station rank at Marylebone. A guy came out and asked if I also did trips out of town, “yes I do, where would you like to go?” I answered, barely able to contain my excitement. “High Wycombe” I got straight on the phone to Chris to gloat about a job which could have been his had he gone on to the rank ahead of me and he was well gutted.
I’m calling on all cabbies to help me out with something here. There’s a cut through from High Holborn via the archway to the Renaissance hotel, which ends up in Lincolns Inn Fields. Chris told me about it the other night and I had to go and see for myself. From what I can see it can be done both ways and is not illegal (as far as I can tell). Can any of you confirm this? I would imagine it’s used all day long when the traffic’s bad but there’s not much call for it at night. It’s a bit like the one at Lower Robert Street onto Savoy street, now there really is a “blinding little cut through” as my knowledge mate Noel used to say.
I recently had some trouble with my iPod and wasn’t able to connect to iTunes. I tried everything such as connecting to other computers and even went to the Apple store in Regent Street but the queue was too long. I eventually found an alternative program on the net called Annapod and bought it online and it now works fine and I can edit and add tracks to my heart content. Chris came round to add some songs to his iPod and when I hooked it up and tried to do a few transfers his whole iPod got wiped, all 2 and a bit thousand songs gone. He was quite philosophical about it, the old chris would have gone mental. He went off to work and I attempted to recover all the lost songs, which I eventually found in an Annapod folder so if any of you have the same problem connecting to iTunes I suggest this program, it’s only about fifteen quid.
I was visiting my girlfriend at her place of work in the St Johns Wood area when we decided we’d like fish and chips for lunch. I had parked the cab up in a side street and didn’t want to lose the space so decided to hail a cab in Finchley road. As a silver TX2 stopped for me I asked him if he minded taking me to the Seashell in Lisson Grove waiting and bringing me back and also did he mind the smell of fish and chips in his cab. I think he was going to refuse me but thought that it would probably be a nice job money-wise and agreed. I never told him I was a cabbie and he started giving me all the cabbie spiel to secure a better tip at journeys end. I just smiled to myself and humoured him. When we arrived at the Seashell I asked him if he fancied a portion of chips but he declined. They never had any rock salmon ready so I had to have cod, which is my least favourite fish. I made my way back to the cab, which had turned round to face the way we had come for the return journey. Back at my destination the fare ended up at £12 and I gave him £15 and I wished him luck for the rest of his shift. The cod wasn’t too bad but give me rock every time.
So for the next 13 days I have to graft hard to get everything ready for my week away. I paid my cab yesterday. For the last 6 weeks I have paid on time and have found it so stress free as opposed to those weeks when I have to find the best part of a grand. The genial Irishman has left the garage due to ill health and there is now a very efficient girl in the office called Nicola. I just had a new set of ads stuck to the side of the cab yesterday, which is already turning heads. I also asked the owner to consider me for the next TX2 that becomes available as I plan to make regular trips to Suffolk to see my gf who lives there. The new Mercedes Taxi is now out on our streets but I have yet to see one. I’ll be monitoring the feedback over the next few months and may even decide to get one of them. Watch this space.
So as my annual trip to Spain approaches I have to say I don’t really fancy it this year. I could think of a few better things to do instead of sweltering in 90-degree heat for a week with my mother but as it’s an annual commitment then I’ll just have to grin and bear it.
While I’m on the subject of family may I just mention my cousin Ed who is recovering in hospital in Northallerton after a serious operation. Me and all my family wish him a speedy recovery after a very serious scare and our thoughts are with him, his mum and dad and his brother and sister at this time.
I’ve had some really nice jobs since I last posted.
Saturday the 2nd of August saw me sitting third on the South Kensington rank when a lady weighed down with shopping bags approached the front cab with a piece of paper. He shook his head and she approached the next one. He also shook his head and finally arrived at my window. The piece of paper was illegible but rather than refuse her I asked where she was going. In a heavily Russian-accented voice she asked for what sounded like the Pilsbury International Terminal. “Never heard of it” thought I, but never one to give up – in my thirst for knowledge- I took another look at the paper and noticed it was a map and ringed on it was an area east of London, not east London but east of London so putting two and two together I said “do you mean Tilbury??” “Da Tilbury” she exclaimed. I’d done a trip to a passenger ship here many years ago so I knew exactly where she wanted. Funnily enough on that occasion it was also Russian. I told her the fare would be in the region of £100 and she tried to haggle me down to £80 but I said no and off we went. The journey was uneventful but very pleasant and more maritime memories came flooding back as I approached Tilbury docks, as this was where I went on a ships visit as a student of the sea school in Gravesend in December 1978. (For any merchant sailors out there the visit was to the OCL container ship MV Discovery Bay. ) As I arrived at her ship the meter read £98.80 so not a bad estimate and she handed me £95 in notes and started fumbling about for the rest so I told her to forget it. As I was preparing to leave a couple emerged from the vicinity of the ship and asked if I was for hire. Now I’m not supposed to pick fares up outside the Met but as they only wanted to go locally I agreed to take them and I dropped them at the Park Inn at Thurrock and then made my way back to London.
The following night I was having a coffee with Chris at Marylebone Station and after we finished he went towards Paddington and I drove onto the station rank at Marylebone. A guy came out and asked if I also did trips out of town, “yes I do, where would you like to go?” I answered, barely able to contain my excitement. “High Wycombe” I got straight on the phone to Chris to gloat about a job which could have been his had he gone on to the rank ahead of me and he was well gutted.
I’m calling on all cabbies to help me out with something here. There’s a cut through from High Holborn via the archway to the Renaissance hotel, which ends up in Lincolns Inn Fields. Chris told me about it the other night and I had to go and see for myself. From what I can see it can be done both ways and is not illegal (as far as I can tell). Can any of you confirm this? I would imagine it’s used all day long when the traffic’s bad but there’s not much call for it at night. It’s a bit like the one at Lower Robert Street onto Savoy street, now there really is a “blinding little cut through” as my knowledge mate Noel used to say.
I recently had some trouble with my iPod and wasn’t able to connect to iTunes. I tried everything such as connecting to other computers and even went to the Apple store in Regent Street but the queue was too long. I eventually found an alternative program on the net called Annapod and bought it online and it now works fine and I can edit and add tracks to my heart content. Chris came round to add some songs to his iPod and when I hooked it up and tried to do a few transfers his whole iPod got wiped, all 2 and a bit thousand songs gone. He was quite philosophical about it, the old chris would have gone mental. He went off to work and I attempted to recover all the lost songs, which I eventually found in an Annapod folder so if any of you have the same problem connecting to iTunes I suggest this program, it’s only about fifteen quid.
I was visiting my girlfriend at her place of work in the St Johns Wood area when we decided we’d like fish and chips for lunch. I had parked the cab up in a side street and didn’t want to lose the space so decided to hail a cab in Finchley road. As a silver TX2 stopped for me I asked him if he minded taking me to the Seashell in Lisson Grove waiting and bringing me back and also did he mind the smell of fish and chips in his cab. I think he was going to refuse me but thought that it would probably be a nice job money-wise and agreed. I never told him I was a cabbie and he started giving me all the cabbie spiel to secure a better tip at journeys end. I just smiled to myself and humoured him. When we arrived at the Seashell I asked him if he fancied a portion of chips but he declined. They never had any rock salmon ready so I had to have cod, which is my least favourite fish. I made my way back to the cab, which had turned round to face the way we had come for the return journey. Back at my destination the fare ended up at £12 and I gave him £15 and I wished him luck for the rest of his shift. The cod wasn’t too bad but give me rock every time.
So for the next 13 days I have to graft hard to get everything ready for my week away. I paid my cab yesterday. For the last 6 weeks I have paid on time and have found it so stress free as opposed to those weeks when I have to find the best part of a grand. The genial Irishman has left the garage due to ill health and there is now a very efficient girl in the office called Nicola. I just had a new set of ads stuck to the side of the cab yesterday, which is already turning heads. I also asked the owner to consider me for the next TX2 that becomes available as I plan to make regular trips to Suffolk to see my gf who lives there. The new Mercedes Taxi is now out on our streets but I have yet to see one. I’ll be monitoring the feedback over the next few months and may even decide to get one of them. Watch this space.
The New Mercedes London Taxi
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Theres nothin like a muffin
Hello again to everyone. That was a long three days!!!!!
I said I wouldn't mention it but I will but won't name any names. I've been in a new relationship over the last few months and all my available time has been taken up with seeing this fantastic lady. She doesn't want to be mentioned on here so I won't say too much only that the last few months have been fantastic and I hope there are many more months and years ahead for us. That's all your getting from me on that subject.
My kids are all doing well in their various stages of life. My eldest son is still working for a top diamond company in the west end and has been moved from the IT department to the engraving section.
My second son, Michael, has been going to college over the last 9 months and has been studying building (plastering, brick laying. Carpentry etc). He has now landed a well paying semi-skilled labouring job and is really enjoying having money in his pocket. He's still playing darts and is thinking of stepping up to a higher level.
My daughter, katie, has just flown to San Diego to spend six weeks with her mother. Her grandparents have also gone for the second year in succession. When she returns she has a place in college to study photography.
I have been doing what I do best. Cab driving. I work pretty much the same hours every night and take pretty much the same money.
I recently had to swap my cab for another while it went up for it's six monthly inspection. When I got it back they had fitted a new steering wheel (no idea why) a new fuel cap (no idea why) new tyres all the way round and I think they've messed with the fuel mixture as it seems to run smoother. One thing they haven't touched, and for the life of me I don't know how they can get away with it, is the suspension. The non-existent one I'm always complaining about. To back up my complaint, the second passenger I picked up after getting the cab back said to me "Is your suspension knackered?" I started telling him my concerns and he concurred. He said he could feel every bump and seam in the road. All the other passengers I pick up are probably being polite by not saying anything about it but I would rather they did as I would end up finally leaving that garage for another. Chris is always saying that I must be a mug (but his word always starts with a C) for putting up with it but that's what I do, I take it and take it until I finally blow and do something about it. My annual trip to Spain is coming up on the 10th of September and I may use that as the excuse I need to finally move on by not returning to collect the cab on my return.
I’ve still been stopping with Chris for a meal or coffee break most days. We have three or four places where we’ll stop on any given night. Starbucks in Piccadilly is a regular as they have plenty of parking spaces outside and a fantastic selection of cakes and sandwiches to chose from. We’re pretty partial to the lemon and orange muffins but my favourite is still Rocky Road although lately I have found it way too sweet. One day last week I bought the coffees (Large lattes) and as I handed one to Chris as he sat in his cab he promptly dropped it on the floor, the lid popped off and all the contents spilled onto his carpet. He wasn’t best pleased.
As you all know I like to rank up on many of the railway stations to get my fares. The day before yesterday I was waiting on Kings Cross when an Arabic man came up to the window and asked for the Churchill Hotel in Portman Square. He proceeded to put a large case in the cab and got into the cab to push it further in. The door closed behind him without him touching it so I assumed he was done and drove away. He called out “Hey, what about my wife?” and when I looked back towards the rank a lady in all the Muslim gear was standing there with another case and frantically waving at me. Luckily the other cab behind me hadn’t pulled forward so I was able to reverse back about 10 yards and pick her up apologising profusely as she got in.
The rest of that shift went as planned and I reached my target at around 2.30, the last job ending up in Surrey Quays in South East London. I had my light on all the way back in to town but there wasn’t a soul about. The only bit of excitement was being caught as Tower Bridge was raised to allow a passenger liner that had been tied up next to HMS Belfast to leave the Pool of London on it’s onward journey. As it takes about 15 minutes to raise and lower it I stood outside the cab and watched the massive ship as it passed and all the passengers who weren’t sleeping decided to watch the departure from the decks and they waived at anyone who bothered to waive at them. Once it was on the east side the bridge was lowered and we all got back into our cars and cabs to continue on our way. I wondered where the ship was off to and envied those people on it.
Whilst on the London Bridge rank last week a pair of Catholic nuns were to be my fare. They asked to be taken to a convent near Jamaica Road which I had never heard of. As I left the station the left turn into St Thomas’s Street was closed off causing me to take an extended detour adding a good four or five pounds to the ride. Chris was on the phone to me at the time and slagged me off for “tucking them poor old nuns up”. When I arrived at the convent I knocked five pounds off the fare thus avoiding any further slagging and negative karma that may have been on its way to me.
I picked up an extremely drunk guy in Camden Town and he asked for Hendon. He told me he wanted Park Road so as I arrived I had to wake him as he had flaked out. As normally happens to waking drunks he didn’t have a clue where he was and started directing me all over the place. We finally arrived at his house after already having driven past it and he started looking for his money. At this point the meter was on £24. He had no money so we had to leave his house and find a cash point. Get to the cash point and he can’t find his wallet. Meter on £30. Back to his house to wake his unco-operative and pissed off brother. Meter on £37. Back to the cash point with his brothers card and the pin number won’t work. Meter on £44. Back to his house where he keeps me waiting like a lemon outside. I get out of my cab and bang on the door at 4am. He comes out apologetically with another card. I ask if there’s any point to all this and he says the card will definitely work this time. Back to the cash point. Meter on £53. No joy. I call him back over and tell him that he’s wasting my time and it’s costing him a fortune. I take him back home and get him to ring my phone so that I have his number and that I’ll come back when he’s sober and actually has my money which by now had reached £60. I drive away empty handed but go back the next morning after first confirming with him by phone that he had my money. This is the sort of crap that goes on during the night shift, who needs it?
Thursday 24th of July and I drop off an American guy in Golborne Road, Portobello and pull off heading for home. A young girl about 24ish frantically flags me down and asks for the notorious Wessex Estate about a mile away. She starts whispering into her phone (head turned towards the intercom which was on) “yeah, I’m on my way round, have you got it?” A drug run, I haven’t done one of these for ages. It’s normally blokes, which I end up leaving where they get out but as we arrived at the Ledbury Road side of the estate she handed me a twenty and said “don’t drive off I’ll be back in a minute”. I saw her enter one of the blocks and even saw the transaction take place with the hooded drug dealer. She was back in a few seconds and instructed me to return to where we had just come from. She spoke into her phone again telling the person on the other end that she’d “got it”. At that particular moment I felt a bit like Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver and thought how crappy the job could be at times. She’d given me a twenty to stop me from driving off (I know of some who would’ve) and asked for it back handing me a ten in it’s place which by chance was exactly the total on the meter. That was enough for me and I switched the light off and went home.
So the days are different but the stories are the same. Who’d be a London Cabby?
Check back soon for more exciting accounts of life behind the wheel of a London taxi.
I said I wouldn't mention it but I will but won't name any names. I've been in a new relationship over the last few months and all my available time has been taken up with seeing this fantastic lady. She doesn't want to be mentioned on here so I won't say too much only that the last few months have been fantastic and I hope there are many more months and years ahead for us. That's all your getting from me on that subject.
My kids are all doing well in their various stages of life. My eldest son is still working for a top diamond company in the west end and has been moved from the IT department to the engraving section.
My second son, Michael, has been going to college over the last 9 months and has been studying building (plastering, brick laying. Carpentry etc). He has now landed a well paying semi-skilled labouring job and is really enjoying having money in his pocket. He's still playing darts and is thinking of stepping up to a higher level.
My daughter, katie, has just flown to San Diego to spend six weeks with her mother. Her grandparents have also gone for the second year in succession. When she returns she has a place in college to study photography.
I have been doing what I do best. Cab driving. I work pretty much the same hours every night and take pretty much the same money.
I recently had to swap my cab for another while it went up for it's six monthly inspection. When I got it back they had fitted a new steering wheel (no idea why) a new fuel cap (no idea why) new tyres all the way round and I think they've messed with the fuel mixture as it seems to run smoother. One thing they haven't touched, and for the life of me I don't know how they can get away with it, is the suspension. The non-existent one I'm always complaining about. To back up my complaint, the second passenger I picked up after getting the cab back said to me "Is your suspension knackered?" I started telling him my concerns and he concurred. He said he could feel every bump and seam in the road. All the other passengers I pick up are probably being polite by not saying anything about it but I would rather they did as I would end up finally leaving that garage for another. Chris is always saying that I must be a mug (but his word always starts with a C) for putting up with it but that's what I do, I take it and take it until I finally blow and do something about it. My annual trip to Spain is coming up on the 10th of September and I may use that as the excuse I need to finally move on by not returning to collect the cab on my return.
I’ve still been stopping with Chris for a meal or coffee break most days. We have three or four places where we’ll stop on any given night. Starbucks in Piccadilly is a regular as they have plenty of parking spaces outside and a fantastic selection of cakes and sandwiches to chose from. We’re pretty partial to the lemon and orange muffins but my favourite is still Rocky Road although lately I have found it way too sweet. One day last week I bought the coffees (Large lattes) and as I handed one to Chris as he sat in his cab he promptly dropped it on the floor, the lid popped off and all the contents spilled onto his carpet. He wasn’t best pleased.
As you all know I like to rank up on many of the railway stations to get my fares. The day before yesterday I was waiting on Kings Cross when an Arabic man came up to the window and asked for the Churchill Hotel in Portman Square. He proceeded to put a large case in the cab and got into the cab to push it further in. The door closed behind him without him touching it so I assumed he was done and drove away. He called out “Hey, what about my wife?” and when I looked back towards the rank a lady in all the Muslim gear was standing there with another case and frantically waving at me. Luckily the other cab behind me hadn’t pulled forward so I was able to reverse back about 10 yards and pick her up apologising profusely as she got in.
The rest of that shift went as planned and I reached my target at around 2.30, the last job ending up in Surrey Quays in South East London. I had my light on all the way back in to town but there wasn’t a soul about. The only bit of excitement was being caught as Tower Bridge was raised to allow a passenger liner that had been tied up next to HMS Belfast to leave the Pool of London on it’s onward journey. As it takes about 15 minutes to raise and lower it I stood outside the cab and watched the massive ship as it passed and all the passengers who weren’t sleeping decided to watch the departure from the decks and they waived at anyone who bothered to waive at them. Once it was on the east side the bridge was lowered and we all got back into our cars and cabs to continue on our way. I wondered where the ship was off to and envied those people on it.
Whilst on the London Bridge rank last week a pair of Catholic nuns were to be my fare. They asked to be taken to a convent near Jamaica Road which I had never heard of. As I left the station the left turn into St Thomas’s Street was closed off causing me to take an extended detour adding a good four or five pounds to the ride. Chris was on the phone to me at the time and slagged me off for “tucking them poor old nuns up”. When I arrived at the convent I knocked five pounds off the fare thus avoiding any further slagging and negative karma that may have been on its way to me.
I picked up an extremely drunk guy in Camden Town and he asked for Hendon. He told me he wanted Park Road so as I arrived I had to wake him as he had flaked out. As normally happens to waking drunks he didn’t have a clue where he was and started directing me all over the place. We finally arrived at his house after already having driven past it and he started looking for his money. At this point the meter was on £24. He had no money so we had to leave his house and find a cash point. Get to the cash point and he can’t find his wallet. Meter on £30. Back to his house to wake his unco-operative and pissed off brother. Meter on £37. Back to the cash point with his brothers card and the pin number won’t work. Meter on £44. Back to his house where he keeps me waiting like a lemon outside. I get out of my cab and bang on the door at 4am. He comes out apologetically with another card. I ask if there’s any point to all this and he says the card will definitely work this time. Back to the cash point. Meter on £53. No joy. I call him back over and tell him that he’s wasting my time and it’s costing him a fortune. I take him back home and get him to ring my phone so that I have his number and that I’ll come back when he’s sober and actually has my money which by now had reached £60. I drive away empty handed but go back the next morning after first confirming with him by phone that he had my money. This is the sort of crap that goes on during the night shift, who needs it?
Thursday 24th of July and I drop off an American guy in Golborne Road, Portobello and pull off heading for home. A young girl about 24ish frantically flags me down and asks for the notorious Wessex Estate about a mile away. She starts whispering into her phone (head turned towards the intercom which was on) “yeah, I’m on my way round, have you got it?” A drug run, I haven’t done one of these for ages. It’s normally blokes, which I end up leaving where they get out but as we arrived at the Ledbury Road side of the estate she handed me a twenty and said “don’t drive off I’ll be back in a minute”. I saw her enter one of the blocks and even saw the transaction take place with the hooded drug dealer. She was back in a few seconds and instructed me to return to where we had just come from. She spoke into her phone again telling the person on the other end that she’d “got it”. At that particular moment I felt a bit like Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver and thought how crappy the job could be at times. She’d given me a twenty to stop me from driving off (I know of some who would’ve) and asked for it back handing me a ten in it’s place which by chance was exactly the total on the meter. That was enough for me and I switched the light off and went home.
So the days are different but the stories are the same. Who’d be a London Cabby?
Check back soon for more exciting accounts of life behind the wheel of a London taxi.
Monday, July 07, 2008
Still here!!
I'm still out there punching.
I've had a few non-payers since my last post and my fair share of grief with drunks and losers.
One of the non-payers was picked up in Gospel Oak. She had a young guy with her but she was obviously the dominant one as she kept ordering him about. They asked to be taken to Camden Town but changed their mind on the way to an address not a million miles away from my home. Her phone rang and she told him to be quiet as it was her husband. The poor guy nearly crapped himself and while I was waiting at lights tried to open the door to make a dash for it. She started laughing and hurling insults at him because of his lack of adventure but he started panicking and just said "please let me out mate" to me. I took my foot of the brake and the doors unlocked and he was off running like a greyhound after the hare. She couldn't stop laughing and in retrospect she was probably laughing at all men including the one she was about to take for a complete mug. As we arrived at her address the theatrics began. "Some bastard's knicked my wallet" I just sat there thinking here we go again. "look, I'm a payer I am, I always pay my way but someone’s definitely knicked my money" I asked what was she going to do about it and she said she could ring me later and arrange payment. We were outside a place where there was a party going in full swing and there were lots of undesirables looking over at the cab and getting a bit too close for comfort so I decided that living to fight another day would be better than nothing so I gave her my mobile number and she got out. I went home and straight to bed and when I woke there was a missed call from a strange number so perhaps she did try and ring but as far as I was concerned I would never see that £18 again.
On a recent visit to the cab garage I had to part with five weeks rent, that’s a thousand hard earned quid. The owner was at the helm as his manager, the genial Irishman, was away somewhere receiving treatment for something or other. Once the money was paid the owner told me I was still four weeks in arrears. He came to that conclusion just by matching the payments I’d made with the payment book. I told him that the manager always has the dates written down wrong in the book as I’ve pointed out to him on lots of occasions and that in fact I was up to date. I have all the receipts of my payments at home and he asked me to bring them in next time I come. He also gave me a parking ticket notification and it was dated January the 6th. I could just imagine it lying buried under the managers untidy desk for weeks and then suddenly being discovered and put aside to give me after the two-week period where you can pay only £60 has elapsed. As the manager wasn’t there to explain we decided to wait until he returns but there’s no way I’m paying for someone else’s mistake. The actual offence is debatable too as the only thing I could think of was that I was photographed dropping someone off in a bus lane on Newington Green Road which isn’t an offence, and some jobsworth camera controller has decided to do me for it. The case continues.
I’m off out now to hand over another £400 to my mother in law (hi Jan!!) to pay for my daughter’s forthcoming annual trip to see her mother in San Diego.
I should be posting something later on this week so check back in three or four days.
Be Lucky out there.
LC
I've had a few non-payers since my last post and my fair share of grief with drunks and losers.
One of the non-payers was picked up in Gospel Oak. She had a young guy with her but she was obviously the dominant one as she kept ordering him about. They asked to be taken to Camden Town but changed their mind on the way to an address not a million miles away from my home. Her phone rang and she told him to be quiet as it was her husband. The poor guy nearly crapped himself and while I was waiting at lights tried to open the door to make a dash for it. She started laughing and hurling insults at him because of his lack of adventure but he started panicking and just said "please let me out mate" to me. I took my foot of the brake and the doors unlocked and he was off running like a greyhound after the hare. She couldn't stop laughing and in retrospect she was probably laughing at all men including the one she was about to take for a complete mug. As we arrived at her address the theatrics began. "Some bastard's knicked my wallet" I just sat there thinking here we go again. "look, I'm a payer I am, I always pay my way but someone’s definitely knicked my money" I asked what was she going to do about it and she said she could ring me later and arrange payment. We were outside a place where there was a party going in full swing and there were lots of undesirables looking over at the cab and getting a bit too close for comfort so I decided that living to fight another day would be better than nothing so I gave her my mobile number and she got out. I went home and straight to bed and when I woke there was a missed call from a strange number so perhaps she did try and ring but as far as I was concerned I would never see that £18 again.
On a recent visit to the cab garage I had to part with five weeks rent, that’s a thousand hard earned quid. The owner was at the helm as his manager, the genial Irishman, was away somewhere receiving treatment for something or other. Once the money was paid the owner told me I was still four weeks in arrears. He came to that conclusion just by matching the payments I’d made with the payment book. I told him that the manager always has the dates written down wrong in the book as I’ve pointed out to him on lots of occasions and that in fact I was up to date. I have all the receipts of my payments at home and he asked me to bring them in next time I come. He also gave me a parking ticket notification and it was dated January the 6th. I could just imagine it lying buried under the managers untidy desk for weeks and then suddenly being discovered and put aside to give me after the two-week period where you can pay only £60 has elapsed. As the manager wasn’t there to explain we decided to wait until he returns but there’s no way I’m paying for someone else’s mistake. The actual offence is debatable too as the only thing I could think of was that I was photographed dropping someone off in a bus lane on Newington Green Road which isn’t an offence, and some jobsworth camera controller has decided to do me for it. The case continues.
I’m off out now to hand over another £400 to my mother in law (hi Jan!!) to pay for my daughter’s forthcoming annual trip to see her mother in San Diego.
I should be posting something later on this week so check back in three or four days.
Be Lucky out there.
LC
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Musings
I suppose I better post something as I’ll start to lose my audience. These are random musings from my notes.
I only had one fruitcake in the cab over the last few days. She was a young black girl who went from Victoria Station to The Angel Islington. She was talking on her phone and then started shouting out at the top of her voice. Chris was on the phone to me at the time and he said “What the f*** was that?” I turned round and asked if she was OK and she said in a near-normal voice “yes thanks, how long till we get there?” I said about 15 minutes and she shouted out to me “well put your bloody foot down mate, I’m in a hurry here” All the way there she was saying stuff like “Can’t you go faster?” or “Overtake that car” or “That other taxi is going faster, can’t you keep up with him?”. I never answered her once as I don’t think she was looking for an answer as in my mind I think she was a bit of a nutter, someone who had issues. The only concern I had was if I was going to get paid. The fare was £20.40 and when we arrived she gave me a £20 note and a £2 coin and said in a near-normal voice “Thank you driver, there’s a little extra for you for getting me here so quickly”. The rest of the shift went OK and I did some nice jobs. The last one was a fellow Leeds United supporter who I took to Kew Gardens and we were talking football the whole way there. He gave me a £5 tip on top of the already expensive fare. There are all-sorts of people out there and in this job they’ll all pass through the doors of my taxi at some point or other.
Work last Thursday was better than the last few days. I started at about 7.30 and was done by 2am. Best job of the night was from town up to High Barnet. On the way back in from Barnet a girl flagged me down at Golders Green and wanted to go back out to Edgware. She wanted a price and I told her it would go about £20 to £25 on the meter. It went £24.60 and she waited for the 40p change from £25. I don’t expect tips ever and am never amazed at when people don’t give them. Australians and Spanish people are notorious in the cab trade for not tipping. On the flip-side of that some people go way over the top sometimes. I once picked a guy up and dropped him a short distance. The fare was about £3.60 and he gave me a £20 note. I said I was struggling for change and he told me to keep it and walked off. A few of them a night would be fantastic but they do come around every so often.
The Friday night shift was extremely busy, as one would expect. I met up with Chris at the Astral in Horseferry Road (Tony’s place) and I had a nice tuna and sweetcorn baguette with a custard tart and a latte. We sat outside a pub round the corner where in about an hour we could see all the punters slowly deteriorating through drink. They seemed to be having fun though and it made me think of how I seem to spend my life sat in the cab watching other people have fun. It’s about time I had a little bit of fun myself.
There was a lot of police activity around Baker Street Station last Saturday. From midnight all alcohol was banned on public transport and a party on the Circle Line was organised by the public in one final act of defiance. There was a lot of trouble but I managed to avoid it. Chris kept ringing me as he was in the area. We stopped for a coffee in Berners Street at around 9.30 and from about 10 until I finished it was non-stop work going here, there and everywhere. The last job ended up in Dulwich Village and the man was well drunk and had a really peculiar smell, which filled the cab. I had to drive with the window open and kept sticking my head out to get lungfulls of fresh air as I thought I was going to vomit. I rang Chris and told him and he said "just pull over and say "Oi mate, get out of my cab will you, you stink and I can't stand it" that's something he would say but I am more diplomatic and just carried on. By the time we got to Dulwich the man had passed out and I think I had turned green and I had to shout at the top of my voice three or four times to wake him. He paid me OK and on the way back in I opened all the windows in case I got another job.
Last Tuesday I ended up ranking after each job and waiting for long spells before getting my next job and then the job would sometimes only go a short distance and yield a couple of quid. The last time I ranked was the longest as I made the fatal mistake of getting myself boxed in at Paddington. I waited for almost a whole hour I did eventually get a job at around 1.15am and it took me over to Bethnal Green in the east end. The roads were deserted at that time and I was there in no time. I came back through the City and had a look on the Liverpool Street Station rank but it was also full of hopefull cabs waiting for the next Stanstead train.
I had a bit of a disagreement with a big African man at Victoria. I was on a feeder rank, not the main one, and he walked over and asked me how much it would be to take him to Lewisham. I hate going to places like that as it's such a dump. I said "about £30" and he said "ok can you do it for a fixed price of £20" and I replied "absolutely not" so he walked away and crossed the road and started getting some enormous suitcases out of a car. He crossed back over and approached me again and said "OK we go to Lewisham for £30". The price I suggested was only an estimate and I told him that the fare would be whatever the meter showed at the end of the journey. He started to argue that we had made a deal and I had said £30. I said we hadn't made a deal and that the final price would be whatever the meter showed. All this exchange of words was done in a heated manner with lots of arm waving and pointing. At the end of it all I told him that I wouldn't be moving from where I was unless he handed over at least £35 upfront. He didn't agree he should do that so we had another heated exchange and finally I told him to take another cab. The line up ahead of me had moved on so I drove forward leaving him to have the same argument with the cab behind me. I'll take anybody anywhere they want to go but I have to be sure they have the means of paying. The days of me just taking anybody anywhere without verification of funds are long gone.
Monday was a very busy shift as there were some awards on at a hotel in Vauxhall and there were quite a few after parties scattered around making it pleasantly busy for a Monday. I was on the road by 7pm and got my first job out on Maida Vale almost straight away. The second job was a strange one. A lady from Victoria to round the back of Harrods. On the way there she starts telling me about how her Mercedes had just been stolen and that she never had insurance for it. She wanted to know if she took out a policy straightaway would she be able to make a claim. How the heck should I know and why didn’t she have insurance in the first place. By the way she talked she had all the qualities of a loser and I got a feeling the ride wouldn’t be straightforward. When we arrived she started fumbling about for money and after only a few seconds of looking she declared that she’d lost a tenner she had in her pocket. She asked for my number and said she was only going to be in this place for an hour or so and that she would have money by then (call girl?) so I could run her back to Victoria. I thought to myself that it was only a fiver so if she never rang me then it wouldn’t be the end of the world. She never did ring me so I was a fiver down after only my second job. The evening could only get better. I did a few more jobs then stopped for a bite to eat at another well-known cabbie haunt, The Piccolo in Mayfair. That was where Tony started out and then left to open The Astral. So, due a bit of luck, I ranked on the Hilton Hotel on Park Lane and got a job out to The Holiday Inn Ariel by Heathrow Airport which paid £52 and made the night a bit easier.
The cab rent is due Monday and my brake pads need doing as they’re almost down to the metal when they were last checked. That’s all folks.
I only had one fruitcake in the cab over the last few days. She was a young black girl who went from Victoria Station to The Angel Islington. She was talking on her phone and then started shouting out at the top of her voice. Chris was on the phone to me at the time and he said “What the f*** was that?” I turned round and asked if she was OK and she said in a near-normal voice “yes thanks, how long till we get there?” I said about 15 minutes and she shouted out to me “well put your bloody foot down mate, I’m in a hurry here” All the way there she was saying stuff like “Can’t you go faster?” or “Overtake that car” or “That other taxi is going faster, can’t you keep up with him?”. I never answered her once as I don’t think she was looking for an answer as in my mind I think she was a bit of a nutter, someone who had issues. The only concern I had was if I was going to get paid. The fare was £20.40 and when we arrived she gave me a £20 note and a £2 coin and said in a near-normal voice “Thank you driver, there’s a little extra for you for getting me here so quickly”. The rest of the shift went OK and I did some nice jobs. The last one was a fellow Leeds United supporter who I took to Kew Gardens and we were talking football the whole way there. He gave me a £5 tip on top of the already expensive fare. There are all-sorts of people out there and in this job they’ll all pass through the doors of my taxi at some point or other.
Work last Thursday was better than the last few days. I started at about 7.30 and was done by 2am. Best job of the night was from town up to High Barnet. On the way back in from Barnet a girl flagged me down at Golders Green and wanted to go back out to Edgware. She wanted a price and I told her it would go about £20 to £25 on the meter. It went £24.60 and she waited for the 40p change from £25. I don’t expect tips ever and am never amazed at when people don’t give them. Australians and Spanish people are notorious in the cab trade for not tipping. On the flip-side of that some people go way over the top sometimes. I once picked a guy up and dropped him a short distance. The fare was about £3.60 and he gave me a £20 note. I said I was struggling for change and he told me to keep it and walked off. A few of them a night would be fantastic but they do come around every so often.
The Friday night shift was extremely busy, as one would expect. I met up with Chris at the Astral in Horseferry Road (Tony’s place) and I had a nice tuna and sweetcorn baguette with a custard tart and a latte. We sat outside a pub round the corner where in about an hour we could see all the punters slowly deteriorating through drink. They seemed to be having fun though and it made me think of how I seem to spend my life sat in the cab watching other people have fun. It’s about time I had a little bit of fun myself.
There was a lot of police activity around Baker Street Station last Saturday. From midnight all alcohol was banned on public transport and a party on the Circle Line was organised by the public in one final act of defiance. There was a lot of trouble but I managed to avoid it. Chris kept ringing me as he was in the area. We stopped for a coffee in Berners Street at around 9.30 and from about 10 until I finished it was non-stop work going here, there and everywhere. The last job ended up in Dulwich Village and the man was well drunk and had a really peculiar smell, which filled the cab. I had to drive with the window open and kept sticking my head out to get lungfulls of fresh air as I thought I was going to vomit. I rang Chris and told him and he said "just pull over and say "Oi mate, get out of my cab will you, you stink and I can't stand it" that's something he would say but I am more diplomatic and just carried on. By the time we got to Dulwich the man had passed out and I think I had turned green and I had to shout at the top of my voice three or four times to wake him. He paid me OK and on the way back in I opened all the windows in case I got another job.
Last Tuesday I ended up ranking after each job and waiting for long spells before getting my next job and then the job would sometimes only go a short distance and yield a couple of quid. The last time I ranked was the longest as I made the fatal mistake of getting myself boxed in at Paddington. I waited for almost a whole hour I did eventually get a job at around 1.15am and it took me over to Bethnal Green in the east end. The roads were deserted at that time and I was there in no time. I came back through the City and had a look on the Liverpool Street Station rank but it was also full of hopefull cabs waiting for the next Stanstead train.
I had a bit of a disagreement with a big African man at Victoria. I was on a feeder rank, not the main one, and he walked over and asked me how much it would be to take him to Lewisham. I hate going to places like that as it's such a dump. I said "about £30" and he said "ok can you do it for a fixed price of £20" and I replied "absolutely not" so he walked away and crossed the road and started getting some enormous suitcases out of a car. He crossed back over and approached me again and said "OK we go to Lewisham for £30". The price I suggested was only an estimate and I told him that the fare would be whatever the meter showed at the end of the journey. He started to argue that we had made a deal and I had said £30. I said we hadn't made a deal and that the final price would be whatever the meter showed. All this exchange of words was done in a heated manner with lots of arm waving and pointing. At the end of it all I told him that I wouldn't be moving from where I was unless he handed over at least £35 upfront. He didn't agree he should do that so we had another heated exchange and finally I told him to take another cab. The line up ahead of me had moved on so I drove forward leaving him to have the same argument with the cab behind me. I'll take anybody anywhere they want to go but I have to be sure they have the means of paying. The days of me just taking anybody anywhere without verification of funds are long gone.
Monday was a very busy shift as there were some awards on at a hotel in Vauxhall and there were quite a few after parties scattered around making it pleasantly busy for a Monday. I was on the road by 7pm and got my first job out on Maida Vale almost straight away. The second job was a strange one. A lady from Victoria to round the back of Harrods. On the way there she starts telling me about how her Mercedes had just been stolen and that she never had insurance for it. She wanted to know if she took out a policy straightaway would she be able to make a claim. How the heck should I know and why didn’t she have insurance in the first place. By the way she talked she had all the qualities of a loser and I got a feeling the ride wouldn’t be straightforward. When we arrived she started fumbling about for money and after only a few seconds of looking she declared that she’d lost a tenner she had in her pocket. She asked for my number and said she was only going to be in this place for an hour or so and that she would have money by then (call girl?) so I could run her back to Victoria. I thought to myself that it was only a fiver so if she never rang me then it wouldn’t be the end of the world. She never did ring me so I was a fiver down after only my second job. The evening could only get better. I did a few more jobs then stopped for a bite to eat at another well-known cabbie haunt, The Piccolo in Mayfair. That was where Tony started out and then left to open The Astral. So, due a bit of luck, I ranked on the Hilton Hotel on Park Lane and got a job out to The Holiday Inn Ariel by Heathrow Airport which paid £52 and made the night a bit easier.
The cab rent is due Monday and my brake pads need doing as they’re almost down to the metal when they were last checked. That’s all folks.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Not A Happy Bunny
(Only True Leeds Fans Will Understand The Next Few Lines)
It was the first leg against Carlisle all over again. Freedman and Beckford were invisible. All those thousands of Leeds fans disappointed, no, gutted, distraught, crestfallen and probably even suicidal. That’s just Leeds United Football Club for you. The misery is unbearable and I don’t want to think about them any more until next season, it’s just too harrowing.
On a brighter note I almost accepted a pair of soiled panties as part payment for the fare tonight but then decided I needed the money more. I picked up a couple of thirty something women. Both had a skinful and they started trying it on with me from the word go. “would you do me?” said one of them in a broad Glasgow accent. If I’d been standing in a bar somewhere then maybe, no, definitely. But whilst at work and weary of these types of proposals I let her down gently by saying “my girlfriend wouldn’t like it”. They kept on and on and I got into the swing (once I’d got over my initial fright, shock, fear of fresh women) and the banter was fierce but it was never, ever gonna be more than that. When we arrived in Chiswick (yes even posh Chiswick has loose women residing there) the fare was £18 and the other one said “let’s call it a tenner and you can have the knickers I’ve got on” and started to lift her skirt up to remove them. I said “no thanks luv, I’d rather the money if you don’t mind” Then she said “why not, they’re clean” and I said “look, a jokes a joke but just pay me what’s on the meter OK?” They weren’t too pleased about being rejected and paid the fare and muttered some name under their breath. This sort of thing happens from time to time but to be honest I’d rather just have a boring shift.
Just paid my cab Friday. £800. That was painful. I also had the Xeta equipment removed as I wasn’t doing it justice and also the rent has just gone up to £19 per week. So it’s just me and the streets again until I feel the need to be part of a circuit again.
That’s all I can muster for now folks. More eventually………………..LC
It was the first leg against Carlisle all over again. Freedman and Beckford were invisible. All those thousands of Leeds fans disappointed, no, gutted, distraught, crestfallen and probably even suicidal. That’s just Leeds United Football Club for you. The misery is unbearable and I don’t want to think about them any more until next season, it’s just too harrowing.
On a brighter note I almost accepted a pair of soiled panties as part payment for the fare tonight but then decided I needed the money more. I picked up a couple of thirty something women. Both had a skinful and they started trying it on with me from the word go. “would you do me?” said one of them in a broad Glasgow accent. If I’d been standing in a bar somewhere then maybe, no, definitely. But whilst at work and weary of these types of proposals I let her down gently by saying “my girlfriend wouldn’t like it”. They kept on and on and I got into the swing (once I’d got over my initial fright, shock, fear of fresh women) and the banter was fierce but it was never, ever gonna be more than that. When we arrived in Chiswick (yes even posh Chiswick has loose women residing there) the fare was £18 and the other one said “let’s call it a tenner and you can have the knickers I’ve got on” and started to lift her skirt up to remove them. I said “no thanks luv, I’d rather the money if you don’t mind” Then she said “why not, they’re clean” and I said “look, a jokes a joke but just pay me what’s on the meter OK?” They weren’t too pleased about being rejected and paid the fare and muttered some name under their breath. This sort of thing happens from time to time but to be honest I’d rather just have a boring shift.
Just paid my cab Friday. £800. That was painful. I also had the Xeta equipment removed as I wasn’t doing it justice and also the rent has just gone up to £19 per week. So it’s just me and the streets again until I feel the need to be part of a circuit again.
That’s all I can muster for now folks. More eventually………………..LC
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Marching On Together?
Leeds United, my beloved football team, played the first leg of the play-offs last night and I stayed in to watch it. Apart from a few memorable moments in all the years of supporting them, it’s mainly just been misery and despair. We lost the home leg 2-1 and now need to beat Carlisle at their place on Thursday night. Glutton for punishment that I am, I will be staying in to watch that too. Because of the football I never played darts tonight. We needed to win our last game of the season to win the league. The Captain was texting me to try and get me to come there instead of watching the game but it was no contest. My two boys went as usual and managed to easily secure a 12-2 victory thus winning us the league and promotion to the first division. Leeds should take a leaf out of our book.
Since I posted last Wednesday I have carried working on relentlessly.
I met up with Chris the next day for a Cornish pasty and a coffee at Marylebone Station. He’d also bought me a blood pressure monitor and we sat in the back of my cab taking our blood pressure in turn. Mine was 144 over 92 and anyone who knows about blood pressure will know that’s a pretty high reading. I had to see the doc the next day and she put me on some different meds to try and bring it down. I always have a chuckle to myself when I’m in with her because you get no sympathy whatsoever from her. In fact she is totally devoid of any emotions and just wants you out of there asap.
I’m still getting attacked by anonymous commenters for the infamous “20p” incident in Old Church Street. Guys, or Gals for that matter, there’s no need to be so nasty. When I read those posts again they seem fair to me. But I suppose it takes all sorts to make a world doesn’t it?
The other night I was driving back towards town after a fare to Camberwell when a guy flagged me on the Vauxhall one-way. He had a bit of paper in his hand, which always gets me excited. He said he was completely lost and wanted a cab ride out to Weybridge.
Me: You know that’s a £70 to £80 fare mate?
Him: What?? It’s not far from here is it?
Me: Yeh it’s about £70 to £80 from here.
Him: Well I’ve got no other option at this time so let’s go for it.
Me: No problem mate that’ll be £80 up front and you’ll get any change that’s due.
Him: We’ll find a cash point when we get down there.
Me: There’s one just round the corner, I’ll take you there instead shall I?
Him: Whatever!
I’d anticipated a spot of bother but as it turned out he got the money and paid me upfront. I got the postcode off him and once in the vicinity I asked what we were looking for.
Him: The Moreland Lodge Hotel 46 Portsmouth Road KT11 1BW
was how he told me the address.
There wasn’t a hotel with that name at the address it was the Cobham Lodge Hotel, obviously a name-change had occurred at some recent point.
Me: Are you sure it hasn’t changed its name?
Him: No, mine charges £55 per night that one (the sign outside said) charges £77.
I drove up and down Portsmouth Road twice before I decided the Moreland Lodge never existed anymore. He had the phone number on the piece of paper, which I rang from my phone. “Hello, Cobham Lodge Hotel, may I help you?” Came the reply. Nuff said. £75 and a receipt and I’m homeward bound once again.
Friday and Saturday night were typical. Lots of people going out to clubs and bars. Lots of drunk people coming out of clubs and bars.
The Elton John song “Saturday Nights Alright For Fighting” sprung to mind as I pulled up in the traffic in Fulham Broadway at the same moment that a crowd of young men decided to start a mass brawl. I felt a bit too close for comfort as these guys were laying into each other with venom. One poor bloke was getting pummelled by two men. He received a punch in the face, which knocked him backwards, cracking his head on the pavement. As his head hit another guy booted him full in the face. I must admit it was quite sickening. My punter, who I was driving to Munster Road, was shitting himself and started panicking. A couple of those plastic-coppers came running towards the fracas and to give them due respect they steamed straight in and started separating everyone. Within seconds three police cars arrived from different directions with sirens wailing and the group of lads started dispersing in all directions. With the action at an end cars that had slowed to observe moved off and I was able to continue my journey to Munster Road.
As I said earlier, tonight’s shift was short on account of me having stayed in to watch the football. I got out at 10pm then had to return home as my daughter had no keys to get in. I still managed a respectable nights takings and finished the shift off with an Underground job from Holland Park Station to Greenford. It was only one pickup and drop and I was chatting to the guy about his job and he said he was waiting to be accepted as a train driver where he will earn 41k instead of the 22k he was presently earning to collect tickets, sweep the platforms and take loads of abuse from the general public.
Should be back to normal tonight.
Be Lucky.
Since I posted last Wednesday I have carried working on relentlessly.
I met up with Chris the next day for a Cornish pasty and a coffee at Marylebone Station. He’d also bought me a blood pressure monitor and we sat in the back of my cab taking our blood pressure in turn. Mine was 144 over 92 and anyone who knows about blood pressure will know that’s a pretty high reading. I had to see the doc the next day and she put me on some different meds to try and bring it down. I always have a chuckle to myself when I’m in with her because you get no sympathy whatsoever from her. In fact she is totally devoid of any emotions and just wants you out of there asap.
I’m still getting attacked by anonymous commenters for the infamous “20p” incident in Old Church Street. Guys, or Gals for that matter, there’s no need to be so nasty. When I read those posts again they seem fair to me. But I suppose it takes all sorts to make a world doesn’t it?
The other night I was driving back towards town after a fare to Camberwell when a guy flagged me on the Vauxhall one-way. He had a bit of paper in his hand, which always gets me excited. He said he was completely lost and wanted a cab ride out to Weybridge.
Me: You know that’s a £70 to £80 fare mate?
Him: What?? It’s not far from here is it?
Me: Yeh it’s about £70 to £80 from here.
Him: Well I’ve got no other option at this time so let’s go for it.
Me: No problem mate that’ll be £80 up front and you’ll get any change that’s due.
Him: We’ll find a cash point when we get down there.
Me: There’s one just round the corner, I’ll take you there instead shall I?
Him: Whatever!
I’d anticipated a spot of bother but as it turned out he got the money and paid me upfront. I got the postcode off him and once in the vicinity I asked what we were looking for.
Him: The Moreland Lodge Hotel 46 Portsmouth Road KT11 1BW
was how he told me the address.
There wasn’t a hotel with that name at the address it was the Cobham Lodge Hotel, obviously a name-change had occurred at some recent point.
Me: Are you sure it hasn’t changed its name?
Him: No, mine charges £55 per night that one (the sign outside said) charges £77.
I drove up and down Portsmouth Road twice before I decided the Moreland Lodge never existed anymore. He had the phone number on the piece of paper, which I rang from my phone. “Hello, Cobham Lodge Hotel, may I help you?” Came the reply. Nuff said. £75 and a receipt and I’m homeward bound once again.
Friday and Saturday night were typical. Lots of people going out to clubs and bars. Lots of drunk people coming out of clubs and bars.
The Elton John song “Saturday Nights Alright For Fighting” sprung to mind as I pulled up in the traffic in Fulham Broadway at the same moment that a crowd of young men decided to start a mass brawl. I felt a bit too close for comfort as these guys were laying into each other with venom. One poor bloke was getting pummelled by two men. He received a punch in the face, which knocked him backwards, cracking his head on the pavement. As his head hit another guy booted him full in the face. I must admit it was quite sickening. My punter, who I was driving to Munster Road, was shitting himself and started panicking. A couple of those plastic-coppers came running towards the fracas and to give them due respect they steamed straight in and started separating everyone. Within seconds three police cars arrived from different directions with sirens wailing and the group of lads started dispersing in all directions. With the action at an end cars that had slowed to observe moved off and I was able to continue my journey to Munster Road.
As I said earlier, tonight’s shift was short on account of me having stayed in to watch the football. I got out at 10pm then had to return home as my daughter had no keys to get in. I still managed a respectable nights takings and finished the shift off with an Underground job from Holland Park Station to Greenford. It was only one pickup and drop and I was chatting to the guy about his job and he said he was waiting to be accepted as a train driver where he will earn 41k instead of the 22k he was presently earning to collect tickets, sweep the platforms and take loads of abuse from the general public.
Should be back to normal tonight.
Be Lucky.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
"Running To Stand Still"
So we have a new Mayor now and we’re all waiting to see how his policies may affect us in either a good or bad way. I voted for him as I’ve always voted for the Conservatives for good or bad and one policy I will be looking forward to seeing the Mayor implement is ridding the streets of the Bendy Bus. You only have to get stuck behind a couple of them in Oxford Street to know they’ve always been a bad idea on our narrow streets.
One commenter on the last post said, and I quote “you need to stop being so lazy, who goes to work and has a break straight away?” Now rather than attack him back I should probably take a few moments to explain my situation for anyone remotely interested. I live with my three kids. For reasons best known to me I get very little help in running this home so it is inevitably down to me to do everything. I cook, I clean, I vacuum, I take the rubbish out, I do the laundry, I do the shopping and basically do everything that needs doing. So most days I’ve already done a full days work before I have to go and do my shift in the cab. The reason I may go straight to the Royal Oak Taxi Centre is because I fancy something different from what my kids have had and they are geared up to provide me with that something. Also, if it’s already after 8pm then that is a good time to eat as the work dies down till 10pm. This job is not like a 9 to 5 job where you do 4 hours then have a meal break; it’s unique so that you can work when it’s busy and take a break during the quiet spells. Me, lazy? I don’t have the time to be lazy.
Leading on from above, I haven’t had a day off now for over two weeks. The cab has been paid along with various other monthly bills and a saying I find myself quoting to people when asked how I am or how work is is that “I’m running to stand still” (which also happens to be the title of one of my favourite U2 songs). London is still recovering from the Easter break, which seemed to have gone on for much longer than other years.
Since I resumed the medication for my various ailments there have been a couple of times when I’ve had to rush home as one of the side effects has kicked in causing me to “run for the bog” Not nice when you’re on the other side of town and can only use your own toilet. Still, it seems to have settled down now and isn’t as much of a concern.
Work has been pretty uneventful and looking through my notes reveals only a few talking points. Last Wednesday I took a guy from Oxford Street down to Clapham. He paid me off and I drove all the way to Victoria before getting my next ride. There was a problem with the trains and an old fella asked me how much to Gatwick Airport. I quoted him £90 and he nearly had a heart attack probably expecting to hear about £30. “Don’t act so surprised mate” I said to him “it’s a thirty-mile journey and it’s around £3 a mile” He thought about it for a moment then said “I’ll do it for eighty” like it was his decision. I then thought about it, weighed up my options, which weren’t that good and agreed. We chatted most of the way until I hit the M23 and arrived at a deserted North Terminal at around 2am. He handed over the agreed £80 and got out of the cab. I looked on the back seat and there was a pretty large bag sitting there. “Oi mate!!” I called out to him as he was walking away. “You’ve left a bag on the seat” “It was there when I got in” he replied. So he’d sat chatting to me all the way from Victoria with someone else’s bag sitting on the seat next to him. “I thought it was yours” he added. Why the hell would it be mine? It’s a pity the guy I’d picked up when Chris left his moneybag in the cab wasn’t as honest. I pulled over a few yards away and inspected the contents of the bag and found, amongst various items, a laptop. It looked like a nice one too. My son told me it was Israeli, I forget the name but it began with Lan… or something similar. Anyway, there were lots of forms of ID in the bag and I rang the guy the next day. I returned it to him at his place of work in the Regent’s Park area and he gave me a £40 reward, which exceeded my expectations.
Thursday the 1st of May was Election Day and I waited outside a polling station in Battersea Park while my passenger voted. He was talking to someone in the street and I felt I knew this person and I was wracking my brains to know where from. It eventually dawned on me who this person was. When my passenger returned I asked if he knew the person. I then asked if he was a barrister. He said yes to both questions and I knew it was the defence barrister from my two-week jury service stint. He’d worn a wig and gown in court so looked completely different in his tennis attire. My passenger asked if he was any good and I told him that we’d acquitted the defendant so he must have been.
That same shift I did two nice jobs out into the sticks. The first one was from Berkeley Square out to Rickmansworth. I came back in from there to do a few more jobs before ranking on the Hilton in Park Lane. Two blokes came out and asked for Potters Bar. I drove through Potters Bar and eventually dropped them in a place called Cuffley and went home from there.
Monday was Mayday Bank Holiday and the meter was on rate 3 all day. I started at 7pm and worked almost non-stop until 2am. I finished up with my first London Underground account job in three weeks, Waterloo to Rayners Lane.
Before I went to work yesterday I saw on the news that there was an incident in Kings Road, Chelsea and never thought anymore about it. Once at work a few jobs took me down to that area and there were police sirens and helicopters and all sorts of things going on. It turns out that there was an armed siege going on at a house in Markham Square which resulted in the shooting and killing of a gunman
The rest of the shift was pretty uneventful and I ended it with another Underground job from Morden Station in south west London to Mornington Crescent.
More soon.
One commenter on the last post said, and I quote “you need to stop being so lazy, who goes to work and has a break straight away?” Now rather than attack him back I should probably take a few moments to explain my situation for anyone remotely interested. I live with my three kids. For reasons best known to me I get very little help in running this home so it is inevitably down to me to do everything. I cook, I clean, I vacuum, I take the rubbish out, I do the laundry, I do the shopping and basically do everything that needs doing. So most days I’ve already done a full days work before I have to go and do my shift in the cab. The reason I may go straight to the Royal Oak Taxi Centre is because I fancy something different from what my kids have had and they are geared up to provide me with that something. Also, if it’s already after 8pm then that is a good time to eat as the work dies down till 10pm. This job is not like a 9 to 5 job where you do 4 hours then have a meal break; it’s unique so that you can work when it’s busy and take a break during the quiet spells. Me, lazy? I don’t have the time to be lazy.
Leading on from above, I haven’t had a day off now for over two weeks. The cab has been paid along with various other monthly bills and a saying I find myself quoting to people when asked how I am or how work is is that “I’m running to stand still” (which also happens to be the title of one of my favourite U2 songs). London is still recovering from the Easter break, which seemed to have gone on for much longer than other years.
Since I resumed the medication for my various ailments there have been a couple of times when I’ve had to rush home as one of the side effects has kicked in causing me to “run for the bog” Not nice when you’re on the other side of town and can only use your own toilet. Still, it seems to have settled down now and isn’t as much of a concern.
Work has been pretty uneventful and looking through my notes reveals only a few talking points. Last Wednesday I took a guy from Oxford Street down to Clapham. He paid me off and I drove all the way to Victoria before getting my next ride. There was a problem with the trains and an old fella asked me how much to Gatwick Airport. I quoted him £90 and he nearly had a heart attack probably expecting to hear about £30. “Don’t act so surprised mate” I said to him “it’s a thirty-mile journey and it’s around £3 a mile” He thought about it for a moment then said “I’ll do it for eighty” like it was his decision. I then thought about it, weighed up my options, which weren’t that good and agreed. We chatted most of the way until I hit the M23 and arrived at a deserted North Terminal at around 2am. He handed over the agreed £80 and got out of the cab. I looked on the back seat and there was a pretty large bag sitting there. “Oi mate!!” I called out to him as he was walking away. “You’ve left a bag on the seat” “It was there when I got in” he replied. So he’d sat chatting to me all the way from Victoria with someone else’s bag sitting on the seat next to him. “I thought it was yours” he added. Why the hell would it be mine? It’s a pity the guy I’d picked up when Chris left his moneybag in the cab wasn’t as honest. I pulled over a few yards away and inspected the contents of the bag and found, amongst various items, a laptop. It looked like a nice one too. My son told me it was Israeli, I forget the name but it began with Lan… or something similar. Anyway, there were lots of forms of ID in the bag and I rang the guy the next day. I returned it to him at his place of work in the Regent’s Park area and he gave me a £40 reward, which exceeded my expectations.
Thursday the 1st of May was Election Day and I waited outside a polling station in Battersea Park while my passenger voted. He was talking to someone in the street and I felt I knew this person and I was wracking my brains to know where from. It eventually dawned on me who this person was. When my passenger returned I asked if he knew the person. I then asked if he was a barrister. He said yes to both questions and I knew it was the defence barrister from my two-week jury service stint. He’d worn a wig and gown in court so looked completely different in his tennis attire. My passenger asked if he was any good and I told him that we’d acquitted the defendant so he must have been.
That same shift I did two nice jobs out into the sticks. The first one was from Berkeley Square out to Rickmansworth. I came back in from there to do a few more jobs before ranking on the Hilton in Park Lane. Two blokes came out and asked for Potters Bar. I drove through Potters Bar and eventually dropped them in a place called Cuffley and went home from there.
Monday was Mayday Bank Holiday and the meter was on rate 3 all day. I started at 7pm and worked almost non-stop until 2am. I finished up with my first London Underground account job in three weeks, Waterloo to Rayners Lane.
Before I went to work yesterday I saw on the news that there was an incident in Kings Road, Chelsea and never thought anymore about it. Once at work a few jobs took me down to that area and there were police sirens and helicopters and all sorts of things going on. It turns out that there was an armed siege going on at a house in Markham Square which resulted in the shooting and killing of a gunman
The rest of the shift was pretty uneventful and I ended it with another Underground job from Morden Station in south west London to Mornington Crescent.
More soon.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Unlucky Chris
Seeing as my mate Chris aka Titanic can’t be bothered to blog at the moment I asked his permission to let you all know what’s been happening in his working life of late.
He generally works the same hours as me and picks up the same variety of nice people, arseholes and scumbags. We’ll stop for a coffee and a bite to eat on most nights depending on where we are at any given time.
On the Saturday just gone we stopped for a coffee and a slice of cake at the Subway on Tottenham Court Road. We sat outside a busy pub where there was plenty to see and talk about and after about half an hour we went back to work. I trapped almost immediately, a job down to Battersea. He trapped a nice ride down to Hammersmith. After 30 minutes and a few jobs later my phone rang and a frantic Chris asked me if I’d found his moneybag, which he’d left on the back seat of my cab containing his nights takings. I wasn’t carrying anybody at that moment so I was able to pull over and investigate further. The bag wasn’t there. “It’s long gone mate” was how I broke the news to him. There was nothing I could do but to listen to the emissions of pain and rage coming from my phone as Chris vented his anger and frustration finally terminating the call to decide his next step. The guy I had picked up after our coffee break must’ve found it and thought it was his lucky night and decided to keep it. The road he had initially given as his destination, Inworth Street (no number otherwise I would have printed that too you robbing bastard) was changed to Battersea Park Road where he got out so as not to lead me to his front door. The bag also contained Chris’s Taxi License and would need reporting as stolen at a suitable Police station. I gave Chris all the information mentioned above and after dropping a job in the vicinity he parked up and went looking through a few bins just in case the guy had thrown the bag away after removing the cash (£150). He’s clinging to a last thread of hope that the guy will have an attack of conscience and at least send him the license back in the post but we’ve both decided not to hold our breaths.
As if that misfortune wasn’t enough the following day his cab broke down on the M1.
He was driving along and the cab started shuddering and vibrating. He pulled well over to the left and rang the breakdown and after 40 minutes they came and towed him to his garage. It turned out to be a collapsed wheel bearing which has now been repaired. His cab is now off the road as it’s due for its annual overhaul so he’s using his brother’s cab for the next week.
He generally works the same hours as me and picks up the same variety of nice people, arseholes and scumbags. We’ll stop for a coffee and a bite to eat on most nights depending on where we are at any given time.
On the Saturday just gone we stopped for a coffee and a slice of cake at the Subway on Tottenham Court Road. We sat outside a busy pub where there was plenty to see and talk about and after about half an hour we went back to work. I trapped almost immediately, a job down to Battersea. He trapped a nice ride down to Hammersmith. After 30 minutes and a few jobs later my phone rang and a frantic Chris asked me if I’d found his moneybag, which he’d left on the back seat of my cab containing his nights takings. I wasn’t carrying anybody at that moment so I was able to pull over and investigate further. The bag wasn’t there. “It’s long gone mate” was how I broke the news to him. There was nothing I could do but to listen to the emissions of pain and rage coming from my phone as Chris vented his anger and frustration finally terminating the call to decide his next step. The guy I had picked up after our coffee break must’ve found it and thought it was his lucky night and decided to keep it. The road he had initially given as his destination, Inworth Street (no number otherwise I would have printed that too you robbing bastard) was changed to Battersea Park Road where he got out so as not to lead me to his front door. The bag also contained Chris’s Taxi License and would need reporting as stolen at a suitable Police station. I gave Chris all the information mentioned above and after dropping a job in the vicinity he parked up and went looking through a few bins just in case the guy had thrown the bag away after removing the cash (£150). He’s clinging to a last thread of hope that the guy will have an attack of conscience and at least send him the license back in the post but we’ve both decided not to hold our breaths.
As if that misfortune wasn’t enough the following day his cab broke down on the M1.
He was driving along and the cab started shuddering and vibrating. He pulled well over to the left and rang the breakdown and after 40 minutes they came and towed him to his garage. It turned out to be a collapsed wheel bearing which has now been repaired. His cab is now off the road as it’s due for its annual overhaul so he’s using his brother’s cab for the next week.
Chris's cab on the breakdown wagon
Since my last post I have been grafting away taking two steps forward and three steps back and getting nowhere fast. Three weeks behind with the you-know-what but that should be sorted by Wednesday.
I’m flicking through my notes to see what, if anything of interest, I can tell you.
8.4.08. I picked up the singer, Bjork, for the second time. I took her and a friend to the Odeon in Camden Town.
That same shift I also picked up a fare from Victoria Station and took him to the east side of London Fields. This is a park in Hackney and at 2.30am in the morning looks and feels a completely different place than by day. As we arrived at a deserted location in Martello Street there were a few undesirables hanging about and I suggested I drop my fare a bit further down the street but he seemed to know the area and that it would be OK so he got out there and I drove away. I hate that area of town.
9.4.08. I received a £120 fine in the post for being caught in the Kidbroke Park bus lane at 1.30 in the morning a few months earlier. Does anyone know if a bus lane fine starts at £120 or should it start at £60? The garage must’ve forwarded my name and I’m wondering if they overlooked it as the desk in the office is always in a mess. I couldn’t ring and ask as I owed them the rent. That always works against me and one day I’m gonna put it right. Yeah right!!
Bang to rights
Thursday 10.4.08. Having just been to the bank in St John’s Wood, I was driving back home, half asleep, when I drove into the side of a BMW on the famous Abbey Road Zebra Crossing. We pulled ahead of the crossing and the two occupants jumped out to inspect the damage, which luckily for me, turned out to be a few minor scuffs on the rear bumper. They decided it wasn’t worth pursuing and left it at that.
Sunday 13.4.08. Started at 6.30pm and after 5 jobs decided to stop for dinner. I rang my favourite Chinese Take-away in Battersea Park Road and ordered my usual Satay Chicken and rice but also asked them to add a handful of cashews to it. When I arrived at the shop the chef started arguing with the order-taker in Chinese waving his hands in my direction. She (the order-taker) gave as good as she got and finally turned to me and asked me to confirm that I’d asked for the extra cashews to be added. I’ve been having the same dish for the last few years and the chef seemed to not be able to accept that I could change the order to add an extra handful of cashew nuts. He needed to hear me confirm it and still didn’t feel it was right but reluctantly fried off a handful of cashews and added them to the already-cooked Satay chicken. I’ve been back a few times since and he is now OK with it, or at least I hope so and he’s not adding an ingredient or two of his own, if you get my drift.
Tuesday 15.4.08. There is a famous pub in Mayfair called “I am the only running footman”. Weird name for a pub but that’s the name it’s gone by since I’ve been a cab driver for 18 years and was probably it’s name for a long time before that too. It’s on the Corner of Charles Street and Hays Mews. I must have passed it a few thousand times but never actually got asked for it by name. Today a lady asked for it by name and I was mentally aware that it was the first time ever I’d been asked for it. I just thought I’d share that one with you all.
Later on in this same shift the doorman of the Holiday Inn Regents Park flagged me. He was out in Great Portland Street looking for two cabs and I was the second one. I put my meter on and drove round to the hotel to wait for the passengers. The first cab got his passengers and drove off. I sat there until I had £10 on the meter. There was no one in sight, even the doorman had disappeared. I got out and went in search. There were two different employees behind the counter in reception but all I got from them was “it’s nothing to do with us”. As stated in another post this sort of thing happens occasionally and different cabbies handle it in different ways. As there was no one to shout at I had to drive away empty-handed with £12 on the meter making a mental note not to be “had-over” ever again.
Wednesday 16.4.08. Only did half a shift as that tired feeling washed over me after 8 jobs. I bought a can of Red Bull as it is supposed to “give you wings” but after half an hour I was worse than ever and flew home.
Being a diabetic, I had my annual eye screening this week and was told that my blood pressure was too high. Since seeing my doctor I have had an ECG and a blood test and am awaiting the results which I should get this coming Friday.
I would describe myself as normal looking. Not rugged or tough-looking but not the opposite either. If someone like me flagged my cab down I would stop for them, especially if they had five carrier bags of shopping from Sainsbury’s. Yet this old codger was driving along Kilburn High Road at a snails pace, with his “Hire” light on, looked me in the eye and then roared off. What’s all that about? Karma for all the people I’ve done similar to? Maybe his gut instinct told him I might be trouble, who knows? I waited for another cab to come by but none did so I had to walk the half mile home with these five loaded carrier bags of shopping cutting into my hands.
Sunday 20.4.08. I did a job from Paddington Station to Huntsworth Mews. I ask fellow cabbies to run it in their head. Right out of the station, round into Sussex Gardens, straight through to Marylebone Road, left into Gloucester Place set down on the left. Simple. Yet the passenger starts accusing me of ripping him off, saying it was £1.60 more than the last time. As he had already handed me a £20 note and was waiting for the change, I decided that I couldn’t be arsed to explain why and decided tell him that he was talking out of his arse and that he was talking crap. He asked why he would need to talk crap and talk out of his arse and I told him he must’ve had a bad day and was looking for an argument. We had a bit of an exchange of ideas by which time I’d given him his change and told him to “jog on”. He’d probably previously done the journey by day on rate 1.
Yesterday, Monday, started off with a trip to the Public Carriage Office to renew my Taxi Drivers Licence or Bill as we call it, for the seventh time in 18 years. £285 is what I had to pay and will now have to drive around with a cover note until the new one is issued. The last time it took almost 6 months, as there were problems with the CRB check.
From the PCO I had to drive in search of the new Super Mario game for the Wii game system. My son, Michael, was with me and we drove all over the place until finally obtaining a copy at John Lewis’s in Oxford Street.
I started my shift with a meal at the Royal Oak. Chris was also there and we never drove over to Paddington until 9pm, which is pretty late if you’re hoping for a decent night. Needless to say I struggled to earn £140 after some really desperate jobs and went home deflated at 2am.
It’s now 5pm on Tuesday and I plan to be out much earlier tonight, as I must get my cab paid tomorrow.
Catch you later.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Continuing Women Problems
I don’t know if it’s just me but I seem to have been experiencing more job related hassles than I’d care to wish on anyone. Since the last post I’ve had another bad credit card, my iPaq died on me and I also had a slagging match with another woman. Welcome to my world.
My immediate concern is to pay three weeks cab rent (yes, that old chestnut rears it’s head again) by tomorrow before it becomes four weeks on Monday. The letter all drivers at the garage we’re given a few weeks ago obviously hasn’t had the desired effect as we’re all still paying the rents as late as ever. I was at one particular garage in the 90’s where if you hadn’t paid by the due day, Monday, the owner would ridicule you in front of whoever was in the office at the time. This gave you two options. You either ridiculed him back and told him where he could shove his cab or you paid on time. It worked for me for a time but I eventually left there and went to my present garage where my piss-taking, unfortunately, knows no bounds.
The credit card problem followed the night after the one I had in my last post. This one was much shorter but the same problem arose where the PDA returned a rejection message to which I assumed (what do they say about assumption?) that the problem was at Xeta HQ. I let her walk away with 7.80 on the “hickory” and after speaking with someone at Xeta realised I wasn’t getting my money for this job. That’s definitely the last one I do for a while. I’ve refused three or four since.
My iPaq 5550, which operates my satnav and my AtoZ mapping software let me down this week. For those of you familiar with PDA’s, the screen, as it gets older, needs re-aligning with the tool provided. I’d already re-aligned the screen a few times in the last few months so it was obviously on its way out. It finally refused to realign so I had no option but to buy a new one off ebay. This arrived a few days ago and I’m back up and running now.
The Slagging Match
I was sitting on South Kensington rank messing about with the faulty PDA. I looked up and the front cab drove off empty leaving me with a drunk mess of a lady. She could barely speak she was that drunk. I’m not going to drag this one out but after three different destinations we ended up in Barnes. The meter showed £20.20. She only had £10. OK so we’ll drive to the nearest cashpoint and get the rest methinks. That’s all the money she had and wasn’t able to get anymore from anywhere. She had this like-it-or-lump-it attitude that finally started me off. Before I did I rang my daughter and told her what was about to happen. She put her phone on loudspeaker which added another half a dozen listeners as there was a gathering at my house for the recent Wrestlemania live screening.
Me: So, you haven’t got any money?
Her: Nope
Me: You’re rat-arsed right?
Her: Yep, I’m rat-arsed.
Me: So you can spend all your money on drink but when it comes to paying the cab driver it’s tough shit then is it?
Her: (silent)
Me: People like you make me sick. I’ve got kids to feed and bills to pay…
At this point she switched to hysterical mode and started screaming and ranting that she also had kids and that she worked 12 hours a day for little money blah blah blah.
Me: So why are you getting a cab if you can’t pay? I’m driving you to the police station.
More screams and hysterics and her mobile phone came flying through the partition.
Her: Take my fucking phone I don’t want it.
Me: I don’t fucking want it either (throwing it back at her).
We were both ranting at the top of our voices and the audience back at home were laughing their heads off. I knew I wasn’t going to get any more money out of her so told her to just get out. She remained sat there still ranting. Barnes is an extremely posh area and our shouts and screams were now beginning to alert the locals. Heads were appearing at windows and curtains were twitching. I got out and walked round to the kerb side, opened the door and told her to hop-it. As she got out she squared up to me. She must’ve weighed all of 7 stones, half my weight and only came up to my chin. I said something like “what, d’you think I’m gonna fight with you? Get yer arse home you stupid bitch” and got back in the cab and drove off. Again, more grief from yet another woman. Why is it only the women?
I finally made it to the cab garage on Friday. Again, nothing was said but it’s just as well I went, as I had to collect an appointment card for the annual tariff increase on Sunday. A tariff increase, to me, only means earning what I need that little bit quicker and getting back home to my creature comforts. I noticed the difference on the Sunday night when I did a run from Waterloo Station to Shepherds Bush. There was not a drop of traffic on the roads and the meter went up to £25.40, an increase of about 2 to 3 pounds.
I’ve just dropped my son off at college and have taken my cab through the wash at the garage in Willesden Lane. It’s gleaming at the moment, something it hasn’t been for a few weeks. All ready for tonights shift.
Check back soon
My immediate concern is to pay three weeks cab rent (yes, that old chestnut rears it’s head again) by tomorrow before it becomes four weeks on Monday. The letter all drivers at the garage we’re given a few weeks ago obviously hasn’t had the desired effect as we’re all still paying the rents as late as ever. I was at one particular garage in the 90’s where if you hadn’t paid by the due day, Monday, the owner would ridicule you in front of whoever was in the office at the time. This gave you two options. You either ridiculed him back and told him where he could shove his cab or you paid on time. It worked for me for a time but I eventually left there and went to my present garage where my piss-taking, unfortunately, knows no bounds.
The credit card problem followed the night after the one I had in my last post. This one was much shorter but the same problem arose where the PDA returned a rejection message to which I assumed (what do they say about assumption?) that the problem was at Xeta HQ. I let her walk away with 7.80 on the “hickory” and after speaking with someone at Xeta realised I wasn’t getting my money for this job. That’s definitely the last one I do for a while. I’ve refused three or four since.
My iPaq 5550, which operates my satnav and my AtoZ mapping software let me down this week. For those of you familiar with PDA’s, the screen, as it gets older, needs re-aligning with the tool provided. I’d already re-aligned the screen a few times in the last few months so it was obviously on its way out. It finally refused to realign so I had no option but to buy a new one off ebay. This arrived a few days ago and I’m back up and running now.
The Slagging Match
I was sitting on South Kensington rank messing about with the faulty PDA. I looked up and the front cab drove off empty leaving me with a drunk mess of a lady. She could barely speak she was that drunk. I’m not going to drag this one out but after three different destinations we ended up in Barnes. The meter showed £20.20. She only had £10. OK so we’ll drive to the nearest cashpoint and get the rest methinks. That’s all the money she had and wasn’t able to get anymore from anywhere. She had this like-it-or-lump-it attitude that finally started me off. Before I did I rang my daughter and told her what was about to happen. She put her phone on loudspeaker which added another half a dozen listeners as there was a gathering at my house for the recent Wrestlemania live screening.
Me: So, you haven’t got any money?
Her: Nope
Me: You’re rat-arsed right?
Her: Yep, I’m rat-arsed.
Me: So you can spend all your money on drink but when it comes to paying the cab driver it’s tough shit then is it?
Her: (silent)
Me: People like you make me sick. I’ve got kids to feed and bills to pay…
At this point she switched to hysterical mode and started screaming and ranting that she also had kids and that she worked 12 hours a day for little money blah blah blah.
Me: So why are you getting a cab if you can’t pay? I’m driving you to the police station.
More screams and hysterics and her mobile phone came flying through the partition.
Her: Take my fucking phone I don’t want it.
Me: I don’t fucking want it either (throwing it back at her).
We were both ranting at the top of our voices and the audience back at home were laughing their heads off. I knew I wasn’t going to get any more money out of her so told her to just get out. She remained sat there still ranting. Barnes is an extremely posh area and our shouts and screams were now beginning to alert the locals. Heads were appearing at windows and curtains were twitching. I got out and walked round to the kerb side, opened the door and told her to hop-it. As she got out she squared up to me. She must’ve weighed all of 7 stones, half my weight and only came up to my chin. I said something like “what, d’you think I’m gonna fight with you? Get yer arse home you stupid bitch” and got back in the cab and drove off. Again, more grief from yet another woman. Why is it only the women?
I finally made it to the cab garage on Friday. Again, nothing was said but it’s just as well I went, as I had to collect an appointment card for the annual tariff increase on Sunday. A tariff increase, to me, only means earning what I need that little bit quicker and getting back home to my creature comforts. I noticed the difference on the Sunday night when I did a run from Waterloo Station to Shepherds Bush. There was not a drop of traffic on the roads and the meter went up to £25.40, an increase of about 2 to 3 pounds.
I’ve just dropped my son off at college and have taken my cab through the wash at the garage in Willesden Lane. It’s gleaming at the moment, something it hasn’t been for a few weeks. All ready for tonights shift.
Check back soon
Friday, March 28, 2008
Who's Jonny?
Getting ready to blogI have another cabbie friend called Chris who rang me the other morning about a problem he was having with his PDA. It had lost its charge after three days without use and had wiped off all his maps and satellite navigation software. I have had lots of experience re-installing maps and software to my own and two other friends’ PDA’s so it only took me minutes to do Chris’s. Although us cabbies have “The Knowledge” it still feels like your left nut is missing when the PDA’s cack-out for whatever reason.
Later that night I did an Underground job on Xeta, which ended up at Canning Town via North Greenwich from Waterloo. From the final drop-off I had to drive to Tottenham to pick up my daughter and the satnav guided me through Twelvetrees Crescent for the first time ever. 50% of the time you can expect it to take you the wrong way and as I passed a sign saying “private estate” I thought “Here we go again”. Even the map shows the road is closed off but as I drove from one end to the other and found myself entering the A12 I was quite impressed. Do any East London drivers know if you can use this route during the day?
Wednesday saw me start at 4pm, the earliest I have started for a while. I had to go to the bank in St John’s Wood first and then got my first job from there. An old boiler, is how I could best describe her. She was 70-odd with rotten teeth, a Worzle Gummidge hairdo and a musky essence-of-piss about her. From the word go she never stopped telling me her life story, mainly the various ailments and medications she was on. She started coughing uncontrollably and announced she had some sort of virus to which I expressed my concern about whether it was contagious. I had to endure that all the way to Victoria where she then paid the entire fare (£15) in £ coins which I was in need of so was pleased.
Later that night I did an Underground job on Xeta, which ended up at Canning Town via North Greenwich from Waterloo. From the final drop-off I had to drive to Tottenham to pick up my daughter and the satnav guided me through Twelvetrees Crescent for the first time ever. 50% of the time you can expect it to take you the wrong way and as I passed a sign saying “private estate” I thought “Here we go again”. Even the map shows the road is closed off but as I drove from one end to the other and found myself entering the A12 I was quite impressed. Do any East London drivers know if you can use this route during the day?
Wednesday saw me start at 4pm, the earliest I have started for a while. I had to go to the bank in St John’s Wood first and then got my first job from there. An old boiler, is how I could best describe her. She was 70-odd with rotten teeth, a Worzle Gummidge hairdo and a musky essence-of-piss about her. From the word go she never stopped telling me her life story, mainly the various ailments and medications she was on. She started coughing uncontrollably and announced she had some sort of virus to which I expressed my concern about whether it was contagious. I had to endure that all the way to Victoria where she then paid the entire fare (£15) in £ coins which I was in need of so was pleased.
As she got out two more fares were waiting to get in and wanted to go back into the thick of it to the Holborn area. As they got out to pay the fare (£10.60) one of the two women gave me a tenner and walked away. I was going to forget about the sixty pennies when she turned round and hurried back saying “Oh my God, I’ve got to give you more money. I’m a dickhead” she looked anything but a dickhead to me but I accepted the £2 coin she offered me and bade her farewell. For anyone comparing what happened a few posts ago I would say that the circumstances were different.
Being on this side of town and not having had anything to eat or drink since getting up, I drove up to Euston to seek out the Prêt a Manger there. It was pretty late in the afternoon so they never had a large selection of sandwiches. I sat outside the Novotel eating my food and watching everyone hurry about their business.
Being on this side of town and not having had anything to eat or drink since getting up, I drove up to Euston to seek out the Prêt a Manger there. It was pretty late in the afternoon so they never had a large selection of sandwiches. I sat outside the Novotel eating my food and watching everyone hurry about their business.
There was to be a big evening of International football this evening so it was inevitable that I would at some point get a job to the 60,000 seater Emirates Statdium, home of Arsenal Football Club who were hosting a friendly game between Brazil and Sweden. The Stadium, as it turned out, was filled to capacity so there was quite a bit of work there for a few hours after the game.
I stopped for a burger with Chris at Marylebone Station and, unable to get our favourite dessert of lemon cheesecake, we had to settle for a lemon soufflé type of dessert, which came in little ceramic pots that probably cost more than the contents. I meant to keep the pots as they make good ashtrays but inadvertently threw them out yesterday.
The last job for Wednesday took me from Upper Thames Street in The City up to Bowes Park. The extremely drunk man was trying to explain where he wanted but with simply mentioning the name of the area and his road I had enough to get him home. He was trying to talk to me about how he was in trouble with his girlfriend but as I couldn’t understand his slurry words I ignored him and he dozed off. He woke as I was crossing Seven Sisters road at Green Lanes and Manor House and started shouting at me to turn left. He thought he was further ahead than we were and it took a lot of explaining to convince him otherwise.
Last night’s shift was surreal. I actually felt like a cabby who could go anywhere, work any part of town and be just at home in un-charted waters.
Ist job was from Paddington to Dalston. Back through The City and a shortish one from Moorgate to Ensign Street. “Do you know Ensign Street?” asked the well dressed lady. In 1981 I chose to end my career in the Merchant Navy by handing in my naval documents at the office, which was at that time, in Ensign Street. I always regretted that decision and driving along Ensign Street always brings up that sour memory.
“Wilds Rents please driver” said the next passenger as she got in at London Bridge Station.
“Where the hell, no, what the hell is Wild’s Rents” I thought to myself. Don’t we have some peculiar street names here? I knew of a Perkins Rents near Victoria so it had to be a street name. Luckily there was a bit of traffic, which enabled me to check the AtoZ. It was only a few streets away and I was there in minutes and wondered if it would take another 18 years before I was asked to go there again.
Back on the rank at Victoria and in gets a nice lady. “Waterloo please. Oh look someone’s left their bag in the back” She passed the bag through the window and it looked valuable, possibly a laptop. When she got out at Waterloo I pulled over to inspect the contents of the bag to find a Dell Latitude laptop with all the accessories. There was also a business card with the possible name of the owner. I never rang the number until this morning and the laptop owner was pleasantly surprised. He thought he’d seen the last of it. He arranged a courier to collect it and promised me he would send me a “little something” for my trouble. Watch this space.
The circuit I do work for, Xeta, accept credit cards. So I accepted a street hiring to London Bridge, Westcombe Park and finally dropping off in Sidcup, Kent. The passenger that got out at Westcombe Park was the credit card holder and wanted to finalise the transaction there. The way Xeta works is that you can only process the card at the end of the trip. So, thinking all would be OK as the man looked respectable enough, I just took down all the relevant numbers and said I would do it at the journeys end. We arrived at the address in Sidcup and I drove away and pulled over down the street to complete the transaction. I tried three times to process the card and each time it was declined. £51.80 was a lot of money. I rang Chris up to tell him the story and I think his opinion of me dipped for a few seconds as he wondered how with all my years of experience I could allow myself to get caught out like that. As it turned out there was a problem at Xeta HQ and after speaking to a very helpful guy on the phone my problem was resolved but I learned a valuable lesson yesterday and that was to keep contact with the last man out of the cab until the transaction is finalised.
Heading back into town on the A2 I saw the columns of the O2 Dome all lit up. I thought there might be a concert on so decided to drive over there. The taxi rank next to North Greenwich Station had 8 cabs on it and I thought “What the heck, I’ll give it a go”. After about a ten-minute wait my passenger approached the cab. You try and mentally pick their destination but very seldom get it right. My hopes of a ride into town were dashed as she uttered the word “Kidbroke” I recently read somewhere on another blog that the local cab drivers frown on us central London drivers stealing their work and thought to myself if this is “their work” then they can keep it and after dropping at Kidbroke drove through the Blackwall Tunnel and up to Canary Wharf.
All the ranks were full but I trapped a pair of men between ranks. They wanted somewhere to get some food. “What about McDonalds” I suggested. “Not Macki D’s. Indian” said one of them. It was 12.30am and the only place they would definitely get an Indian meal was in Brick Lane. They didn’t want to go as far in as Brick Lane and had me running them around to various favourites of theirs which all turned out to be finished for the night. We eventually ended up in Brick Lane and I pocketed £20.
The work was beginning to dry up so I headed for Victoria and was in luck as a train had just arrived. A very energetic thirty-something asked to be taken to Bow. He talked non-stop about his job as a rep in Gran Canaria and how he used to be Jonny in Season 6 of Dream Team, a show I never watch but my kids do. I took his picture to show the kids and have posted it here. Anyone recognize him?
Heading home from Bow I trapped on Clerkenwell Road all the way to Sussex Gardens, ten minutes from home. It had been a good night all round and the quietness of the Easter week left firmly behind.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
All Egged Out
Easter Sunday came and went without Easter Eggs this year. About a month ago you could have bought three for three pounds but as the last few days before Easter approached the prices at my local Sainsbury’s in Ladbroke Grove rocketed to between four and five pounds per egg which saw my tighter side refuse to pay that amount. Is there no end to the greed of some of these supermarkets?
Work tonight was, in a word…..crap.
I started at 7.20pm and drove straight over to Paddington where it was in and out with the queue of people all the way back to the drop off point. My firt job took me to Ladbroke Road, not a great job but near enough to return to Paddington asap.
The next one went a little further. Through Hyde Park to Beaufort Gardens. From there it was better to try my luck at Victoria but I only made it to the Coach Station before I picked up three ladies to the Park Plaza Riverside.
I dieseled up at the BP in Vauxhall Bridge Road on my way back to Victoria and paid £1.17.9 per litre. It’s getting stupid now.
A longish wait at Victoria only yielded a short job to Huttons Hotel in Belgrave Road and I was legalled-off to the tune of £4.
Work tonight was, in a word…..crap.
I started at 7.20pm and drove straight over to Paddington where it was in and out with the queue of people all the way back to the drop off point. My firt job took me to Ladbroke Road, not a great job but near enough to return to Paddington asap.
The next one went a little further. Through Hyde Park to Beaufort Gardens. From there it was better to try my luck at Victoria but I only made it to the Coach Station before I picked up three ladies to the Park Plaza Riverside.
I dieseled up at the BP in Vauxhall Bridge Road on my way back to Victoria and paid £1.17.9 per litre. It’s getting stupid now.
A longish wait at Victoria only yielded a short job to Huttons Hotel in Belgrave Road and I was legalled-off to the tune of £4.
Back at Victoria and a similarly longish wait saw me take a couple to the UCH (University College Hospital). The lady was in some sort of distress and spent the whole journey doubled over and wincing. I never asked. It’s not my style.
I spent this morning downloading some Spanish songs that had taken my fancy. I made a Spanish playlist for my iPod and played it the whole shift. There’s one particular song I heard on YouTube last week and that one got played the most. It was a song by Alejandro Sans called “Se le apago la luz” and from what I can gather is about someone dying after a road accident and is very sad. Nice tune tho!
I stopped for a bite to eat with Chris at Gloucester Road. Burger King followed by two maple/pecan cakes from the Tesco there hoping to break the space/time continuum, in other words to change my luck. It must’ve worked as after 10 minutes on the South Kensington Rank I got a job down to Upper Richmond Road.
There weren’t many people about as I drove through Putney and along the Kings Road so I decided to stop wasting diesel and fight another day tomorrow.
A final little £8 ride from Edgware Road to St John’s Wood concluded my shift and I went home to watch Max get buried alive in Eastenders. Best episode I’ve seen for a long time.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Take another cab
In response to some of the negative comments about my actions relating to the woman at Old Church Street, may I say that, as in all walks of life, even us cabbies are humans. What gives people the right to mug us off time and time again? I can assure you that for every one time I may have lost my cool there are ten or twenty times when I have swallowed the situation and done nothing but smiled. Something has to give from time to time and inevitably something does.
I was on a roll with the “something giving” last night when I threw a guy and his girlfriend out of the cab at Piccadilly. It was actually my fault but I couldn’t handle the way he spoke to me so he had to go. I stopped outside the Hilton Trafalgar and was asked to take them to Stamford Hill. I should’ve driven round the one-way system and back towards the river but I had a sneaky feeling that Piccadilly Circus was going to be traffic-free as it hadn’t felt like a regular Saturday night. Big mistake. As I drove up Lower Regent Street the traffic was backed up and I just knew I should’ve gone the other way. The conversation had stopped in the back and the fella called out “can we get out of this?”
Me: Not until we get to the top
Him: What did you come this way for it has to be the stupidest way ever to come?
Hackles started rising on the back of my neck but I knew he was right; I just didn’t like hearing it.
Him: You should’ve gone along the Embankment or something.
His girlfriend seemed oblivious to the tension and I heard her say “Ooh!! I love coming this way,” The neon signs on Piccadilly Circus an obvious favourite of hers.
He then continued to show his disapproval at the route and I’d had enough. I pulled over by Lilywhites and told him to get another cab. He wasn’t going to get out at first but eventually did after calling me a few choice names. It would’ve been a stressful journey for both of us so it worked out well.
At that point my daughter rang me looking for a lift home. She was at Tinseltown, a 24-hour bar-diner next to the meat market. I used to go there for my dinner break a good few years ago but now it has sort of become trendy and is full of all sorts of undesirables.
Tonight’s shift went extremely well as I had three hours with the meter on rate 3 when it would normally be rate 2.
The first job I did from Paddington took me out to Acton and on the way back in I trapped in Wood Lane going further in to Notting Hill.
Back at Paddington it was in and out and a scruffy looking man with Burger King in his hands asked to be taken up to Spaniards. I was going to ask for twenty up front but I never. He was talking quietly on his phone and it seemed to me like he was arranging a reception committee for me as I heard him say “I’ll ring you when I’m approaching”. Most of Spaniards Road is heathland so I was wondering where we would be stopping for my impending mugging when he told me to take a right into the former site of St Columba’s Hospital which is now, and probably has been for a long time, luxury flats. All’s well that ends well and he paid me £20.
The rest of the shift went without a hitch and I was finished and indoors by midnight watching Shameless with a tray of BBQ wings and a glass of milk.
Tomorrow is a Bank Holiday here and the meter is on rate 3 all day again so it should be another good shift.
G’night all.
I was on a roll with the “something giving” last night when I threw a guy and his girlfriend out of the cab at Piccadilly. It was actually my fault but I couldn’t handle the way he spoke to me so he had to go. I stopped outside the Hilton Trafalgar and was asked to take them to Stamford Hill. I should’ve driven round the one-way system and back towards the river but I had a sneaky feeling that Piccadilly Circus was going to be traffic-free as it hadn’t felt like a regular Saturday night. Big mistake. As I drove up Lower Regent Street the traffic was backed up and I just knew I should’ve gone the other way. The conversation had stopped in the back and the fella called out “can we get out of this?”
Me: Not until we get to the top
Him: What did you come this way for it has to be the stupidest way ever to come?
Hackles started rising on the back of my neck but I knew he was right; I just didn’t like hearing it.
Him: You should’ve gone along the Embankment or something.
His girlfriend seemed oblivious to the tension and I heard her say “Ooh!! I love coming this way,” The neon signs on Piccadilly Circus an obvious favourite of hers.
He then continued to show his disapproval at the route and I’d had enough. I pulled over by Lilywhites and told him to get another cab. He wasn’t going to get out at first but eventually did after calling me a few choice names. It would’ve been a stressful journey for both of us so it worked out well.
At that point my daughter rang me looking for a lift home. She was at Tinseltown, a 24-hour bar-diner next to the meat market. I used to go there for my dinner break a good few years ago but now it has sort of become trendy and is full of all sorts of undesirables.
Tonight’s shift went extremely well as I had three hours with the meter on rate 3 when it would normally be rate 2.
The first job I did from Paddington took me out to Acton and on the way back in I trapped in Wood Lane going further in to Notting Hill.
Back at Paddington it was in and out and a scruffy looking man with Burger King in his hands asked to be taken up to Spaniards. I was going to ask for twenty up front but I never. He was talking quietly on his phone and it seemed to me like he was arranging a reception committee for me as I heard him say “I’ll ring you when I’m approaching”. Most of Spaniards Road is heathland so I was wondering where we would be stopping for my impending mugging when he told me to take a right into the former site of St Columba’s Hospital which is now, and probably has been for a long time, luxury flats. All’s well that ends well and he paid me £20.
The rest of the shift went without a hitch and I was finished and indoors by midnight watching Shameless with a tray of BBQ wings and a glass of milk.
Tomorrow is a Bank Holiday here and the meter is on rate 3 all day again so it should be another good shift.
G’night all.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Happy Easter
What does it mean when you have to force yourself to write this blog?
Maybe Roy of Irish Taxi is right when he says I should write less but more often.
Anyway seeing as I’ve managed to open up a Word document I might as well do a post as it’s been three weeks since I last did one.
I’ve been busy just working away. The cab rent, amazingly is up to date and the old finances are doing well. That’s all folks!!!!!
Wouldn’t it be great if I could just get away with a post like that?
The truth is I have been working hard….too hard. I feel drained and worn out and in need of a holiday. Roll on September.
Looking through my notes for the last three weeks there’s a few jobs that stand out for various reasons.
Thursday the 28th February I started my shift at 6.50pm and was going well until someone upset me. You might find this account trivial but it took me a while to compose myself. I stopped for a lady on the South Kensington Junction and she asked for Church Street.
Me: What Church Street? Edgware Road?
Her: No
Me: Kensington Church Street?
Her: No it’s near here
Me: Old Church Street?
Her: Yes that’s it.
Off we go for the two minute trip. I turn into Old Church Street and there are roadworks and temporary traffic lights which I stop at. There are cars behind me now and the lights are about to change. She decides she’ll get out here. I reach up and stop the meter at £4.20. She hands over four coins. I tell her it’s four twenty.
Her: It was £4 when I looked
Me: Well it’s £4.20 now and the meter is on stop.
Her: But it was £4.20
The lights have changed and the traffic behind me is getting impatient. Horns are being honked. I feel the need to put this woman in her place.
Me: It’s £4.20. That’s what the meter says and that’s what you have to pay.
Her: Well, seeing as you’re going to be like that…
And she proceeds to count out the 20p in coppers. I say nothing and accept the shrapnel. She walks away from the cab and when she got about twenty feet away I shouted out: “Oi, you can stick this lot up your arse” and threw the coppers in her direction. They landed all around her as I drove off through the lights feeling immense satisfaction. Was that trivial of me? I don’t think so.
Sunday the 2nd of March was Mothers Day here in the UK and sons and daughters across the land, including me and my brothers and sisters, visited their mothers bearing gifts of some description or other.
Wednesday the 5th of March and I dropped off at Le Meridien in Piccadilly. An old codger cabbie in an old cart of a Fairway comes to my window and asks if I have a spare bulb for his “For Hire” sign as both bulbs have blown. He’d been driving around with one bulb for a few days. Surely that would be the time to buy another bulb wouldn’t it? No, much better to ponce one off a muggy cabby like me. He asked how much knowing full well I would say “don’t worry about it” and went back to fit the freebie. I hate spongers of any type.
Thursday the 13th of March I try a new Chinese Take Away in Denbigh Street, Victoria called Yum Yum. I order a Special Fried Rice and a Sweet and Sour King Prawn. £12!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! At least a fiver more than all the other Chinese’s. It didn’t taste like it was worth a fiver more so I’ll put that one down to experience and avoid it in future.
Friday the 14th of March. I have to pay my cab rent and need a few quid to make up the money so I start work at 11am. I turn into Maida Vale and am flagged almost immediately by Jude Law. He wants the Wyndham’s theatre in the West End. The traffic is bollocks and I try three or four different routes before I give in to the London traffic. Jude settles in for the journey and spends the whole time on his phone talking to various people. He talks about work, his kids, his parents. I hear him mention his ex’s name. He seems oblivious to the traffic. I hear him say he has a rehearsal at 11.30 and think to myself “you’ve got Bob Hope and no hope of getting there for that time mate.”
We arrive at the theatre exactly 45 minutes after he’d gotten in to the taxi. He needs cash and goes to the cashpoint near the theatre. The people at the bus stop see him get out and instantly recognise him. They look at me with that “do you know who that is?” look on their faces but I give nothing away. He’s just another fare paying passenger to me. When he returns from the cashpoint the meter has clicked over to exactly £20. He looks up at the meter and gives me the exact money. I thank him and drive off.
Sunday the 16th of March I start work at 5pm. A nice job from Paddington to Tredegar Sq in East London gets the ball rolling. 7 hours later I’m on £176 and looking to complete "the bottle" (£200….don’t ask). I pick a guy up from Victoria who wants to catch a train from Marylebone Station. He spends the next few minutes on the phone checking train times. By the time we arrive he’s ascertained that he’s missed his last train and asks for and estimate to Bicester near Oxford. I ask how far it could be and he says no more than sixty miles. The tariff works out to £3 per mile on rate 3 but I don’t want to scare him off and say somewhere in the region of £150. He gives me the OK and off we go. I haven’t been on a motorway with the cab since I had the gearbox seen to. At seventy miles per hour a funny smell starts filtering through the nooks and crannies of the cab. The gearbox fluid must be seeping from the seal and is burning on the exhaust. I trust the cab to last the journey. The £150 mark is reached and passed. We’re still a good few miles away. The final meter reading is £196. I apologise and tell him it’s sometimes difficult to give an exact amout. He’s not bothered and gets the money from a cashpoint in Bicester town center. He pays me the exact amount. I’m ecstatic as I have earned much more than I expected. I put Toto on the ipod which is hooked up to the stereo and drive the sixty miles back to London.
Monday the 17th of March is St. Patricks Day. There are Irishmen and women everywhere. Most of them are wearing funny hats with Guinness symbols or Shamrocks or Harps. I’m flagged down by a group of them in Piccadilly. They want to go to Slough and ask for a price. I say between seventy and eighty pounds. One of them asks me to do it for seventy and I agree. We end up at the Shamrock pub in Langley, not quite Slough, but they pay me the seventy no problem and I’m happy with that. They bid me farewell and I drive back to town.
The Easter weekend is approaching and it should be a good earner.
I must remember to buy my kids their Easter Eggs tomorrow before they sell out.
Happy Easter!!!
Maybe Roy of Irish Taxi is right when he says I should write less but more often.
Anyway seeing as I’ve managed to open up a Word document I might as well do a post as it’s been three weeks since I last did one.
I’ve been busy just working away. The cab rent, amazingly is up to date and the old finances are doing well. That’s all folks!!!!!
Wouldn’t it be great if I could just get away with a post like that?
The truth is I have been working hard….too hard. I feel drained and worn out and in need of a holiday. Roll on September.
Looking through my notes for the last three weeks there’s a few jobs that stand out for various reasons.
Thursday the 28th February I started my shift at 6.50pm and was going well until someone upset me. You might find this account trivial but it took me a while to compose myself. I stopped for a lady on the South Kensington Junction and she asked for Church Street.
Me: What Church Street? Edgware Road?
Her: No
Me: Kensington Church Street?
Her: No it’s near here
Me: Old Church Street?
Her: Yes that’s it.
Off we go for the two minute trip. I turn into Old Church Street and there are roadworks and temporary traffic lights which I stop at. There are cars behind me now and the lights are about to change. She decides she’ll get out here. I reach up and stop the meter at £4.20. She hands over four coins. I tell her it’s four twenty.
Her: It was £4 when I looked
Me: Well it’s £4.20 now and the meter is on stop.
Her: But it was £4.20
The lights have changed and the traffic behind me is getting impatient. Horns are being honked. I feel the need to put this woman in her place.
Me: It’s £4.20. That’s what the meter says and that’s what you have to pay.
Her: Well, seeing as you’re going to be like that…
And she proceeds to count out the 20p in coppers. I say nothing and accept the shrapnel. She walks away from the cab and when she got about twenty feet away I shouted out: “Oi, you can stick this lot up your arse” and threw the coppers in her direction. They landed all around her as I drove off through the lights feeling immense satisfaction. Was that trivial of me? I don’t think so.
Sunday the 2nd of March was Mothers Day here in the UK and sons and daughters across the land, including me and my brothers and sisters, visited their mothers bearing gifts of some description or other.
Wednesday the 5th of March and I dropped off at Le Meridien in Piccadilly. An old codger cabbie in an old cart of a Fairway comes to my window and asks if I have a spare bulb for his “For Hire” sign as both bulbs have blown. He’d been driving around with one bulb for a few days. Surely that would be the time to buy another bulb wouldn’t it? No, much better to ponce one off a muggy cabby like me. He asked how much knowing full well I would say “don’t worry about it” and went back to fit the freebie. I hate spongers of any type.
Thursday the 13th of March I try a new Chinese Take Away in Denbigh Street, Victoria called Yum Yum. I order a Special Fried Rice and a Sweet and Sour King Prawn. £12!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! At least a fiver more than all the other Chinese’s. It didn’t taste like it was worth a fiver more so I’ll put that one down to experience and avoid it in future.
Friday the 14th of March. I have to pay my cab rent and need a few quid to make up the money so I start work at 11am. I turn into Maida Vale and am flagged almost immediately by Jude Law. He wants the Wyndham’s theatre in the West End. The traffic is bollocks and I try three or four different routes before I give in to the London traffic. Jude settles in for the journey and spends the whole time on his phone talking to various people. He talks about work, his kids, his parents. I hear him mention his ex’s name. He seems oblivious to the traffic. I hear him say he has a rehearsal at 11.30 and think to myself “you’ve got Bob Hope and no hope of getting there for that time mate.”
We arrive at the theatre exactly 45 minutes after he’d gotten in to the taxi. He needs cash and goes to the cashpoint near the theatre. The people at the bus stop see him get out and instantly recognise him. They look at me with that “do you know who that is?” look on their faces but I give nothing away. He’s just another fare paying passenger to me. When he returns from the cashpoint the meter has clicked over to exactly £20. He looks up at the meter and gives me the exact money. I thank him and drive off.
Sunday the 16th of March I start work at 5pm. A nice job from Paddington to Tredegar Sq in East London gets the ball rolling. 7 hours later I’m on £176 and looking to complete "the bottle" (£200….don’t ask). I pick a guy up from Victoria who wants to catch a train from Marylebone Station. He spends the next few minutes on the phone checking train times. By the time we arrive he’s ascertained that he’s missed his last train and asks for and estimate to Bicester near Oxford. I ask how far it could be and he says no more than sixty miles. The tariff works out to £3 per mile on rate 3 but I don’t want to scare him off and say somewhere in the region of £150. He gives me the OK and off we go. I haven’t been on a motorway with the cab since I had the gearbox seen to. At seventy miles per hour a funny smell starts filtering through the nooks and crannies of the cab. The gearbox fluid must be seeping from the seal and is burning on the exhaust. I trust the cab to last the journey. The £150 mark is reached and passed. We’re still a good few miles away. The final meter reading is £196. I apologise and tell him it’s sometimes difficult to give an exact amout. He’s not bothered and gets the money from a cashpoint in Bicester town center. He pays me the exact amount. I’m ecstatic as I have earned much more than I expected. I put Toto on the ipod which is hooked up to the stereo and drive the sixty miles back to London.
Monday the 17th of March is St. Patricks Day. There are Irishmen and women everywhere. Most of them are wearing funny hats with Guinness symbols or Shamrocks or Harps. I’m flagged down by a group of them in Piccadilly. They want to go to Slough and ask for a price. I say between seventy and eighty pounds. One of them asks me to do it for seventy and I agree. We end up at the Shamrock pub in Langley, not quite Slough, but they pay me the seventy no problem and I’m happy with that. They bid me farewell and I drive back to town.
The Easter weekend is approaching and it should be a good earner.
I must remember to buy my kids their Easter Eggs tomorrow before they sell out.
Happy Easter!!!
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
More Fodder
I bet you all didn’t expect another post so soon but as I have a bit of fodder to write about it’s best I do it straight away or run the risk of forgetting it all forever.
Following on from the last post which talked about Thursday’s shift, Friday was a bit of a washout as after only 8 jobs my daughter rang me from her night out in Wembley to celebrate one of her schoolmates’ birthdays. She wanted me to collect her as she doesn’t like travelling on public transport late at night. I don’t blame her either as it’s become virtually impossible for young females to travel anywhere without being pestered by yobbish youths. It gave me the chance to catch up with stuff at home including a full XP re-install on this computer. After a few months of it running like a snail it has now speeded up to nearly normal levels.
Saturday was business as usual for me. I was rolling by 6.30pm and most of the runs were pretty short but followed one another without any down-time. It was so busy that there were very few cabs in the west-end and doormen from various hotels were having to venture further away to hail cabs for their patrons. I dropped off in Coventry Street and the doorman from the Pastoria Hotel in Leicester Square quickly secured my services ahead of other people waiting to get in. Leicester Square is closed to traffic but taxis can access it via a barrier in Panton Street. The doorman told me that they were going to dinner on a boat on the river, possibly the Hispaniola, a very expensive Spanish restaurant. I already had the meter on since Coventry Street and as I pulled up outside the hotel the doorman jumped out saying he would fetch the passengers. And there I waited, and waited, and waited. I had £7 on the meter when the doorman re-emerged looking sheepish.
Him: Sorry boss but they’ve decided to walk down to the river.
Me: For fuck sake mate I’ve just sat here for ten minutes.
Him: All I can say is sorry; it’s not my fault.
Me: So who’s gonna pay me for my time then?
He shrugged his shoulders. This sort of thing happens every so often. The passengers get tired of waiting for the cab and decide to walk there instead leaving the cabbie out of pocket. Some of the better establishments will re-imburse the driver but most of them don’t. You can only hope that the same doorman tries to hail you later on when you can get your own back at tell them to stick it. I couldn’t wait for the next time and gave him a mouthful there and then. It’s always very cathartic.
After the theatre and dinner rush had died down I went to my favourite Chinese Take Away in Battersea Park Road for my usual Satay Chicken and fried rice.
After eating, the rest of the shift was as busy as the first half and I never stopped until I hit the second quarter of the “carpet”.
Sunday was a very busy day for me. At 6.30am I was just about to hit the sack when my brother Johnny rang me to say he had broken down in our mum’s car. He was at the Texaco in Hendon. I jumped in the cab with some tools and was there in fifteen minutes. The fan belt on the Peugot 205 had come off the pulley and I couldn’t undo the nut to loosen it. As there was only one pulley and the alternator I deduced that it could be driven without the belt. I jump-started it and followed him home and told him I’d be back later with a new belt and proper tools. I managed to get about 6 hours sleep and woke suddenly remembering I had the car to fix and had to get to the car-spares shop before it closed. That went without a hitch but as he was road testing it I saw he had no brake lights. The bulbs were ok so it had to be the pedal switch. It was now 4pm and the only place that would have that part was right next to Wembley Stadium where there was a major cup-final taking place between Chelsea and Spurs. Nothing for it but to go for it. It turned out OK as the game was still on and all the fans were inside. With the car fixed I spent a few more hours at my parents house catching up with my Dad, who was 77 last week, and my brothers and sisters who were also there visiting. After all the carry on of the past 12 hours I was in no frame of mind for work but with the cab rent begging to be paid I set off for work. I only managed 90 quid before I got pissed off and went home with the intention of starting early on Monday.
The early bit never happened but I did have a good sleep and woke with a bright outlook and a positive attitude for the shift that lay ahead.
Remember what I was saying in my last post about one thing after another happening to the cab? Well, I’d managed about 4 jobs when I noticed the steering wasn’t performing as it should. I checked the belt and decided to tighten it a bit. This was at Atlantic Wharf on The Highway in East London. By the time I’d reached Tower Hill the dashboard hat lit up like a Christmas tree and the power steering was non-existent. Luckily I hadn’t picked up any passengers and all I had to do was pull in off the main road and inspect the latest problem. It proved extremely difficult to steer the cab without PAS but I managed it and found that the belt had slipped completely off the pulley and jammed under the other belt preventing the alternator from turning as well as the fan. I managed to free it and re-attach it and do another job before it came off again in Victoria Street. I managed to put it back on again, rank at Victoria, blank the beggar who was sporting yet another new coat and trainers, pick up a job to Notting Hill Gate and drive half way up Grosvenor Place before it came off yet again. How I managed to drive those two people to Notting Hill without the power steering amazed me and they were completely unaware of what was going on. This was the last time I tried to put the belt back on as the minute I started the engine after re-attatching it the belt snapped. I had a spare fan-belt but it was too big so I tried to work without the PAS and gave up after two jobs and went home.
So this morning, Tuesday, I had no option but to go to the garage owing them three weeks rent as I hadn’t been able to earn it. Before I left home for the garage I remembered my son had just been paid so I managed to borrow enough off him to make up the shortfall and felt much better about seeing the owner face to face. The mechanic got straight to work and was done in about 15 minutes. I asked him to put some spares in the boot so that I wouldn’t have any more problems. While he was doing all the repairs I sat in the office with the owner and the manager and parted company with the three weeks rent. I made a joke about paying late and I don’t think they were too impressed as the manager handed me a letter that he was giving all his drivers. It read as follows:
To All Drivers
As a result of a large number of our workshop customers buying new cabs, our workshop is going through a rough patch.
This is likely to continue for some time, which means that we are totally dependent on the income we get from cab rentals.
In order for us to survive it is essential that all drivers pay weekly or at the latest two weeks.
This will help us survive and also reduce the number of breakdowns we are having due to silly things like belts, brake leaks and items that are normally part of the weekly check.
We would be grateful for your co-operation on this matter.
Manager
I suppose it is only right and proper for the garage to expect to be paid promptly and I left there promising to pay on time in future. Whether it happens is another story.
So, completely skint, I set off to work from the garage and managed to earn enough to get some nosebag for the kids and me.
I was back on the road at 7.30pm and the work was steady. I also needed diesel but had to wait until I’d earned a few bob before I could put some in. All the pumps at the Goodsway BP were out of order except for the one that sells the better quality diesel. £1.19.9 per litre was what the robbing bastards were charging so I only put a tenner in, which never lasted long.
I had a little look on the Kings Cross rank but it was full of cabs. As I turned right onto Euston road a lady flagged me down and asked for Golders Green which would keep me busy for a while. On the way back into town from Golders Green I picked up Michael Portillo on the Finchley Road and took him down to the Victoria area where he lives. He never spoke a word to me nor me to him and he was texting on his phone the whole trip. He did give me a £2 tip though so fair play to him.
I was practically at my target for the night when a guy asked me to take him from Boujis out to Sanderstead in Surrey. He rang his girlfriend/wife enroute and started telling her how he was offered drugs inside the club. Apparently, he was given a package and wasn’t asked for any money. On opening the package he saw it was cocaine and went straight to the toilets and flushed it down the pan. He was then approached by someone who asked for the package back. Panicking, he told them he had given it to a friend who had since left the club. He was then forced out of the club with a knife at his back and made to get into a car where he had to hand over a hundred pounds to pay for the drugs. From the way the conversation was going his partner was disgusted with him for not calling the police or taking any sort of action but he was trying to get across to her that it was only a hundred pounds and it had probably saved him from coming to serious harm or worse. She cut the phone off and I heard him say “fucking bitch” but I never got involved. We arrived at his destination he paid me off and that was that.
I headed for home but only got as far as the Tesco on Warwick Road when I was hailed. This guy was calling out to his friend who was in a crumpled heap on the ground and I was instantly on alert for some sort of bullshit. The guy who hailed me was saying that the other one wasn’t drunk and that he’d been kicked down some stairs and was hurt. All the other cabbies who’d pulled in for him had taken one look at the guy on the ground and assumed he was drunk and sped away. As my guy had the door open I couldn’t do likewise and thought to myself “Fuck it, it’s the last job of the night, let’s just see what happens” As you do!!
The guy that had been on the ground finally got into the cab and he looked in a bad way. He had blood all around his face and had to be helped into the cab by the other one. Once in, I set off for East Acton. It turns out that the hurt guy had got into some sort of scrape, had been given a good pasting and then thrown down some stairs and left for dead. The other guy had found him in a crumpled heap, offered to call the police or an ambulance but the hurt guy just wanted to get home. The non-hurt guy was a bit of a fruit cake and was coming out with all sorts of things such as “We never leave a fallen comrade behind” and “We’re muckers me and you” and when the hurt guy indicated that his partner might not open the front door the fruit cake said “I’ll get you in mate, don’t worry about that. An Englishman’s home is his castle, ain’t that right driver” he said to me. “Absolutely” I replied, humouring him. Anyway, I got them to their destination in quick time and had to help get the poor hurt guy out. Once out they paid me off and the fruitcake started again: “You’re a diamond you are mate, fanks a lot” and started shaking my hand and finally grabbed my head and planted a kiss on the forehead. That was enough action for me for one night and I set off for home.
Following on from the last post which talked about Thursday’s shift, Friday was a bit of a washout as after only 8 jobs my daughter rang me from her night out in Wembley to celebrate one of her schoolmates’ birthdays. She wanted me to collect her as she doesn’t like travelling on public transport late at night. I don’t blame her either as it’s become virtually impossible for young females to travel anywhere without being pestered by yobbish youths. It gave me the chance to catch up with stuff at home including a full XP re-install on this computer. After a few months of it running like a snail it has now speeded up to nearly normal levels.
Saturday was business as usual for me. I was rolling by 6.30pm and most of the runs were pretty short but followed one another without any down-time. It was so busy that there were very few cabs in the west-end and doormen from various hotels were having to venture further away to hail cabs for their patrons. I dropped off in Coventry Street and the doorman from the Pastoria Hotel in Leicester Square quickly secured my services ahead of other people waiting to get in. Leicester Square is closed to traffic but taxis can access it via a barrier in Panton Street. The doorman told me that they were going to dinner on a boat on the river, possibly the Hispaniola, a very expensive Spanish restaurant. I already had the meter on since Coventry Street and as I pulled up outside the hotel the doorman jumped out saying he would fetch the passengers. And there I waited, and waited, and waited. I had £7 on the meter when the doorman re-emerged looking sheepish.
Him: Sorry boss but they’ve decided to walk down to the river.
Me: For fuck sake mate I’ve just sat here for ten minutes.
Him: All I can say is sorry; it’s not my fault.
Me: So who’s gonna pay me for my time then?
He shrugged his shoulders. This sort of thing happens every so often. The passengers get tired of waiting for the cab and decide to walk there instead leaving the cabbie out of pocket. Some of the better establishments will re-imburse the driver but most of them don’t. You can only hope that the same doorman tries to hail you later on when you can get your own back at tell them to stick it. I couldn’t wait for the next time and gave him a mouthful there and then. It’s always very cathartic.
After the theatre and dinner rush had died down I went to my favourite Chinese Take Away in Battersea Park Road for my usual Satay Chicken and fried rice.
After eating, the rest of the shift was as busy as the first half and I never stopped until I hit the second quarter of the “carpet”.
Sunday was a very busy day for me. At 6.30am I was just about to hit the sack when my brother Johnny rang me to say he had broken down in our mum’s car. He was at the Texaco in Hendon. I jumped in the cab with some tools and was there in fifteen minutes. The fan belt on the Peugot 205 had come off the pulley and I couldn’t undo the nut to loosen it. As there was only one pulley and the alternator I deduced that it could be driven without the belt. I jump-started it and followed him home and told him I’d be back later with a new belt and proper tools. I managed to get about 6 hours sleep and woke suddenly remembering I had the car to fix and had to get to the car-spares shop before it closed. That went without a hitch but as he was road testing it I saw he had no brake lights. The bulbs were ok so it had to be the pedal switch. It was now 4pm and the only place that would have that part was right next to Wembley Stadium where there was a major cup-final taking place between Chelsea and Spurs. Nothing for it but to go for it. It turned out OK as the game was still on and all the fans were inside. With the car fixed I spent a few more hours at my parents house catching up with my Dad, who was 77 last week, and my brothers and sisters who were also there visiting. After all the carry on of the past 12 hours I was in no frame of mind for work but with the cab rent begging to be paid I set off for work. I only managed 90 quid before I got pissed off and went home with the intention of starting early on Monday.
The early bit never happened but I did have a good sleep and woke with a bright outlook and a positive attitude for the shift that lay ahead.
Remember what I was saying in my last post about one thing after another happening to the cab? Well, I’d managed about 4 jobs when I noticed the steering wasn’t performing as it should. I checked the belt and decided to tighten it a bit. This was at Atlantic Wharf on The Highway in East London. By the time I’d reached Tower Hill the dashboard hat lit up like a Christmas tree and the power steering was non-existent. Luckily I hadn’t picked up any passengers and all I had to do was pull in off the main road and inspect the latest problem. It proved extremely difficult to steer the cab without PAS but I managed it and found that the belt had slipped completely off the pulley and jammed under the other belt preventing the alternator from turning as well as the fan. I managed to free it and re-attach it and do another job before it came off again in Victoria Street. I managed to put it back on again, rank at Victoria, blank the beggar who was sporting yet another new coat and trainers, pick up a job to Notting Hill Gate and drive half way up Grosvenor Place before it came off yet again. How I managed to drive those two people to Notting Hill without the power steering amazed me and they were completely unaware of what was going on. This was the last time I tried to put the belt back on as the minute I started the engine after re-attatching it the belt snapped. I had a spare fan-belt but it was too big so I tried to work without the PAS and gave up after two jobs and went home.
So this morning, Tuesday, I had no option but to go to the garage owing them three weeks rent as I hadn’t been able to earn it. Before I left home for the garage I remembered my son had just been paid so I managed to borrow enough off him to make up the shortfall and felt much better about seeing the owner face to face. The mechanic got straight to work and was done in about 15 minutes. I asked him to put some spares in the boot so that I wouldn’t have any more problems. While he was doing all the repairs I sat in the office with the owner and the manager and parted company with the three weeks rent. I made a joke about paying late and I don’t think they were too impressed as the manager handed me a letter that he was giving all his drivers. It read as follows:
To All Drivers
As a result of a large number of our workshop customers buying new cabs, our workshop is going through a rough patch.
This is likely to continue for some time, which means that we are totally dependent on the income we get from cab rentals.
In order for us to survive it is essential that all drivers pay weekly or at the latest two weeks.
This will help us survive and also reduce the number of breakdowns we are having due to silly things like belts, brake leaks and items that are normally part of the weekly check.
We would be grateful for your co-operation on this matter.
Manager
I suppose it is only right and proper for the garage to expect to be paid promptly and I left there promising to pay on time in future. Whether it happens is another story.
So, completely skint, I set off to work from the garage and managed to earn enough to get some nosebag for the kids and me.
I was back on the road at 7.30pm and the work was steady. I also needed diesel but had to wait until I’d earned a few bob before I could put some in. All the pumps at the Goodsway BP were out of order except for the one that sells the better quality diesel. £1.19.9 per litre was what the robbing bastards were charging so I only put a tenner in, which never lasted long.
I had a little look on the Kings Cross rank but it was full of cabs. As I turned right onto Euston road a lady flagged me down and asked for Golders Green which would keep me busy for a while. On the way back into town from Golders Green I picked up Michael Portillo on the Finchley Road and took him down to the Victoria area where he lives. He never spoke a word to me nor me to him and he was texting on his phone the whole trip. He did give me a £2 tip though so fair play to him.
I was practically at my target for the night when a guy asked me to take him from Boujis out to Sanderstead in Surrey. He rang his girlfriend/wife enroute and started telling her how he was offered drugs inside the club. Apparently, he was given a package and wasn’t asked for any money. On opening the package he saw it was cocaine and went straight to the toilets and flushed it down the pan. He was then approached by someone who asked for the package back. Panicking, he told them he had given it to a friend who had since left the club. He was then forced out of the club with a knife at his back and made to get into a car where he had to hand over a hundred pounds to pay for the drugs. From the way the conversation was going his partner was disgusted with him for not calling the police or taking any sort of action but he was trying to get across to her that it was only a hundred pounds and it had probably saved him from coming to serious harm or worse. She cut the phone off and I heard him say “fucking bitch” but I never got involved. We arrived at his destination he paid me off and that was that.
I headed for home but only got as far as the Tesco on Warwick Road when I was hailed. This guy was calling out to his friend who was in a crumpled heap on the ground and I was instantly on alert for some sort of bullshit. The guy who hailed me was saying that the other one wasn’t drunk and that he’d been kicked down some stairs and was hurt. All the other cabbies who’d pulled in for him had taken one look at the guy on the ground and assumed he was drunk and sped away. As my guy had the door open I couldn’t do likewise and thought to myself “Fuck it, it’s the last job of the night, let’s just see what happens” As you do!!
The guy that had been on the ground finally got into the cab and he looked in a bad way. He had blood all around his face and had to be helped into the cab by the other one. Once in, I set off for East Acton. It turns out that the hurt guy had got into some sort of scrape, had been given a good pasting and then thrown down some stairs and left for dead. The other guy had found him in a crumpled heap, offered to call the police or an ambulance but the hurt guy just wanted to get home. The non-hurt guy was a bit of a fruit cake and was coming out with all sorts of things such as “We never leave a fallen comrade behind” and “We’re muckers me and you” and when the hurt guy indicated that his partner might not open the front door the fruit cake said “I’ll get you in mate, don’t worry about that. An Englishman’s home is his castle, ain’t that right driver” he said to me. “Absolutely” I replied, humouring him. Anyway, I got them to their destination in quick time and had to help get the poor hurt guy out. Once out they paid me off and the fruitcake started again: “You’re a diamond you are mate, fanks a lot” and started shaking my hand and finally grabbed my head and planted a kiss on the forehead. That was enough action for me for one night and I set off for home.
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