Granted, this is a continuation on the ‘fun things that happen during transportation’ theme of recent posts. Possibly a reflection on the sad state of my life / sense of humour, but such are the affairs of bowlface.
So I had to get a cab, sober, in the middle of the day. A fairly rare experience as it goes, as Newcastle is a tiny place and I’m in a serious relationship with my bike. However, this was made practically into a memory for life due to the driver.
Didn’t quite catch his name, but he’d been in service 38 years, had a light gold Merc. with cream leather interior and was a king of taxicab travel. Today he too was presented with a lifelong experience, I’d like to think, in the form of a military parade.
Horses, police, tanks, soldiers and nationalists a go-go were occupying and lining the streets of Newcastle, with buses, cabs and cars getting progressively slower and closer together. It was gridlock, and I had a bus to catch in ten minutes. It was also the closest thing I’ve come to a real-life car chase. Yes.
Mr Taxi Man was also the Geordiest person I’ve ever come across, with the exception of the weird locksmith who merely grunted, chuckled and probably made inappropriate jokes about keyholes – all I could identify was “stairs”. When he saw the gridlock he treated it as a mission of mega proportions. I’ve never heard the word “gan” more often whilst he provided me with a brilliant running commentary of his Police-avoiding and bus-deceiving plans. As the fifteen minute journey continued he got increasing more animated, called a policeman ‘son’ and swore repeatedly at the poor souls who had tried to take a shortcut and got even more backed up. There were a few evil chuckles too.
By the time we were nearing the bus station he was totally, utterly triumphant because we had ‘cracked it!’. “Over The Moon”, apparently, which was certified by a happy little whistle. I reckon he was temporarily the taxi driver equivalent of Knight Rider in his mind.