Stretching class

A few years ago, and not many at that, you'd see a stretch limo drive by maybe once or twice a year and everyone would look and wonder at which pop star, movie legend or world leader was in the back behind the heavily tinted glass.
Now we no longer have to wonder as they're more frequent than buses and we know who's in them as the windows are always rolled down and the heads and shoulders of more twelve or thirteen year old girls than seems possible sticking out. All screaming at a level that must frighten the local dog population as much any unfortunate passer bye. Forcing itself around the press of these just pubescent sirens is the dull thump of bass speakers the size of industrial oil barrels and the rest of a sound system with enough power to have kept Led Zepplin happy at a stadium concert.
At the front of what now more often looks like a stretched Ford Transit than something American and exotic sits the poor driver. Suited and booted, perhaps fondly having thought that he'd be chauffeuring the famous and maybe a minor royal or two when he took the job but now something between a child minder and a play leader with more than a chance of putting in a claim for hearing damage or at least the supply of some custom made ear defenders.

People must have started hiring these things for their little darlings as they thought it imbued some kind of class or style on whatever celebration is going on. It's difficult now to imagine something that lacks class more than this does unless we're talking class 3c.

Ambition

Apparently Nick Clegg wants to be Prime Minister. No real surprise there and you wouldn't expect much else really, as the leader of the third largest political party it's an obvious ambition.
I have ambitions of my own. I'd like to have Kylie Minogue massaging my sore muscles after scoring a hat trick for Arsenal as we win the European cup. Unfortunately both Mr Cleggs ambitions and mine have an equal chance of being realised and would produce the same behind the hand snigger from anyone we told. Oh dear, he did didn't he.
I suspect that is going to be his 'Go back to your constituencies and prepare for government' moment.
Oh well, Arsene and Kylie will never know what they missed and the electorate will probably remain blissfully ignorant of what a nation of Cleggies would be like.

There and back again

"We've just got to pop round to my mates and then come back is that okay driver"

His 'mate's' is usually only a few streets away, It's rarely anything over a mile.
The conversation in the back is typical, open and never whispered.

"Have you got the money cos it's fifty and don't forget Davey wants one as well did he give you his?"

"Okay Drive, just on this corner I'll only be a minute"

We're usually a good few yards down the road and the punter scuttles up the road and is back quicker than Usain Bolt could have managed.

"Okay drive, back home please"

I drop them back at the original pick up point, job done and more often than not a reasonable tip. Quite often they wont even ask you the fare but just hand over a note that more than covers it with an "Is that okay"

By now you will have realised that we are not picking up a DVD or some Asprin for that headache that he just can't shift what we are discussing are class A substances.
A scene such as this is common place and for me most nights of the week. Now I'm not unusual and I'm one of thousands of drivers in this town alone, most of the others probably get a similar amount of the same type of fares, possibly less for the day drivers but the trade goes on 24/7 so maybe not.
You can do the maths yourself for the amount of customers and trade that this represents but also consider that the supply as I mentioned is rarely more than a mile away.
Anyone who tells you that the government and police are winning the war against drugs is seriously deluded it is so commonplace and open as to raise little more comment than nipping into the all night Offy for a 6 pack or the garage for a pack of fags. I have had fares counting their stash next to me, doing a line and offering me a free hit whilst on the journey.

Somebody somewhere needs to bite the bullet and consider what it is we as a country are throwing our money at trying to prevent this. If somebody wants to get high they are going to find a way and nothing that those in authority do is going to stop that. If someone wants to sniff, swallow or smoke something I really have no problem with that and the vast majority of these passengers are normal folk who will either the next day or after the weekend be fixing your dripping tap or scanning your Cornflakes in Tescos.
For me I'd suggest legalisation and transfer some really heavy penalties onto the consequences of any actions affected as a result of taking the stuff but as you seem to be able to kill someone whilst drunk driving and get away with minimal jail time and a ban that at least part of is served whilst in one of HM's hotels I don't hold out much hope.

Do me one favour though. If it's Weed that your on at least change your coat before you leave the house because I can smell you from the length of the front garden. No doubt the police can as well but would you put yourself in for 4 hours of paperwork just to get someone a "Naughty boy, don't do it again"?
No, neither would I.

I seem to have come over all George Dixon today.
Mind how you go.

Pots and Kettles

So Nick Clegg has called David Cameron the 'conman of British politics' well that's a surprise, the leader of one party slagging off the leader of another and so close to an election too. Have we forgotten a certain Anthony Charles Lynton Blair so soon.
Back in 1996 he was promising everything to everyone including being so full of new ideas and a desire to change the world that he promised not to change what the supposedly discredited Tories had in place for, two years was it?
If only we would just give him power. Just a little bit of power, please? Pretty please?
Oh come on just vote for me and I'll get my granny to come round and clean your house for you. In fact you can have my Granny, she's getting on a bit and frankly the smell of wee is a bit off putting while we're munching the muesli in the mornings. While we're about it you wouldn't like my Father-in Law as well would you. He's always been a bit of an embarrassment and I'm sure he could do a bit of gardening. As long as you keep the booze cabinet locked you should be fine.

....and large numbers of the public fell for it and leapt around singing 'Things can only get better' Oh yeah?
Ten plus years later exit the original mission creep to leave the country in the unelected hands of Dear Prudence a man with an almost terminal charisma bypass and a rictus grin straight out of the Richard Nixon book of political expression. The only reason his religious beliefs don't include confession is that he thinks there should be nothing left to confess once he's finished controlling and restricting everyone.

Politicians! Don't get me started.

We all have to start somewhere

I could stand a very good chance of competing at world level if they introduced procrastination as a sport. I have been intending to start this Blog for longer than I care to admit and the idea of a website has been there longer than most people have known what one is.

So first post, and by way of introduction. I spent about eleven years (all of the 80's) working for one of the largest private hire firms in London and have recently come back to the job but at the other end of the country. I do have other skills but thats for later posts and as the subjects arise.

What we have here could possibly be defined as therapy currently I'm obviously taking to myself but in the event that anyone starts following this blog you are my support group. Instead of chewing the steering wheel and fuming at the insanity's of the world or laughing at the idiocy of other drivers or pedestrians I'll be sharing it on here.


Peter Kay doesn't know the half of it.
So let's get the preliminaries out of the way first.

Been busy?
Yes.
No.
None of your bloody business.


When do you finish?
Just started.
Half way through.
Just about to go home.
Your only asking to see if I'm worth mugging.

(circle correct answer)

You can print those out and just pass them to the next driver when you take a cab, might save time all round.

I do get the same questions with practically every journey but more so, as I'm not native to this end of the country, I get the follow ons....

'You're not from round here are you'.

'How long have you been up here then and what bought you up here.'

and the real clincher 'You haven't lost your accent have you' Why would I? I was 40 before I left London and I'm not going to turn into a character from a Willy Russell play even if I'm still here while someones feeding me with a spoon and wiping the dribble from my chin.

Strange things accents some seem almost genetically ingrained. You somehow know that if Mrs Connolly had emigrated when 2 weeks pregnant it would have made no difference whatsoever to how young Billy turned out. Accents do sound different depending on your own, a fact pointed out to me by having a drunk pounding me on the shoulder for the entire journey telling me how 'we stuffed you lot'. It took the entire trip to work out that he was talking about the International Athletics and assumed I was Australian a mistake thats been made on numerous occasions since.
To the scouse ear cockneys apparently sound Aussie.
Oh well. What can you expect from someone who sounds as though they're about to cough up a hair ball every time they encounter 'ck' in a word.


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