In my last post I mentioned a single called "Frustration". This was by a band called The Purple Hearts during the second coming of the mods in the early 80s.
Having taken a couple of passengers from the rank in Cranbourne Street all the way out to Richmond on Saturday night, I was expecting an empty cab all the way back. Luckily, Twickenham Station had been closed earlier in the day so a lot of the celbrating English rugby fans had made their way into Richmond for a quencher before heading for home. Just as I was heading back through the town centre two lads looking worse for wear thanks to beer and rain flagged me.
"Where to lads?"
"Clapham Junction please"
Lovely! At least I'd get something for the long haul back along the Upper Richmond Road. We got chatting, first about the rugby and football results and then onto music. When the big question came up of "Who is the best band you've seen" I agreed with one of the two, that The Jam was probably well up there. He then explained that he had been a mod when he was younger so I mentioned "The Purple Hearts". He then said that he'd been at a gig at the Electric Ballroom, and before he could finished I butted in with "... supported by Dexy's Midnight Runners and The VIPs, and it all kicked off on the tube afterwards between the mods and skinheads who had been at a gig at The Mean Machine".
Of the millions of people in London, and the 25000 or so cabbies, two people from a gig audience of 200 or so meet in a cab in Richmond. Now I don't know if any of you are statisticians out there but the odds must be fairly high that two of those people at that gig would ever meet again anywhere other than at a mod rally.
We finished the journey with lots of memories of gigs and bands (The Chords, Secret Affair, The Lambrettas) from back in those days. A nice tip and a handshake at the end of it and I was back off into town. That was after having broomed a fare to Putney Heath from Clapham Junction.
As I dropped my two friendly mods another guy staggered his way towards the cab, pint glass in hand. Before the door was shut he had fallen into the back slurring "Putney Heef" at me.
"Not in your state, and definitely not with a pint glass full of beer we're not." I was quite willing to sit outside the station until he got out, but the British Transport Police car behind decided to try out his blues and twos. Exactly why he had followed me into the station forecourt only to move straight out again, only police intelligence could tell, but it meant I had to pull off the forecourt so that he could get past before switching off the lights and siren.
I then pulled over in the car park and had to explain again to my hopeful drunkard that I wasn't taking him any further. "Really?" "Yep, really. Sorry, out you get." Surprisingly he did as asked and went back to the station finishing his pint as he went, no arguments.
Only had one other set of drunks in the car on Saturday. After dropping five "Hoo-Rays" in Dean Street, three other lads climbed in and wanted to go to Waterloo. All friendly enough, but I could tell they'd had a few and from their discussions they were planning on a few more. I dropped them at The Steps by Waterloo Station and two of them climbed out and walked straight into a nearby bar. The third was still in my cab... fast asleep. I woke him with a quick "OI!" with which he woke up and stepped out of the cab straight towards the bar. Another "OI!" made him turn around to see what he'd done. I reminded him that cab fares needed to be paid with which he reached into his pocket and pull out a screwed up fiver and a handful of change. It was close enough so I let him go to chance his luck with the doormen at the bar.
The rain certainly helped on Saturday with me sometimes wondering if a revolving door would have been better on the cab. One out, One in all night from the time the rain started at 4 until I decided to switch off the light and head for home at midnight.
One interesting fare was a short haul from Sloane Street to Scotts Restaurant W1. Got chatting with the passenger about a report she had just finished writing about the state of the Nation's health and how so much money is wasted by the "sicknote" culture. She did mention that she would be doing a couple of TV interviews about the report, and true to form, there she was on GMTV this morning. Jst shows the variety of passenger you get. From a complete drunk to Dame Carol Black. A Dame, nontheless, in my cab. Glad I didn't know, I'd have been bowing and scraping and calling her your holiness or something daft. Anyway, a lovely lady and I hope she managed to get the rest she was looking for after spending so long on the report.
Didn't bother with working Sunday. All of the road closures thanks to the St Patrick's Day Parade and the Sport Relief Mile would have just made any route across town absolute hell. Add to that the potential for a cab full of drunks all claiming Irish heritage because their grandmother once had a pint of Guinness while listening to a Daniel O'Donnel CD. No offence meant. If you're Irish, then fine, celebrate away. If you're not, then by all means go out, have a good skinful and a party, but please don't say you had to have a drink because it was Saint Patrick's Day. Just say it was a good excuse for a beer. As if an excuse is needed.
As for the athletes, I'm sorry but you'd just embarrass me. I know people like to keep fit and all the money raised will go to worthy causes, but I'm not the most athletic of people. Some people run marathons... I get out of breath running a bath!
All in all, a succesful Friday and Saturday in the cab. Rent paid, fuel tank full and ready for another week of deciding whether or not to go in and do any work during the short days, or just wait until the long weekend and provide a service for the travelling public.
Some real world jobs for the Knowledge Boys and Girls
Old Broad Street to LoungeLover - NO BISHOPSGATE
Victoria Station to Dolphin Square
Selfridges Cab Rank to Harrods
Monday, 17 March 2008
Monday, 10 March 2008
Frustration - I wear it like a suit
Actually i don't, but it's the title of one of my hundreds of 7" singles that I've been digitising over the past few weeks.
These short days are killing me. The traffic into town is a nightmare and I've usually done around 30 miles before I get my first job of the day. After that it's not too bad, but I always find myself watching the clock to make sure I'm not back too late to pick up my daughter from school. What I really need are some longer days out there to get into some sort of routine. Either that or I need to talk my wife into getting home from work before 9 o'clock each night so I can do some rate 2 and 3 work before the dawn arrives.
I only worked a couple of days last week,, having Friday off so that I could prepare for my final gig with Headlong. When I say "prepare", I mean, laze around the house all day doing nothing. Operation Stack was well in place on the M20 so the drive down to Ashford was a nightmare with thousands of lorries parked up along the way and all cars being diverted along the A20. managed to get there in time though, unlike my mate Simon who struggled to get to the gig before 1130 thanks to the traffic. Thanks for turning up though.
As expected, the night turned into a Nigel Tufnell-esque battle of whose-amp-can-go-the-highest-before-the-air-is-filled-with-electric-soup. No big finale for me, just a "see you later lads" at the end of the night. I'm sure I'll meet up with them some time soon, but I really don't need the headaches.
And a headache I had all through the following day. Having a job booked back to Medway after the boxing at the O2 Dome, I shifted my day's work so that I could be at Greenwich at 3.30 in the morning. i had a slow start to the day with a couple of jobs off the rank at the O2, one to The Valley with a guy who was hoping to get a ticket for a Premiership game ("You're 8 months too late, fella") and another just a quick trip through the tunnel to the Ibis Excel hotel. From there it was up to Stratford Station - there are going to need to be some major improvements to this area before 2012.
After sitting on the rank for about 10 minutes with nothing moving I decided to head into town, with the headache's pounding sounding like an out of salts Cozy Powell. Another depressing journey with no jobs until I got all the way to Charing Cross Station. After that I ran a few little jobs around the West End until I could take no more of the headache. I headed for the Astral Cafe by the Iron Lung, got myself a bottle of water and packet of paracetamol. A quick drive into Vincent Square where I parked up, and with the radio on low, fell asleep. 40 minutes or so later Russell Brand was rambling his way through his radio show, and I was feeling much better thinking that I'll be able to make it through the night to my booking at The Dome.
A couple of jobs later finds me having to think my way through the suburb runs that were learned at the end of The Knowledge. Two brothers wanting to go from Trafalgar Studios in Whitehall to Surbiton. I'm thinking "Kings Road, Putney Bridge, onto the A3 and away". As I head toward Trafalgar Square, one of the brothers says "It's the other way mate. Get across the river and follow the A3."
Fair enough, you're the boss. So off we go along two sides of a bloody great big rectangle instead of taking the diagonal, but they know what it's going to cost and they're going the route they want. As we're heading up the West Hill stretch of the A3 they ask to divert to Kingston so that they can get some beers. I figure they're after an off-license until I get directed into a cul-de-sac. I'm now starting to wonder which one of them I should grab when they bail and try to do a runner, or should I just stay in the cab and put it down to experience and keep my face and taking bag intact. We pull up outside a house and thankfully only one of them gets out, goes into the house and comes out with eight cans of Guinness. "Surbiton please". The only thing, these two brothers were interested in was raiding their mum's fridge. Imagine the scene in the morning. "We've been broken into but they've only taken the beer". "Bloody Students".
Off to Surbiton, I drop them off and keep the £1.20 change from the five crisp tenners handed through the partition. OK, it's a fair way back into town but the A3's fairly good at that time of night.
A few more short jobs around the West End since the rain's starting to come down, and a job from Horseferry Road to Edgware Road for a Canadian who couldn't believe that on a cab journey like that we get to drive past landmarks like Buckingham Palace.
Then at just before 1am, I get a text from the friend-of-a-friend who is at the boxing. "Sry m8, bked hotel. dont need ya". Even my limited knowledge of text-speak tells me I've lost my £75 job that would take me home. So it's time to change the rules; anyone I don't know pays me up front for the booking, especially when I'm doing them a favour by staying out til those sort of hours.
Shortly after I pick up in Berkeley Square, a job to Southfields. Completely the wrong direction for me, but i take the job anyway, especially since it's a female out on her own who needs to get home at nearly two in the morning. Had a great chat all the way down there but by the time I'd dropped her off the paracetamol was wearing off. I was tempted to head back into town to see if I could get another job heading East, but the law of sod being what it is I would have probably ended up in Cricklewood.
Having done a good day's work and with cash to pay the cab-rent for the following week, I head for home via the 24 hour 'roach coach on Clapham Common and snarl at all the mini-cabs heading towards Medway down the A2, every single one of them with a job that I could have had.
These short days are killing me. The traffic into town is a nightmare and I've usually done around 30 miles before I get my first job of the day. After that it's not too bad, but I always find myself watching the clock to make sure I'm not back too late to pick up my daughter from school. What I really need are some longer days out there to get into some sort of routine. Either that or I need to talk my wife into getting home from work before 9 o'clock each night so I can do some rate 2 and 3 work before the dawn arrives.
I only worked a couple of days last week,, having Friday off so that I could prepare for my final gig with Headlong. When I say "prepare", I mean, laze around the house all day doing nothing. Operation Stack was well in place on the M20 so the drive down to Ashford was a nightmare with thousands of lorries parked up along the way and all cars being diverted along the A20. managed to get there in time though, unlike my mate Simon who struggled to get to the gig before 1130 thanks to the traffic. Thanks for turning up though.
As expected, the night turned into a Nigel Tufnell-esque battle of whose-amp-can-go-the-highest-before-the-air-is-filled-with-electric-soup. No big finale for me, just a "see you later lads" at the end of the night. I'm sure I'll meet up with them some time soon, but I really don't need the headaches.
And a headache I had all through the following day. Having a job booked back to Medway after the boxing at the O2 Dome, I shifted my day's work so that I could be at Greenwich at 3.30 in the morning. i had a slow start to the day with a couple of jobs off the rank at the O2, one to The Valley with a guy who was hoping to get a ticket for a Premiership game ("You're 8 months too late, fella") and another just a quick trip through the tunnel to the Ibis Excel hotel. From there it was up to Stratford Station - there are going to need to be some major improvements to this area before 2012.
After sitting on the rank for about 10 minutes with nothing moving I decided to head into town, with the headache's pounding sounding like an out of salts Cozy Powell. Another depressing journey with no jobs until I got all the way to Charing Cross Station. After that I ran a few little jobs around the West End until I could take no more of the headache. I headed for the Astral Cafe by the Iron Lung, got myself a bottle of water and packet of paracetamol. A quick drive into Vincent Square where I parked up, and with the radio on low, fell asleep. 40 minutes or so later Russell Brand was rambling his way through his radio show, and I was feeling much better thinking that I'll be able to make it through the night to my booking at The Dome.
A couple of jobs later finds me having to think my way through the suburb runs that were learned at the end of The Knowledge. Two brothers wanting to go from Trafalgar Studios in Whitehall to Surbiton. I'm thinking "Kings Road, Putney Bridge, onto the A3 and away". As I head toward Trafalgar Square, one of the brothers says "It's the other way mate. Get across the river and follow the A3."
Fair enough, you're the boss. So off we go along two sides of a bloody great big rectangle instead of taking the diagonal, but they know what it's going to cost and they're going the route they want. As we're heading up the West Hill stretch of the A3 they ask to divert to Kingston so that they can get some beers. I figure they're after an off-license until I get directed into a cul-de-sac. I'm now starting to wonder which one of them I should grab when they bail and try to do a runner, or should I just stay in the cab and put it down to experience and keep my face and taking bag intact. We pull up outside a house and thankfully only one of them gets out, goes into the house and comes out with eight cans of Guinness. "Surbiton please". The only thing, these two brothers were interested in was raiding their mum's fridge. Imagine the scene in the morning. "We've been broken into but they've only taken the beer". "Bloody Students".
Off to Surbiton, I drop them off and keep the £1.20 change from the five crisp tenners handed through the partition. OK, it's a fair way back into town but the A3's fairly good at that time of night.
A few more short jobs around the West End since the rain's starting to come down, and a job from Horseferry Road to Edgware Road for a Canadian who couldn't believe that on a cab journey like that we get to drive past landmarks like Buckingham Palace.
Then at just before 1am, I get a text from the friend-of-a-friend who is at the boxing. "Sry m8, bked hotel. dont need ya". Even my limited knowledge of text-speak tells me I've lost my £75 job that would take me home. So it's time to change the rules; anyone I don't know pays me up front for the booking, especially when I'm doing them a favour by staying out til those sort of hours.
Shortly after I pick up in Berkeley Square, a job to Southfields. Completely the wrong direction for me, but i take the job anyway, especially since it's a female out on her own who needs to get home at nearly two in the morning. Had a great chat all the way down there but by the time I'd dropped her off the paracetamol was wearing off. I was tempted to head back into town to see if I could get another job heading East, but the law of sod being what it is I would have probably ended up in Cricklewood.
Having done a good day's work and with cash to pay the cab-rent for the following week, I head for home via the 24 hour 'roach coach on Clapham Common and snarl at all the mini-cabs heading towards Medway down the A2, every single one of them with a job that I could have had.
Thursday, 6 March 2008
With another short week for me I was hoping to get out on Saturday to do a longer day shift before having to get back for a night out (I was driving, of course), and then of course being at home for Mothers' Day on Sunday meant that I had to try to squeeze in as much work as I could before then.
Having an extra day in a leap year did mean that we self employed people will of course earn 1/365th (or is it 1/366th) more money than we normally would. No cries of "Give us an extra day's holiday from us lot, oh no! Why is it that this year seems to be the first time we've suddenly heard cries of this. Perhaps the leap day hasn't fallen on a Friday for a long time. Or perhaps we've all just turned into an "in-it-for-what-we-can-get" society.
Similarly cries from parents whose children don't get their first choice schools. One headmaster complained that he had actually experienced disappointed parents turning up with lawyers to complain about the fact that their little 11 year is going to have to go to a school just round the corner and that they won't be able to drive their 4x4 to the better school 3 miles away.
Sorry, turning even more into one of the grumpy old men off the telly.
Had a couple of good days towards the end of last week. Friday saw me have my first bilker. Not too much to worry about though. I was on the rank at the London Eye ("If you think the wheel's big, you should see the size of the hamster") when the linkman from the Marriott asked if I could take one of his guests to Earls Court. No problem, basic stuff, so we pull up outside the hotel and the linkman pops into reception to find the waiting passenger. Within a minute he pops out again asking me if I'd seen the passenger who had disappeared, but his luggage hadn't. Nope, but i'll wait. No sign of the passenger after a few minutes so I've got £5.40 on the clock, no job and I've lost my place on the rank.
Luckily another passenger came out of the hotel wanting to go to Paddington, which enabled me to meet up with Blue Lion at the Paddington Knowledge School to help him celebrate getting his badge. Well done mate, glad you're enjoying the job. It did mean I had to lose the £5 waiting time so the linkman owes me a decent job in the future. Rochester at about midnight would be nice.
Another interesting job was from Waterloo to the Home Office. Chatting to the passenger about the Congestion Charge zone led to some interesting information. The number of cars in town has actually decreased, as TfL's figures have shown. What they don't show is how much the amount of capacity for cars has decreased due to the increase of the number and operation times of bus lanes. So, there are (say) 10% fewer cars but (say) 15% less space for them to use, hence the appearance that things are actually worse. Who was it said about "Lies, damned lies and statistics".
The amount of time spent in traffic jams this week led me to operating only out of the O2 Dome today, running all local jobs. Even that resulted in me giving up after a couple of people wanted to go into Greenwich. A set of temporary traffic lights at Park Row and the closure of Greenwich High Road from the One Way system to Royal Hill caused complete chaos all around SE10. Congratulations to whoever was responsible for planning this particular beauty.
I probably won't work tomorrow if the traffic so far this week has been anything to go by. Spent most of the time in a jam caused by any one of many sets of roadworks. i've got a gig tomorrow night, all the way down in Ashford and it's looking increasingly like it will be my last one with Headlong. We played at O'Neil's in blackheath last Sunday, and as usual, volume levels went up and up until they became unbearable, despite there being a noise limiter in the pub. By the end of the night i'd had enough and by Monday morning I'd told the guitarist and keyboard player that this Friday would be my last gig with them. It would be nice to do one last local bash so that a few people might come along, but if the support is anything like we've had over the past 5 years it'll just turn out to be another noisy gig.
So time to call it a day and move on. I wouldn't want to give up the music altogether but too many pubs are paying too little. Their custom is down, live music is giving way to karaoke and disco and people will spend more time buying cheaper booze and drinking it at home where they can have a smoke without having to go and stand in the garden. Watch this space for any news of other "projects" as they happen.
While on music, sad news in the week as Canadian guitarist Jeff Healey lost his battle against cancer. You might know him from the Roadhouse film with Patrick Swayze. If you don't know who he is, check out the video below from YouTube.
Look forward to seeing some of you out there on Saturday when I'll try to earn some money to cover the rent for this week. That'll teach me not to work during the week.
Real world job for the Knowledge Boys and Girls
Junction of Lexham Gardens and Cromwell Road to Portland Hospital
(you gotta love Mr T for his lines)
Having an extra day in a leap year did mean that we self employed people will of course earn 1/365th (or is it 1/366th) more money than we normally would. No cries of "Give us an extra day's holiday from us lot, oh no! Why is it that this year seems to be the first time we've suddenly heard cries of this. Perhaps the leap day hasn't fallen on a Friday for a long time. Or perhaps we've all just turned into an "in-it-for-what-we-can-get" society.
Similarly cries from parents whose children don't get their first choice schools. One headmaster complained that he had actually experienced disappointed parents turning up with lawyers to complain about the fact that their little 11 year is going to have to go to a school just round the corner and that they won't be able to drive their 4x4 to the better school 3 miles away.
Sorry, turning even more into one of the grumpy old men off the telly.
Had a couple of good days towards the end of last week. Friday saw me have my first bilker. Not too much to worry about though. I was on the rank at the London Eye ("If you think the wheel's big, you should see the size of the hamster") when the linkman from the Marriott asked if I could take one of his guests to Earls Court. No problem, basic stuff, so we pull up outside the hotel and the linkman pops into reception to find the waiting passenger. Within a minute he pops out again asking me if I'd seen the passenger who had disappeared, but his luggage hadn't. Nope, but i'll wait. No sign of the passenger after a few minutes so I've got £5.40 on the clock, no job and I've lost my place on the rank.
Luckily another passenger came out of the hotel wanting to go to Paddington, which enabled me to meet up with Blue Lion at the Paddington Knowledge School to help him celebrate getting his badge. Well done mate, glad you're enjoying the job. It did mean I had to lose the £5 waiting time so the linkman owes me a decent job in the future. Rochester at about midnight would be nice.
Another interesting job was from Waterloo to the Home Office. Chatting to the passenger about the Congestion Charge zone led to some interesting information. The number of cars in town has actually decreased, as TfL's figures have shown. What they don't show is how much the amount of capacity for cars has decreased due to the increase of the number and operation times of bus lanes. So, there are (say) 10% fewer cars but (say) 15% less space for them to use, hence the appearance that things are actually worse. Who was it said about "Lies, damned lies and statistics".
The amount of time spent in traffic jams this week led me to operating only out of the O2 Dome today, running all local jobs. Even that resulted in me giving up after a couple of people wanted to go into Greenwich. A set of temporary traffic lights at Park Row and the closure of Greenwich High Road from the One Way system to Royal Hill caused complete chaos all around SE10. Congratulations to whoever was responsible for planning this particular beauty.
I probably won't work tomorrow if the traffic so far this week has been anything to go by. Spent most of the time in a jam caused by any one of many sets of roadworks. i've got a gig tomorrow night, all the way down in Ashford and it's looking increasingly like it will be my last one with Headlong. We played at O'Neil's in blackheath last Sunday, and as usual, volume levels went up and up until they became unbearable, despite there being a noise limiter in the pub. By the end of the night i'd had enough and by Monday morning I'd told the guitarist and keyboard player that this Friday would be my last gig with them. It would be nice to do one last local bash so that a few people might come along, but if the support is anything like we've had over the past 5 years it'll just turn out to be another noisy gig.
So time to call it a day and move on. I wouldn't want to give up the music altogether but too many pubs are paying too little. Their custom is down, live music is giving way to karaoke and disco and people will spend more time buying cheaper booze and drinking it at home where they can have a smoke without having to go and stand in the garden. Watch this space for any news of other "projects" as they happen.
While on music, sad news in the week as Canadian guitarist Jeff Healey lost his battle against cancer. You might know him from the Roadhouse film with Patrick Swayze. If you don't know who he is, check out the video below from YouTube.
Look forward to seeing some of you out there on Saturday when I'll try to earn some money to cover the rent for this week. That'll teach me not to work during the week.
Real world job for the Knowledge Boys and Girls
Junction of Lexham Gardens and Cromwell Road to Portland Hospital
(you gotta love Mr T for his lines)
Thursday, 28 February 2008
Thank you for the days
Back into town again today. I really need to try to get some more night shifts in, or somehow talk my daughter into staying at school a bit longer so that I'm not having to dive back home just as the day gets going.
One thing that's noticeable about the days is that a lot of people don't talk quite as much as those who are out in their leisure time of an evening. Quite a few just get on their mobile and chat away, like the two blokes I picked up from Liverpool Street Station going to London Bridge. All the way down Bishopsgate, both of them were on their phones, holding different conversations, one having a go at his (presumably) soon-to-be ex-wife, telling her how he didn't want to discuss it with her and how he just wante dto sort her out with some money and not see her ever again, while the other was talking to a mate about football and arranging a good beer-up. Left me wondering whether the two conversations were linked at all.
The only decent job i had today was a nice straightforward run from Liverpool Street Station (again) out to City airport, which left me at the far East of town at about going home time. Everything else was just bitty jobs, all less than a tenner. One was a nice job from just West of Oxford Circus to "My mate's pub please, it's just this side of Edgware Road". We had a laugh about the destination so I replied with a wild stab in the dark. "The Larrick in Crawford Place?" brought an amazed "... Yeah, that's it... How did you know?" from the customer. It really was just a lucky guess, but I'll be having a go at The Lottery this weekend, just in case.
Everybody had the money to pay the fares today which was nice, all except one guy who could only pay me with a note from the Bank of Ulster since he had just flown in from Belfast and had no English on him. Another one to check out when I put some tax money into the account.
Forgot to mention another lost job from Monday. I had been on the rank in Liverpool Street for about 10 minutes and had finally made it to point when a couple came outof the Andaz Hotel further up and started talking to one of the cabbies further back down the rank. She then looks down towards me and waves a hand, at the same time that her partner starts walking down towards me. I figure I'd save them a walk so leave the rank and drive the 50 yards or so towards them. Every little helps in the battle for a nice tip... especially from the people who stay at the expensive hotels - i guess the only way they can afford to pay those prices is to not pay out big tips to people like cab drivers.
As I pull up she looks at me, I wind down the window expecting to be told her destination. Instead, I hear her telling me that she's already booked a cab but he hasn't turned up, and did I know where he was. of course I didn't but I can take you if you need a cab. "We've already paid for the journey" I'm told. So i tell her just how pleased I am that she's shared that particular story with me, and that I'm delighted she's just cost me another 10 or 15 minutes waiting in the rank that I'd just been at the head of. "Sorry". Yeah right love, "sorry" doesn't fill the fuel tank.
Another great customer from last week was a guy who was down from Scotland. He'd been working in London and had managed to get himself a ticket to watch Spurs playing their home leg of the UEFA cup match. However, he'd been watching Rangers playing on the big screen in The Cock at Smithfield before setting off for The Lane.
First stop, a cashpoint please. "No worries." Cashpoint sorted, we head north. We have a good chat about the state of British football, and surprisingly the architecture of football grounds. (any self respecting football anorak should already have read the excellent "Football Grounds of Britain" by Simon Inglis.) However, as we get closer to Tottenham High Road he's starting to tell me how he's full of beer and needs a toilet. I tell him we're not too far if he can hold on, so he holds on... and on... and on... until with £16 on the clock just north of Seven Sisters Road he throws two tenners through the partition and tells me, "it's no good mate, I gotta go".
With that, he jumps out of the cab in the middle of a traffic jam and he wanders off bent double towards (I guess) a convenient alleyway. My guess is he found a pub after that and then maybe saw about 20 minutes of the second half. Good luck to ya!
Real World job for the knowledge boys and girls
Marriott County Hall Hotel to National Gallery
One thing that's noticeable about the days is that a lot of people don't talk quite as much as those who are out in their leisure time of an evening. Quite a few just get on their mobile and chat away, like the two blokes I picked up from Liverpool Street Station going to London Bridge. All the way down Bishopsgate, both of them were on their phones, holding different conversations, one having a go at his (presumably) soon-to-be ex-wife, telling her how he didn't want to discuss it with her and how he just wante dto sort her out with some money and not see her ever again, while the other was talking to a mate about football and arranging a good beer-up. Left me wondering whether the two conversations were linked at all.
The only decent job i had today was a nice straightforward run from Liverpool Street Station (again) out to City airport, which left me at the far East of town at about going home time. Everything else was just bitty jobs, all less than a tenner. One was a nice job from just West of Oxford Circus to "My mate's pub please, it's just this side of Edgware Road". We had a laugh about the destination so I replied with a wild stab in the dark. "The Larrick in Crawford Place?" brought an amazed "... Yeah, that's it... How did you know?" from the customer. It really was just a lucky guess, but I'll be having a go at The Lottery this weekend, just in case.
Everybody had the money to pay the fares today which was nice, all except one guy who could only pay me with a note from the Bank of Ulster since he had just flown in from Belfast and had no English on him. Another one to check out when I put some tax money into the account.
Forgot to mention another lost job from Monday. I had been on the rank in Liverpool Street for about 10 minutes and had finally made it to point when a couple came outof the Andaz Hotel further up and started talking to one of the cabbies further back down the rank. She then looks down towards me and waves a hand, at the same time that her partner starts walking down towards me. I figure I'd save them a walk so leave the rank and drive the 50 yards or so towards them. Every little helps in the battle for a nice tip... especially from the people who stay at the expensive hotels - i guess the only way they can afford to pay those prices is to not pay out big tips to people like cab drivers.
As I pull up she looks at me, I wind down the window expecting to be told her destination. Instead, I hear her telling me that she's already booked a cab but he hasn't turned up, and did I know where he was. of course I didn't but I can take you if you need a cab. "We've already paid for the journey" I'm told. So i tell her just how pleased I am that she's shared that particular story with me, and that I'm delighted she's just cost me another 10 or 15 minutes waiting in the rank that I'd just been at the head of. "Sorry". Yeah right love, "sorry" doesn't fill the fuel tank.
Another great customer from last week was a guy who was down from Scotland. He'd been working in London and had managed to get himself a ticket to watch Spurs playing their home leg of the UEFA cup match. However, he'd been watching Rangers playing on the big screen in The Cock at Smithfield before setting off for The Lane.
First stop, a cashpoint please. "No worries." Cashpoint sorted, we head north. We have a good chat about the state of British football, and surprisingly the architecture of football grounds. (any self respecting football anorak should already have read the excellent "Football Grounds of Britain" by Simon Inglis.) However, as we get closer to Tottenham High Road he's starting to tell me how he's full of beer and needs a toilet. I tell him we're not too far if he can hold on, so he holds on... and on... and on... until with £16 on the clock just north of Seven Sisters Road he throws two tenners through the partition and tells me, "it's no good mate, I gotta go".
With that, he jumps out of the cab in the middle of a traffic jam and he wanders off bent double towards (I guess) a convenient alleyway. My guess is he found a pub after that and then maybe saw about 20 minutes of the second half. Good luck to ya!
Real World job for the knowledge boys and girls
Marriott County Hall Hotel to National Gallery
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Back in the swing
No, i haven't joined the ranks of cabbie golfers, but after having some time doing nights and having days off for half term, I'm now back into the routine of going into work during the busy days, then having another one off to sort out the ironing and to avoid the closure of the Blackwall Tunnel.
The nights weren't as bad as I thought they might be. Conversations with some of the people who had been out drinking made me realise just why I don't drink any more. It's a lot easier to talk a load of crap while you're sober, instead of endlessly slurring a load of crap while you're drunk. don't think I could handle the hangovers any more, and I sure as hell couldn't afford to drink at the prices some places charge.
The nice thing about the nights is that if you do get a long run, at least the roads are a bit clearer for the long haul back into town for your next job. It seems that geography plays a part in where people will get, or want to get a cab. Doesn't seem to be many people heading into town so most of the work radiates outwards.
What I have noticed about nights is the number of people who say that another cabbie refused to take them. one couple even said that he drove off as soon as they gave their destination. Perhaps the driver who gave them the broom was a little more sensitive than I but neither passenger seemed drunk or aggressive, and the journey wasn't going to be more than 12 miles or more than an hour, so one can only assume that he didn't want to go in their direction. To be honest, neither did I, but i had stopped for them in the early hours of the morning, so I was obliged to take them.
It can feel like you're being washed out to sea when you're trying to get home, since every job seems to take you further and further away from where you want to go. A mate of mine has suggested that cab's be fitted with some sort of colour coded light to say which direction they are going in. That way, everyone's happy. more ranks could also be set up to allow people and cabbies to go in a certain direction and head for home instead of way out of their way.
It would also leave people feeling a bit better about cabbies if they aren't just refused for no apparent reason. Enough of that, or I'll have some of the old hands having a go at me.
A couple of Saturdays ago was a no-go day as far as the cab was concerned. I was playing bass guitar at a charity gig in the evening with a couple of old mates including Simon Pinto who now plays guitar with The Latch (with Lee Latchford Evans, formerly of Steps) was playing drums. a night of various rock and roll and other covers was attended by a couple of hundred people who helped to raise something over 3 grand towards Capital Radio's Help a London Child appeal. A lot of fun was had, and it was great to do some work other than the grind of Headlong (who will be appearing at O'Neil's in Blackheath on the first Sunday of each month if anyone's interested.
For the Knowledge boys and girls
Gibson Square really does exist in the real world and not just as a part of Run number 1 of the blue book. Sadly the job was only from Kings Cross and not Manor House Station, but it was nice to go back there after last visiting all those years ago.
A real world run from Sunday afternoon
Charing Cross Station to Palace Gates Road - pick that one out
The nights weren't as bad as I thought they might be. Conversations with some of the people who had been out drinking made me realise just why I don't drink any more. It's a lot easier to talk a load of crap while you're sober, instead of endlessly slurring a load of crap while you're drunk. don't think I could handle the hangovers any more, and I sure as hell couldn't afford to drink at the prices some places charge.
The nice thing about the nights is that if you do get a long run, at least the roads are a bit clearer for the long haul back into town for your next job. It seems that geography plays a part in where people will get, or want to get a cab. Doesn't seem to be many people heading into town so most of the work radiates outwards.
What I have noticed about nights is the number of people who say that another cabbie refused to take them. one couple even said that he drove off as soon as they gave their destination. Perhaps the driver who gave them the broom was a little more sensitive than I but neither passenger seemed drunk or aggressive, and the journey wasn't going to be more than 12 miles or more than an hour, so one can only assume that he didn't want to go in their direction. To be honest, neither did I, but i had stopped for them in the early hours of the morning, so I was obliged to take them.
It can feel like you're being washed out to sea when you're trying to get home, since every job seems to take you further and further away from where you want to go. A mate of mine has suggested that cab's be fitted with some sort of colour coded light to say which direction they are going in. That way, everyone's happy. more ranks could also be set up to allow people and cabbies to go in a certain direction and head for home instead of way out of their way.
It would also leave people feeling a bit better about cabbies if they aren't just refused for no apparent reason. Enough of that, or I'll have some of the old hands having a go at me.
A couple of Saturdays ago was a no-go day as far as the cab was concerned. I was playing bass guitar at a charity gig in the evening with a couple of old mates including Simon Pinto who now plays guitar with The Latch (with Lee Latchford Evans, formerly of Steps) was playing drums. a night of various rock and roll and other covers was attended by a couple of hundred people who helped to raise something over 3 grand towards Capital Radio's Help a London Child appeal. A lot of fun was had, and it was great to do some work other than the grind of Headlong (who will be appearing at O'Neil's in Blackheath on the first Sunday of each month if anyone's interested.
For the Knowledge boys and girls
Gibson Square really does exist in the real world and not just as a part of Run number 1 of the blue book. Sadly the job was only from Kings Cross and not Manor House Station, but it was nice to go back there after last visiting all those years ago.
A real world run from Sunday afternoon
Charing Cross Station to Palace Gates Road - pick that one out
Wednesday, 13 February 2008
Another day another few quid short.
After last week and my intention of making sure people had the right money, I went out at the weekend and had more people without the proper means to pay.
The question now is how to sort this out? Do i ask for money at the beginning of the journey? Do I ask for something from them like their phone until they pay me? Do i report them to the police? Do I barter and make them wash the cab?
The threat of London tube workers going on strike might strike fear into the hearts of a lot of Londoners but i think cabbies will love it (apart from the extra traffic on the road of course). Problems on the line from Hammersmith proved fruitful for me last week, picking up two "flyers" from the rank at Hammersmith Broadway. However, like my job to Stansted one of the journeys proved to be interesting.
Halfway along the M4 to Heathrow I hear the passenger asking "Is it far?". With the meter already reading around £25 I can guess what's coming next! "I only have £22, will you take a credit card". Having already told him it was going to be around £40 CASH when I picked him up, he knew what answer I was going to give.
I figured that since he had a credit card he'd be able to get some money out a machine, so pulled into Heston Services. He ran in, and a couple of minutes later, ran out again. "No good", so I take him to the petrol station at the services where there is a cashpoint machine. He runs in, speaks to the shop assistants and then runs out again. "No good!". I pointed out that he didn't even attempt to use the cash machine, to which he replies that he doesn't know his PIN number. How exactly was he going to pay me, or anyone else with a credit card in these days of chip and PIN?
"OK sir, we seem to have a problem. Is Hammersmith OK for you instead of Heathrow?"
"What, wait, let me see if i have any other cash! Will you take Euros?"
"OK, how much have you got?"
"I have hundreds"
"Good, Heathrow it is then"
On arrival at Heathrow he proudly produces a 100 Euro note for a £44 fare (waiting time at the services).
"I'll have to give you change in pounds since I don't have any Euros", to which the passenger says "keep the change, I'm late for my check-in now". Nice! I'll have to wait for my next trip to Europe before I find out whether I've been given a moody note, but it looks real enough to me... not that I'd know.
Another job (and one for the Knowledge boys here). I pick up on the South side of Pall Mall on the corner of Waterloo Place.
"Stanhope Gardens please"
"South Kensington?"
"No, up by the big Homebase on Green Lanes"
Not a road I knew, but I know where the Superstore was so off we go. At this point of the evening Piccadilly was jammed and Shaftesbury Avenue was a nightmare because of the Chinese New Year celebrations so I ask if it's OK to head up through Camden and straight up the Seven Sisters Road to avoid the traffic in the West End... No problem.
Luckily, as I get to Portland Place I hear about the fire at the Hawley Arms pub in Camden Town so have a bit of time to divert and take a more southerly route up, again with the customer's permission.
As we approach the destination, having heard stories of the high class wedding they'd just been to, and how the suit, shirt and shoes the passenger was wearing would have cost me something like a dozen weeks of cab rental, they ask me to stop at a cashpoint. Luckily there's one at the end of the road hey live in, so I stop there and wait. He jumps back in and we drive the 200 yards or so to the house.
"£28.80 please sir"
"Sorry, we've only got £24.40"
"Hang on, you've just been to the cashpoint"
"I only got £20 out"
"But there was already more than that on the clock"
"Sorry."
"OK, no worries, you can get into your house and get the cash from there"
"Oh, we don't keep cash in the house"
"What? Not even a fiver?"
Exasperated I bid them a not so fond farewell. I sit and sort the change into my dispenser and then turn round to check nobody has left anything in the back of the cab. They had! No, not an expensive Armani suit, or Jimmy Choo shoes, but loads of sweet wrappers, all over the floor and seat. Nice to know there are some really classy people in town! Of course, knowing where they lived I didn't need to take their property to a police station and returned it promptly to their home address.
I would just like to point out to all the knowledge boys and girls out there, that it's not all bad. The large majority of customers give you no grief whatsoever, most of the lines are second nature to you, and the hours are so flexible they could appear at a circus as a contorionist act.
You do also get a few odd moments. While ranked up on Pancras Road for Kings Cross, a woman in a 4x4 pulls up alongside me and asks if the road is 2-way. I explain that it's taxis and cycles southbound, and that there was a CCTV camera car watching for people entering from Goods Way. She then tells me that she'd come up from Euston Road and done a U-turn, so it must be OK. I then tell her she'll have to cross a set of double white lines and drive against oncoming traffic if she wants to go all the way back down, at which point she starts berating me about there being no signs saying it's taxis only and nothing saying one way only. I figure that whatever I answer I had given her she'd have continued on her way down to Euston Road anyway, so why ask in the first place. Maybe it was so that she could say that a taxi-driver had told her it was OK to do so. Or maybe she just wanted an argument. She didn't get one but the drivers around me all found it highly amusing that I hadn't put any signs up to let her know what was happening with the traffic.
Off out tonight for a long night-shift, and hoping that there aren't too many heaver drinkers around, and that everybody's got the right money. I can't be doing with any more of them.
Oh, and well done to my mate Paul who got his badge last Friday and has finally found his way out onto the road in a cab. Enjoy it mate.
The question now is how to sort this out? Do i ask for money at the beginning of the journey? Do I ask for something from them like their phone until they pay me? Do i report them to the police? Do I barter and make them wash the cab?
The threat of London tube workers going on strike might strike fear into the hearts of a lot of Londoners but i think cabbies will love it (apart from the extra traffic on the road of course). Problems on the line from Hammersmith proved fruitful for me last week, picking up two "flyers" from the rank at Hammersmith Broadway. However, like my job to Stansted one of the journeys proved to be interesting.
Halfway along the M4 to Heathrow I hear the passenger asking "Is it far?". With the meter already reading around £25 I can guess what's coming next! "I only have £22, will you take a credit card". Having already told him it was going to be around £40 CASH when I picked him up, he knew what answer I was going to give.
I figured that since he had a credit card he'd be able to get some money out a machine, so pulled into Heston Services. He ran in, and a couple of minutes later, ran out again. "No good", so I take him to the petrol station at the services where there is a cashpoint machine. He runs in, speaks to the shop assistants and then runs out again. "No good!". I pointed out that he didn't even attempt to use the cash machine, to which he replies that he doesn't know his PIN number. How exactly was he going to pay me, or anyone else with a credit card in these days of chip and PIN?
"OK sir, we seem to have a problem. Is Hammersmith OK for you instead of Heathrow?"
"What, wait, let me see if i have any other cash! Will you take Euros?"
"OK, how much have you got?"
"I have hundreds"
"Good, Heathrow it is then"
On arrival at Heathrow he proudly produces a 100 Euro note for a £44 fare (waiting time at the services).
"I'll have to give you change in pounds since I don't have any Euros", to which the passenger says "keep the change, I'm late for my check-in now". Nice! I'll have to wait for my next trip to Europe before I find out whether I've been given a moody note, but it looks real enough to me... not that I'd know.
Another job (and one for the Knowledge boys here). I pick up on the South side of Pall Mall on the corner of Waterloo Place.
"Stanhope Gardens please"
"South Kensington?"
"No, up by the big Homebase on Green Lanes"
Not a road I knew, but I know where the Superstore was so off we go. At this point of the evening Piccadilly was jammed and Shaftesbury Avenue was a nightmare because of the Chinese New Year celebrations so I ask if it's OK to head up through Camden and straight up the Seven Sisters Road to avoid the traffic in the West End... No problem.
Luckily, as I get to Portland Place I hear about the fire at the Hawley Arms pub in Camden Town so have a bit of time to divert and take a more southerly route up, again with the customer's permission.
As we approach the destination, having heard stories of the high class wedding they'd just been to, and how the suit, shirt and shoes the passenger was wearing would have cost me something like a dozen weeks of cab rental, they ask me to stop at a cashpoint. Luckily there's one at the end of the road hey live in, so I stop there and wait. He jumps back in and we drive the 200 yards or so to the house.
"£28.80 please sir"
"Sorry, we've only got £24.40"
"Hang on, you've just been to the cashpoint"
"I only got £20 out"
"But there was already more than that on the clock"
"Sorry."
"OK, no worries, you can get into your house and get the cash from there"
"Oh, we don't keep cash in the house"
"What? Not even a fiver?"
Exasperated I bid them a not so fond farewell. I sit and sort the change into my dispenser and then turn round to check nobody has left anything in the back of the cab. They had! No, not an expensive Armani suit, or Jimmy Choo shoes, but loads of sweet wrappers, all over the floor and seat. Nice to know there are some really classy people in town! Of course, knowing where they lived I didn't need to take their property to a police station and returned it promptly to their home address.
I would just like to point out to all the knowledge boys and girls out there, that it's not all bad. The large majority of customers give you no grief whatsoever, most of the lines are second nature to you, and the hours are so flexible they could appear at a circus as a contorionist act.
You do also get a few odd moments. While ranked up on Pancras Road for Kings Cross, a woman in a 4x4 pulls up alongside me and asks if the road is 2-way. I explain that it's taxis and cycles southbound, and that there was a CCTV camera car watching for people entering from Goods Way. She then tells me that she'd come up from Euston Road and done a U-turn, so it must be OK. I then tell her she'll have to cross a set of double white lines and drive against oncoming traffic if she wants to go all the way back down, at which point she starts berating me about there being no signs saying it's taxis only and nothing saying one way only. I figure that whatever I answer I had given her she'd have continued on her way down to Euston Road anyway, so why ask in the first place. Maybe it was so that she could say that a taxi-driver had told her it was OK to do so. Or maybe she just wanted an argument. She didn't get one but the drivers around me all found it highly amusing that I hadn't put any signs up to let her know what was happening with the traffic.
Off out tonight for a long night-shift, and hoping that there aren't too many heaver drinkers around, and that everybody's got the right money. I can't be doing with any more of them.
Oh, and well done to my mate Paul who got his badge last Friday and has finally found his way out onto the road in a cab. Enjoy it mate.
Tuesday, 5 February 2008
Kippers for tea?
Working my way through January, I was beginning to wonder if the kipper season was just another "the game's dead" type comment from the old guard to discourage knowledge boys and girls from finishing.
Judging by February's work so far, it looks like it's not a mythical beast. It's quiet... very quiet.
Of course, it might be just the hours that i work that are giving me the grief, what with having to slide all the way up the A2 from the Medway Towns before even getting a sniff of a job, and then sliding all the way back down again for the afternoon school run. Hopefully a few longer days might give me a better insight as to how much work there really is. Perhaps I might even turn out for a few night shifts as well if it gets too quiet during the day.
The weather started to turn cold again with over zealous weathermen warning of blizzard-like conditions. Of course, the snow got nowhere near London, but it was great fun guessing which pedestrian's umbrella was going to be the next to turn inside out. And of course, cold weather means only one thing... that's right, the heater knob on the cab breaks off while switched to cold. Several customer complaints later and I'm back up at Nationwide getting it fixed. By fixed, I mean switched to permanently on! At least it's easy to open the window to cool things down.
Two gigs with Headlong at the weekend meant that I didn't do any cabbing. I really must think about changing priorities with the band and the cab. I still enjoy playing with the band, but I can feel it's starting to become a bit "samey", and the constant volume wars between the guitarist and the keyboard is annoying the arse off me. Let's see who can beat Spinal Tap and get to 12 tonight. Anyone in need of a bass player?
And so to this week's work. Nothing too testing for the grey matter, one or two into my grey areas (and I don't mean the hair growing at my temples) in north london, but the customers seemed happy on arrival. i have to admit to penning up a couple of lines when I got home though, wondering if I'd managed to take a wide line, but all looked as near as damn it "on-the-cotton".
No real daft jobs either, except perhaps for one bloke who during some delays on the trains out of Euston thought he'd get a cab to Birmingham International Airport.
"How much mate?" in his best Noddy Holder accent.
"It's gonna be at least £250" in my best Home Counties sales pitch.
"Bloimey mate, oi thought i'd be soomthing like £70".
"Only if you're going to 'eafrow".
He went back to wait for his train and i took a job to Marylebone instead.
Despite it being quiet and all the ranks at the Stations spilling over into the streets, there's some work out there. Just a case of finding somewhere to sit for a few minutes with the engine off instead of using diesel looking for a hand waving.
I'm beginning to like the O2 dome for first jobs of the day if the Blackwall Tunnel is busy. Occasionally jobs will take you into town so there's less dead mileage, but I had a nice one on Monday. The customer had travelled from UCH on the tube to North Greenwich tube having lost his keys, so he was going to the Queen Elizabeth hospital at Woolwich to pick up the spare set from his wife, before heading back to his house in South Kensington. We never made the whole journey though. With around £8 on the meter and not too far from QEH he gets a phone call from somebody at UCH to say they've found his keys in the changing room there. "Sorry cabbie, can we go back to The Dome"
"Of course sir!"
Two from the real world for the knowledge boys
Tea Building to Highbury Terrace
and
Guoman Tower Hotel to APT Nightclub ("Somewhere near Saint Paul's" - I didn't know where it was)
Judging by February's work so far, it looks like it's not a mythical beast. It's quiet... very quiet.
Of course, it might be just the hours that i work that are giving me the grief, what with having to slide all the way up the A2 from the Medway Towns before even getting a sniff of a job, and then sliding all the way back down again for the afternoon school run. Hopefully a few longer days might give me a better insight as to how much work there really is. Perhaps I might even turn out for a few night shifts as well if it gets too quiet during the day.
The weather started to turn cold again with over zealous weathermen warning of blizzard-like conditions. Of course, the snow got nowhere near London, but it was great fun guessing which pedestrian's umbrella was going to be the next to turn inside out. And of course, cold weather means only one thing... that's right, the heater knob on the cab breaks off while switched to cold. Several customer complaints later and I'm back up at Nationwide getting it fixed. By fixed, I mean switched to permanently on! At least it's easy to open the window to cool things down.
Two gigs with Headlong at the weekend meant that I didn't do any cabbing. I really must think about changing priorities with the band and the cab. I still enjoy playing with the band, but I can feel it's starting to become a bit "samey", and the constant volume wars between the guitarist and the keyboard is annoying the arse off me. Let's see who can beat Spinal Tap and get to 12 tonight. Anyone in need of a bass player?
And so to this week's work. Nothing too testing for the grey matter, one or two into my grey areas (and I don't mean the hair growing at my temples) in north london, but the customers seemed happy on arrival. i have to admit to penning up a couple of lines when I got home though, wondering if I'd managed to take a wide line, but all looked as near as damn it "on-the-cotton".
No real daft jobs either, except perhaps for one bloke who during some delays on the trains out of Euston thought he'd get a cab to Birmingham International Airport.
"How much mate?" in his best Noddy Holder accent.
"It's gonna be at least £250" in my best Home Counties sales pitch.
"Bloimey mate, oi thought i'd be soomthing like £70".
"Only if you're going to 'eafrow".
He went back to wait for his train and i took a job to Marylebone instead.
Despite it being quiet and all the ranks at the Stations spilling over into the streets, there's some work out there. Just a case of finding somewhere to sit for a few minutes with the engine off instead of using diesel looking for a hand waving.
I'm beginning to like the O2 dome for first jobs of the day if the Blackwall Tunnel is busy. Occasionally jobs will take you into town so there's less dead mileage, but I had a nice one on Monday. The customer had travelled from UCH on the tube to North Greenwich tube having lost his keys, so he was going to the Queen Elizabeth hospital at Woolwich to pick up the spare set from his wife, before heading back to his house in South Kensington. We never made the whole journey though. With around £8 on the meter and not too far from QEH he gets a phone call from somebody at UCH to say they've found his keys in the changing room there. "Sorry cabbie, can we go back to The Dome"
"Of course sir!"
Two from the real world for the knowledge boys
Tea Building to Highbury Terrace
and
Guoman Tower Hotel to APT Nightclub ("Somewhere near Saint Paul's" - I didn't know where it was)
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