Mini Cabs From HellWe've all taken a dodgy cab in our time. One guy asked me to give him a back-rub in exchange for letting me off the fare. I was like, "here's the cash mate." Another chappy claimed to be Paddy Patel - a child actor from UK TV series Tuckers Luck - he drove like a speed freak and regaled me with stories that "playing a black Irish boy. England wasn't ready for it." So go on - tell us your worst and we'll tell the world.
[edit: for those confused by the term mini-cab, London has two sorts of taxis: highly regulated, licensed and salt-of-the-earth black cabs that you see in films and a whole bunch of unlicensed, uninsured, random cars driven by nutters who aren't supposed to pick up from the street (you have to phone for them). They are universally rubbish]
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rob, Wed 26 May 2004, 21:44)
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Not the cabbie's fault but...I was walking home, very, very drunk one night and decided to take a short cut down an alley. I live on quite a large housing estate, on which many of the rows of houses look the same. So, I emerge from my short cut and walk down a couple of familiar-looking roads before arriving at my road, only to find that it's not my road. In fact, squinting to read the road sign, it's a road of never heard of. Somehow, I've got myself lost.
I wandered around, lost for about two hours before I happened upon a phone box, wherein I phoned the local cab firm. I read out the address of the phone box, from the information displayed inside and requested a cab home. I thought I detected laughter at the other end of the line as I put the receiver down.
Five minutes later, a taxi turns up and I get in. "Martin Hardie Way", I say and the driver pulls away, changes up to second gear, turns a corner and stops. 20 seconds into the cab ride and I'm home. For nearly three hours, I'd been wandering around on my bloody doorstep.
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<>Dog www.stevelaker.blog, Thu 27 May 2004, 9:36,
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