day 360

Looking back, it should have been obvious that something wasn't as it

should be. It was a routine call to Bourne Terrace, off the Harrow
Road. No address, just a mobile. I parked up and called. The guy told
me to meet him at the top end of the street which I did.

They told me to wait while they got the telly from round the corner.
They were moving it for a friend, they said. I asked where to? Local,
- just to Ledbury Road. I opened the boot and they put the giant
plasma tv inside, before we reached underneath the westway we were
surrounded by about six police cars. A hand reached into the car,
turned the ignition off and took the keys. A voice said 'don't worry
mate, we know you're a cabbie'. The two blokes had just stolen the tv
from one of the posh houses round the corner and had smashed the place up.

I had to give a statement at harrow road nick, was given a cup of tea, a fiver for the fare (nice touch i thought) and sent on my way.

You never know what you're going to get in this game. It's like fishing.

I'm working with a band at the moment. Young lads from South London. We've done some great recordings and I'm going to play them to a few old mates from the Record Industry. You never know...I think they're good...

day 353

The girl got in the car and I could tell straight away that she was nervous so I put Magic FM on. I try to match the station to the passenger, they can be a Kiss FM person, or a Radio 4 type. There's talksport, 5 live, Magic, LBC, Radios 1, 2 and 3, classic fm and of course radio london- which is the default. danny baker's show (weekday afternoons) is the one thing that doesn't get changed. broadcasting genius and so obviously been given a free hand when it comes to music selection. I'm yet to hear him play a bad song.

Anyway, we set off. It's a good fare, - she's going to Greenford. She gradually opens up and tells me that she's nervous. I try to put her at ease, reassuringly tell her that everything's fine. Where is she going? She tells me it's her friend's daughter's Christening. She's been depressed and hasn't been out of the house much, let alone to any sort of social function. It turns out that it took a lot for her to go and buy the present and card, - and that she really had to force herself to get dressed up and put her make up on...I tell her she's done really well but the closer we get to Greenford, the more nervous she becomes. I keep reassuring her that she's done really well to get this far and that I'm sure all of her friends will be pleased to see her but she doesn't think so. They hate her, she thinks. I'm sure that's not the case, I tell her, but she's already decided she can't go into the church. As we pull up outside I try and persuade her to go in but she's begging me to take her home so I do. On the house naturally. All the way back I tell her not to worry, that she did really well to get as far as she did. That she had been really brave to go and buy the present and card and that maybe she'll feel up to going along later, but she's not listening. She just wants to get home.

westbourne grove

Blackberry clutched in left hand and latte in the right

Striding down Westbourne Grove with Ralph Loren in sight

Versace shades and skinny jeans, designer heels and bag,

Fresh from a spinning session, so not shopping is a drag

Economy and politics, environment and rights

Are several of the topics that don’t keep her up at nights.

Conspicuous consumption, the gym and fashion tips

Facebook status updates and fuller natural lips.

Disfunctional in childhood and ignored throughout her teens

But trust funds make the pain subside so all is as it seems

day 352

The crackhead approached me with a look of sheer indifference. “Chelsea mate”. Glaswegian. Cool.

“Whereabouts mate?” broad scouse, just so he knows...

“Lucan Place Po-lice”

I spotted the can of loopy-super-KKK-fighting juice in his bag.

“no drinking in my car, mate sorry”

he fixed me once more with the dead eyes only a junkie could see through...

“listen big man” he began..”i just need tae get tae chelsea so i can sign for my parole conditions, get back in your car, come back to the grove. i know i’ve got a drink, but i’m not going to spill it, i’m going to drink it. i’m not going to pish myself, throw up, or abuse you. in fact, i’ll be the model customer, - chelsea wait and return that’s about £18...here’s twenty, now can we go please?”

I was already driving.

He talked all the way there and back. He was intelligent and funny but damaged. hence the drugs. ‘two whites and a brown’ was what he was going to buy the moment he got out of my car. £15 for a night of pure ecstasy and oblivion. He reckoned it was a bargain and he was probably right. Trouble is the price....

Next job is delivering some quail eggs to a house on Cheyne Walk. Suffice to say it’s 5 storeys and directly facing the river. Oh, - and get this, - there’s ONE bell.

day 351

the christian lives on bramley road. i’ve only picked her up twice. she goes local (£5) to a caring place...she’s a carer. the first time i took her to work she approached the car with a knowing grin, jumped in the front, - (this is unusual), took my hand (this is also, virtually unheard of) and said, in a booming, amazing caribbean, west london voice “TELL ME WHAT YOUR WORRIES ARE BOY”

Naturally I didn’t want to disappoint her, so, I blurted out “my car and money”.

In an instant, her eyes closed, her grip on my hand tightened (it’s an automatic, relax already) and she prayed for me. Yes. She prayed for me right there, reader, on the Golborne Road “DEAR LORD BLESS THIS BOY AND LOOK AFTER HIS CAR AND GIVE HIM SOME MONEY FROM THE TOP OF HIS HEAD TO THE SOLES OF HIS FEET DEAR JESUS LORD...” you get the idea.

I found this profoundly moving. Notwithstanding one’s religious stance, the fact that someone, - a complete stranger, no less, - would be arsed to take my hand and give me about 45 seconds of their day in such a giving and spontaneous way was so nice to experience.

Believe it or not, the next job i got was a lady who always goes round the corner and gives a score for a £5 job. As she was getting out my phone went. It was Jose...

“Don’t ask how but your car passed the MOT...”

Day 350

The architect likes the clunk. The clunk is the noise my car makes on level ground when the automatic gearbox shifts gear from first to second (if i’m not braking). When he first heard it he looked up from his drawings with a delighted smile (i’m assuming the smile from the tone of the “whoop” he let out on hearing the clunk, naturally my eyes were firmly fixed on my fellow road users and pedestrians at the time).

“It’s a clunk!...why’s it making that clunking sound Mike!?”

“Not sure, Peter, I’ll ask Jose” (the mechanic, obviously).

Since the debut appearance by the clunk, it’s been heard by several mechanics; Jose just said “Time for a new car, Mike” as did the man from the RAC, so further opinions were necessary, none of which, to date has managed satisfactory diagnosis. The clunk has also been heard by many dozens of the fine people of Notting Hill, Ladbroke Grove and North Kensington who have jumped with fright, ignored completely, tittered, or asked what that noise was.

Recently I’ve discovered that I can drive a certain way, when I’m P.O.B. (that’s cabbie talk for ‘passenger on board’, although to date I haven’t found anyone else with my fondness for its use within the industry). i take my foot off the gas a split second before the gears change automatically between first and second (on level ground, as I’m sure you recall) then the clunk doesn’t, clunk. I try to just let it clunk when I’m not P.O.B.

Anyway, Peter the architect finds it endlessly amusing and always asks after the clunk. Sometimes I let it clunk just to cheer him up if he’s particularly stressed.

It’s a sunny september evening in London, the quality of the light shining through the autumn coloured trees is particularly catching and I’ve been driving a cab for almost a year.

The music is picking up though. A breakthrough is coming, of that there is no doubt...