I hate taxi drivers. No, let me be more specific - I hate London ’Hackney carriage’ drivers.

I hate taxi drivers. No, let me be more specific - I hate London

’Hackney carriage’ drivers.

You know how it is. You’re standing on a street corner at the dead of

night, rain pissing down your neck, and after what seems like hours a

yellow light swims towards you through the murk.

One of two things now happens: the taxi speeds past as you wave like a

frantic muppet. Or, more rarely, the driver stops and lowers the


This is a tense moment. You tell him where you want to go. Then you

listen to the excuses. ’I’m going the other way. There’s too much

traffic.’ Never the truth. Never: ’I can’t be arsed unless it’s the West

End.’ Or: ’I’m terrified to go there because I have an irrational fear

of black people.’

You could try telling the driver he is legally obliged to take you

within seven miles of the pick-up point. It won’t do you any good. He’ll

either accelerate away, or punch you. So you set off in search of a


The following day, you hear one of the arseholes on the radio, telling

us that we shouldn’t take mini-cabs because ’they are stealing

traditional cabbies’ business’.

Hypocritical tossers. These days I avoid black cabs, because they are

driven by lazy miserable racists who seem unwilling to fulfil the one

function of their job.

Got something to rant about? Call 0208-267 4702 or e-mail



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