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Sunday Football
I did a bit of overtime Sunday daytime to fund an evening out with my brother that night.
Town was quite busy due to the Liverpool versus Man Utd match being shown in the pubs, but there was also an atmosphere that can only be described as edgy.
I don’t think I’ve ever swapped allegiance from team to team as much as I did on Sunday; call it self-preservation if you like, but I supported whoever the lads in the back supported.
You see there were lots of groups of men out for that game, and with Preston’s geographical location being an equal distance from both Manchester and Liverpool; I’d say the support was split down the middle.
Not every group I taxied was rowdy; one group were a great bunch of lads who were all in a joyous mood due to their team’s win. They flagged me on Friargate so I pulled over for them. As they started to climb in I noticed one of them had a massive kebab that was bulging out with sauce, salad and half a farmyard of animals. I said “fellas, you’re not getting in with that thing, I’ll gladly wait for you to finish it though”. “Sure, no problem” they replied.
So the lads got back out and waited while the hungry one munched his kebab.
I did mention they were supporting Liverpool didn’t I? Well, what happens next is this Man Utd fan, who was let’s say, worse for wear, came staggering up the rank.
He was bladdered; his head was wobbling as he walked and he could hardly talk. He came up to the cab and opened the door but he was greeted with jeers from the Liverpool fans. I told him that I was booked with the lads stood nearby, so he mumbled a reply along the lines of “I’ll go to the pub instead then” and walked off.
I somehow doubt he would’ve been served!
So anyway, I loaded up with the lads and took them to their destination and returned back to town for one last job.
I found myself on the Church St rank with time going against me, as the work had started to dry up and I needed to go home and get ready for my night out.
I wanted a job going south; as I live over the river…a Frenchwood, Walton-le-Dale or even Fishwick would do, and I needed it quick otherwise I was going home without a job.
What’s this I can see walking towards me? It’s another group of lads and this lot are bit rowdy. They came to the cab and climbed in. I turned around and asked where they wanted to go, to which they replied “Leyland”.
Back of the net! I couldn’t have got a better destination and a fare far enough away to fund a few pints later that night. The lads chanted Liverpool songs the entire journey home.
I don’t know what’s happened this year, but the student work is nowhere near as good as the two previous years I’ve been a taxi driver.
I’ve had another rubbish week, with the vast majority of my jobs being tiny little ones; I’m not alone either, some of the other drivers have had a poor two weeks too and they say it’s down to UCLAN having all the Halls of Residence so close to the town centre.
I don’t suppose you can blame them for that, but it would be nice to have a bit more city centre living options available to other people other than students. The council’s planning board obviously have a hand in this. If the ‘lucrative’ student footfall was spread further afield from the city centre then that would benefit more small businesses in and around the suburbs. But as we have it now, it’s the centrally located businesses that are seeing the benefit of a tight nucleus of a student community.
Some of the senior cabbies tell me once upon a time, when most of the students lived out in the Plungington, Ashton, Broadgate areas etc, that the majority caught cabs home. Now, they stumble out of kebab shops on Friargate and find themselves within a stone’s throw from their Halls of Residence.
I’ve just had a runner from the cab, it was actually quite funny the way he did it, but I still have to pursue it with the police as the lad stole off me in this incident.
The job was a phone call from my regulars Luke & Dan; they wanted picking up from town and taken to Bamber Bridge and Lostock Hall.
When I arrived to pick them up they had another lad with them who wanted to continue to Clayton Brook after I dropped the regulars off.
The lad volunteered that he had no money on him, but he said he was going to go into his house and return with the outstanding balance.
He said he lived at the big bungalow on the A6 right next to the pedestrian crossing and, conveniently, an alleyway that leads onto the Clayton Brook estate.
I suspected something was going to happen, you just get ‘that’ feeling about people, it’s almost like a sixth sense that we cabbies develop.
Anyway, he asked how much he had to return with and I told him a fiver will do.
So, he pops out of the cab and legs it for the alleyway, but the silly sausage dropped his phone in the process, so he about-turns and runs back for his phone. He picked it up and then he did a silly dance as if to say “ner ner, I’ve got one over you” and then legged it back down the alleyway into deepest darkest Clayton Brook.
The comedy side of it was worth a fiver alone, but I can’t let him get away with, if there’s a way to make him pay the money I’ll pursue it.
I’ll ask the regulars for his full name and then ring the police with my complaint and take it from there.
I’ve not had a traffic related rant in a while, so I thought it was about time I vented my frustrations once again through this blog.
This time I’m talking about the very pathetic Lightfoot Lane Garstang Road traffic lights.
My God they’re annoying. Seriously, when you’re on a job and you have another customer waiting, every red light you come to is a curse, especially if you’re running a little late.
But imagine if you’re there driving down Garstang Rd, only for the lights ahead to turn red and sweet nothing (can I get away with FA Editors?) to come out from Lightfoot Lane.
Honestly it’s infuriating. I can handle stopping at red lights for other traffic, but stopping at red lights for absolutely nothing, not a car, not a bike, not a pedestrian, really really gets my back up.
It’s not just them lights that do this; last night I was stopped at red traffic lights in Chorley on the A6 near to the hospital and not a single vehicle came through the green light.
So I beg the question… why in this day and age of modern technology do we have pathetic traffic lights that are on a 24 hour timer?
Motion sensors have been around for donkey’s years, so why the hell can’t they fit them onto traffic lights and let them change from red to green when a vehicle approaches?
There are loads of lights on these stupid timers; seriously, the amount of lorries I see creeping through red lights in and around Preston is crazy. Something needs to be done and it’s not rocket science what.
FIT MOTION SENSORS!!!
Taxi Pete and fellow Sherwood regular Trev were booked on a mini bus to go to PNE’s away match at Scunthorpe.
The bus was booked for 3PM at the Withy Trees pub and Pete told me he had to be there for 1:30PM because Trev didn’t like being late.
Aye, I’m sure that’s the only reason they turned up so early, nothing to do with chilled flowing beer then?
Anyway, I wasn’t even invited and going by the result and match report I’m glad I wasn’t.
So instead, with it being Threshers week, I worked.
My night went OK; there were thousands of students around 53 Degrees making an absolute mess, as they were all drinking cans and bottles while waiting in the humongous queue that had formed.
There was litter and broken bottles all over the place.
I decided to use the rank at 53 Degrees as I figured some of the students would get sick of waiting in the queue, and I wasn’t wrong.
Job after job I got from there, for about an hour, while all the other drivers sat twiddling their thumbs on the usual taxi ranks.
All of the jobs went to Lava, Rumes or The Warehouse in the town centre.
On a side note, don’t we have a great choice of places to go in Preston? Is it any wonder why we cabbies get taxi fares to far afield occasionally? Barring the big cities, we must be the envy of the North West for night life and long may it continue.
So anyway, I was promised a guaranteed taxi fare off Taxi Pete and Trev once they got back to Preston, and they came up with the goods… at 4 blinking AM in the morning.
They’d only been supping in the Old Dog on Church St; a pub that Pete described as a gem, a traditional watering hole instead of the sterile money extracting neon lit rubbish you get elsewhere on Church St.
I have a bunch of girls from Euxton who ring me for a taxi once a week; every time I go to pick them up they’re already half drunk.
They’re a good bunch really, they head to The Warehouse which is Preston’s premier nightspot for alternative/rock music, and I even used to go there myself back in the day.
So, anyway, these girls… let me tell you about it.
This one time they drank too much before I picked them up and within minutes of picking them up they were asking for a toilet break.
Of course there are no proper toilets open, so the next best thing for them was a major DIY superstore’s car park, which is full of bushes to hide ‘behind’.
So there we are, pulled into the B&Q car park while some of the girls go off into the darkness to relieve themselves of nature’s calling.
Did I mention darkness?
Well it was dark but not for long.
The girls went away from the cab to take a wee, but unknown to them there was a car full of young lads parked up in full view of their rear ends.
The girls were about to get a shock!
Drawers down and backsides facing the car full of young lads, the inevitable happened…The boys turned on the FULL BEAM and started pomping!
It was hilarious; the girls went to all that trouble to be out of view from the cab, only to flash their white bits to a car full of young lads.
They took it well, as they came running back to the cab in fits of laughter.
I’d just dropped off at the top end of Ingol and was heading back to town; while I was passing a bus stop full of town bound people I announced on the CB that I’d not had a bus stop flag down for months.
One of the other drivers replied that he was carrying customers that had flagged him down at a bus stop, and the second he finished talking I got a flag down at the very next bus stop I was passing.
I couldn’t believe it! All those months without, and as soon as I mention it… I get one!
I don’t believe in hocus pocus or owt like that, but I can guarantee you this… This Saturday evening I’m going to announce on the CB that I’ve never won the lottery jack pot, seconds before I go into a newsagents and buy a ticket.
But what numbers will I pick? Well, recently a strange thing has been happening to me. More so than ever before. Let me explain… When I switch the meter off after completing a job, recently, all too often the time has been 3 of the same numbers i.e 3.33AM, or 2.22AM. Honestly, this has been happening loads, so I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve got to choose 11, 22, 33 & 44 among my lotto numbers, don’t I?
What a horrendous night that was!
Town was full of very drunk people and idiots hell bent on finding confrontation.
I had one ‘customer’ who talked to his mate for the whole journey home, about how he was going knock out a guy’s teeth the next time he saw him, and when I got them home he started to verbally abuse me.
I’m not the only one to witness this annual bad atmosphere either; Pete said on the CB that he had a difficult job that night, and I was speaking to Ronnie the landlord of the Dog & Partridge, who also said he saw loads of idiots battling on the usually calm Friargate.
There was police sirens blurring away for the majority of the evening and I saw quite a few cars that had been pulled over by the cops too. One customer told me that he saw armed police attend an incident in the town centre.
Anyway, apart from the violent idiot I had in the cab, the rest of my night went well thanks to my regulars, who all remember to ring me for their cab home.
My phone was red hot late into the evening, I had call after call and that suited me fine. Granted I had to drive past people trying to flag a cab in order to reach my booked jobs, but I’m more than happy with that because if I provide a good service, they’ll keep ringing.
Hectic nights like that I won’t make as much money as other drivers who can stop at the first flag down. But that’s a small price to pay because those same regulars call me on quiet nights weekly, when all the other cabs are ranked up.
We cabbies probably get around five nights per year that are hectic like that; so to lose out on five nights, but gain on several hundred thanks to regulars calling me, is a non contest as far as I’m concerned… I’ll always go for my regulars no matter how small the journey. If they ring me, I come on time.
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