Fight

I did my sore knee no favours at work last night.

I got into a fight.

This was just one of those irritating misfortunes that makes life more interesting when you drive a taxi.

It was a cold night, with icy rain blowing miserably through the village.

I had picked some customers up at the Wheelhouse nightclub and was trundling indifferently up the road when I saw a taxi parked next to the cash machine. Behind it was a taxi driver being thoroughly punched by a loudly drunk young lady.

The taxi driver in question was an inoffensive Eastern European called Jacek. He was trying desperately hard to fight her off without doing anything that might get him into trouble. This is not an easy challenge. Taxi drivers are not supposed to hit their customers, especially girls.

I skidded to a halt and jumped out to join in, which is the obvious thing to do if you are a middle-aged lady with a sore knee. I dived in between them as she shrieked abuse and  raked her nails down his face, and tried to haul her away.

This did not stop her.

She was quite a bit bigger than me. She tried to shake me off and get to him anyway, and threw punches wildly at both of us. It all became a bit excitingly frantic for a few moments.

Of course in the end we managed to overpower her, and dragged her down to the wet pavement, where we sat on her, fending off her furious attempts to bite us.

I called the police, who turned up some time later. A twelve year old copper, whose energies were clearly being determinedly focussed on growing a moustache, chucked the drunk girl into the back of a police van.

I looked into the back of my taxi and discovered that at some point during the melee, my customers had jumped out and buzzed off, unsurprisingly, without offering to contribute towards the fare.

I went back to Jacek and admired his scratches.

He was too upset and shaken to be grateful, and collapsed unhappily back into his taxi, bemoaning the fates that had led him to choose such a misfortunate career.

The almost-teenage copper said that he wanted some statements.

I said that either he would have to provide an umbrella or we would go to the police station.

He hummed and hawed importantly and said that he wanted to look a the damage to Jacek’s vehicle.

The very much older copper who was with him wiped the rain out of his face and enthusiastically volunteered to take my statement straight away.

The two of us left the young copper and Jacek in the rain together and buzzed off to the police station. The older copper took the police van. I wondered how long it would take the younger one to notice, and consoled myself with the thought that at least there was a taxi to hand.

In the police station it was warm and dry. We made ourselves comfortable and got on with the familiar business of statement composition.

By the time we had finished the nightclub had closed and there was no more prospect of any further work for the night.

I limped home, and slid into bed next to Mark not long after four.

He stirred and asked me if everything was all right. I could practically hear his eyes rolling when I explained that I had missed the nightclub because of getting in a fight.

I did not welcome the alarm a couple of hours later when we had to get up to get Mark ready for work.

I staggered about yawning and dropping things, and after a while Mark said that he would take the dogs out before he went, and that I should go back to bed instead of dashing up the fellside.

I argued as unconvincingly as I could manage, and then slunk gratefully back into bed.

I went for a walk later on when I got up. I had to walk jolly quickly so that I would be back in time for the Afternoon Play, which is a serial this week.

My knee does not appear to have got any better yet.