It has been the shortest of short days, because we lay in bed snuffling and groaning until lunchtime.
This was regrettable, because the sun was shining, and when we did finally emerge, Mark shovelled the dogs and the rusty bicycles into the back of the car, and buzzed off up to the farm to collect a car-boot full of firewood.
I did nothing so energetic. I stayed at home to clean the children’s newly-vacated bedrooms.
We were lacking in energetic enthusiasm, firstly because of the shocking cold, which is still bubbling around the upper reaches of my body like vats of glue in a knackers’ yard.
The second reason was the late finish occasioned by nightclubs and intoxicated people last night. By the end of it I was so fed up of them all that I was entertaining myself with the reflection of how marvellous it would be to have a camera in my car and to share their footage on YouTube, because my last handful of customers were quite, quite mental.
I had one merry band who grumbled about the fare so much that I extracted it from them in advance. They behaved in a moderately civilised fashion for the entire journey, after which they turned into raging lunatics when we got there and I offered them the change. They waved their fists and threatened to punch me on the nose, called me some rude names and told me that I was a wicked robber with no manners.
They didn’t want their change after all that, so I considered that one a win.
The next lot got in, but after the first couple of miles they decided that they actually wanted to go about fifteen miles further than they had initially said. I pulled over and explained that this would be considerably more costly.
They declined to pay any more, and so I offered to take them to their original destination, but added, rather prudently, that I wanted cash up front. They had a pocket full of cash, but refused to hand any of it over, and despite my offering them to return them without charge, to Bowness where they might get another taxi, got out there and then to walk.
They were on an isolated country road, about twenty miles from their destination, with three or four miles to go even to the nearest street lamp. It was cold and they were undressed, as people seem to be on frozen winter nights in Bowness, but they got out and stamped away anyway.
I drove off, in my warm taxi, and called the other drivers warning them to get cash up front from any waifs and strays they might find on the Newby Bridge Road.
The next people paid me cash up front, and then tried to pay me again when we arrived at their destination. They were inexplicably offended at my explanations and refusal to take their money, and got out, bellowing abuse and trying to kick the taxi as I drove away.
Mark came home with a cash box loaded down with pennies and five pence pieces, having one female passenger who had emptied her handbag all over the back seat by way of remuneration.
We had a glass of single malt and thought that cameras would be a brilliant idea.
We might do that one of these days.
I am just on my way out to work now. We are not going to do much taxi driving this week, because it is still very quiet, and Mark is going to be busy rurally broadbanding. I am going to do some spring cleaning and carry on writing my next assessment piece, which is a fantasy story about a blacksmith’s son and a troll-king called Symon The Black. I am almost halfway through this, and have been thinking about it so hard that I kept forgetting to listen to the things that customers were telling me.
I do not think I am likely to have missed anything
