I am very late in starting to write this, because I have been reading my book, which is a gripping evaluation of Lucy Letby and her rascally deeds.
In between this horrified contemplation, I have been gassing on the taxi rank.
I might have mentioned before that we have a new taxi driver who is very chatty. This is tiresome when I am trying to write to you, or when I have got to an interesting bit in my book, but really it is a good thing, because he comes and talks, and after a while we all get out of our cars and socialise with one another, which is quite splendid. Most taxi drivers are a bit like me, by which I mean that they have a cynical antisocial outlook on life and don’t trust anybody, especially one another, except that the new young ones are not nearly as wicked and rascally as the old drivers were when I was a youth, and I have several times been surprised by their unexpectedly civilised behaviour.
They have kindly decided that I am in need of a bit of looking-after, probably because of my advancing years and the absence of Mark, and I have several times been entirely dumbfounded by their kindness. I was even rescued last night, when I was trying to eject an idiot from my taxi. He was clearly a muppet, when I first noticed him he had his face pressed right up against my driver’s window, the way our cow used to press her nose to the kitchen window when she was hopeful for some company or something interesting to eat, leaving unpleasantly viscous sticky nostril-markings on the glass which were surprisingly difficult to scrub off.
He was trying to be intimidating, which always irritates me, especially in people who are too drunk to make a good job of it. He would not tell me where he was going, merely stared at me through slightly crossed eyes, and when he tried to get in, he fell over the ledge and dropped pizza all over the back of the taxi. This reduced me to a state of extreme grumpiness, and I flung my own door open and insisted that he get out and buzz off.
After some shouting he stood up, groggily, but refused to go, and stood there, swaying and mumbling.
After some shouting, mine, obviously, one of the other taxi drivers heard and came across. He was about two feet taller than the muppet, and when he loomed menacingly and said: She told you to go, the muppet folded like a dropped pillowcase and scurried away.
I am more than accustomed to dealing with muppets by myself, although it would be very handy to be two feet taller so I could just look menacing and dispense with the yelling. It is not easy to look intimidating from a height of 5’2”, although I have got quite good at it over the years. Not having to bother was quite a new experience. I was not even sure if I liked it, I might be getting a bit old to turn into the sort of princess that gets rescued from things.
The consequence, however, was that I had to clean my taxi today, because of the nasty pizza-residue still stuck to the floor mats.
This was not a happy chore, because it has rained a great deal today, and despite dashing out to do it in between showers, I still got soaked. It was the second time of being soaked, because I got wet on my walk as well, and then again when I went to Sainsbury’s later on. I lit the fire after that, and hung all of my wet things over it in a dismally dripping line.
It isn’t summer any more.
The silver lining, of course, was that I barely needed to wash the floor mats. I chucked them out behind the taxi and when I came back to them they had been very thoroughly rinsed and were lying in a puddle.
I am enjoying having a clean taxi tonight, it is a pleasing place of repose in between gassing. There have been hardly any customers tonight, three at the last count, and so I have still managed to find time to write to you.
These are my favourite sort of nights. Interesting conversation, a lovely clean taxi, and no customers to mess it up. It is a misfortunate side effect that I haven’t actually earned any money, but I don’t mind all that much.
There will be plenty of other times to do that.
Tonight has been splendid.
