Furry Fright

I didn't take a lot of notice when the lady got into the back of the taxi and asked to go into town. On the way she asked me to pull up outside a post office and wait whilst she did an errand. 
 After about five minutes or so I was just sat there bored and daydreaming, when suddenly out of the corner of my eye I spotted something small and furry making its way quickly from in between the seats straight towards me. 
I was out of the taxi quicker than a Danish cartoonist leaving a mosque. 
I thought that maybe a rat or squirrel must have gotten in somehow.  After a minute or two of taking deep breaths I still wasn't prepared to get back in the cab to fight the furry intruder and was stood peering anxiously through the windows trying to spot it again. 
Just at that moment the lady walked out of the post office and up to the car and seeing my shocked expression guessed exactly what had happened.
Sorry she said “I should have told you I had my miniature Yorkshire terrier in my pocket and thought it would be ok to leave her in the car”.

Made Up.

A young lass who I had picked up was wearing bright pink pyjamas, which believe it or not is not at all unusual in these parts.
 It’s mainly the Sunday mornings when they have stayed over with friends after a night out; they don't like to go home in the previous nights clothes.
 But this was on a Tuesday afternoon and she had not a hair out of place and was adorned in lots of fresh heavy duty makeup.
 She must have troweled that much on herself that even her hands were covered in the stuff  judging by the multiple handprints she left all over the back seats and doors.
 It must have been super industrial strength because it was a nightmare to clean off, pity the poor guy who gets any of that on his collar.

Bootless

Why do our local Barrow lasses go out on the town in boots or shoes that are so very obviously uncomfortable.
 On the Sunday mornings presumably after a hard nights partying I always seem to pick up lots of young ladies  carrying the previous night’s footwear.
 Last Sunday morning I picked up three girls in a row all carrying high boots with big heels, if they hurt why wear them? 
 Still that’s women for you.
 Reminds me of a Sunday a while back when I picked up a lass going to one of the villages about six or seven miles away from Barrow, she had been out all night and was still pretty drunk. Still in a good mood she was talking away about her night and things that had happened and all the while she was emphasising points by waving her arms about. After about three miles she was still in full flow when suddenly she stopped and quickly put her hands down and went bright red. That was when I knew that she had finally realised she had her knickers grasped in her hand and had been waving them about for the last ten minutes.
 She slipped them into her pocket and didn't say much after that; they were red by the way!

Nervous Tick

I was watching a TV programme called Terrets camp and it brought to mind an incident which happened a few summer's ago.

 It was a Saturday lunch time and I had picked up from the vast local gas terminal which was under construction, the male fare was a contractor from Newcastle, he was a daunting character, huge with a shaved head and lots of tattoos.

He asked to be taken to a pub in town and then on the way started to ask questions about the massage parlour which is near the pub.

He must have had some form of nervous tick when he got a bit excited; he dropped his head to his left shoulder and grunted loudly like a pig. I was startled but tried to just carry on just as normal as possible.

As we got nearer to town he asked more questions about the massage parlour and then squealed and grunted even louder.

 He said he was going to visit the massage parlour after a few beers. I wonder what the girls in the massage parlour made of him, I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that visit!