Sign of The Times

I picked lots of noisy kids up this week, it's the week before the schools go back and so it's the last minute rush for school uniforms. One woman was totally oblivious to her three unruly brats in the back, she just seemed to go into a trance looking at her phone as her kids fought screamed, and then rolled both back windows down and started to throw things out including the taxi firms business cards. Still, she just stared at the darn phone deaf and blind to the chaos in the rear. That was when I braked and pulled over and without saying a word got out rolled up the back windows and placed my new sign that I bought a while back from Lancaster Castle, onto the dash, then I just looked at them for a minute without saying a word. They looked at me and then at the sign and that was it not a peep out of them for the rest of the journey. Funny thing was the mother never said a word, but she gave me a good tip with the fare.

The Grim North

One of my fare's today was telling me that she was a barrister up here in Barrow on a business trip from that there London and that it was her first time oop north. “Well, what do you think of the grim north?” I asked,” well I was baffled when none of the taxis stopped when I hailed them I had to take the number off the side and ring for one myself,” she said. I explained that most cabs here are private hire and that most hackney cabs also work for company’s when not on the rank. Then she went on to say (which a lot of visitors also say) how green it was and that she had been expecting a grim grey industrial town. Shortly afterwards we were going down from a high point at the top of Hawcoat looking out seawards over Walney Island towards the Isle of Man, and she was impressed by the fabulous views of the miles of empty sandy beaches. “I bet it gets busy during the summer,” she said and was very surprised when I told her that we get very few visitors.” Well someone sure wants their butt kicking “she said anywhere else and they would be promoting it for all they were worth.

Yan Tan

I took an old guy to Ulverston one morning this week and when he counted the coins out to pay the fare he said “here’s dick tan lad keep the change,” This had me baffled so I asked him to explain what he had just said.

 He told me that it’s an ancient form of counting still in use by some of the Cumbrian upland sheep farmers to count their flock.

 So here goes with one to ten, don’t know if any of the spellings are correct this is just as he said them. 1 yan 2 tan 3 teddera 4 meddera 5 pimp 6 settera 7 lettera 8 hovera 9 dowra 10 dick .

It sounds like it may come from the Old Norse but best of all I like the one for 15 bumfit and the one for 20 jiggot.

 Right I'm off for a dick minutes rest might catch you in bumfit or so.

Olde Times

Well after rereading our local council terms and conditions for taxi drivers here in Barrow in Furness I think that the whole thing needs a good update they use language such as the "term psychedelic and bizarre painting schemes" that one must surely be a hangover from the swinging sixties! 
 Then we have the total gobbledegook   "The track width and suspension characteristics shall be such as to provide good road holding performance and stability on cornering" surely if the taxi didn't it would not pass a taxi inspection or even the annual M.O.T test.
Then we have the requirement for the never used and cannot ever be used without danger of being sued, fire extinguisher and first aid kit.
Most modern council’s have now realised that drivers are not insured to use and cannot use these without proper training and have done away with the requirement.
"Radio scanners are prohibited" again that’s all a bit old hat nowadays most firms are on data and not voice nowadays so not much to listen to.

Then we come to the Hackney Carriage Byelaws they seem to have been written at about 1886 which was about the same time as our Town Hall was built.
“Cause the roof or covering to be watertight" and "cause the fittings and furniture generally to be kept in a clean condition, well maintained and in every way fit for public service" and how about this beauty “The taxi shall be fitted with a key flag or other device, the turning of which will bring the machinery of the taximeter into action and use the word hired to appeal on the face of the taximeter”
This was all obviously written by quill on parchment in the days of horse drawn hackney carriages and the last time they changed it and as it states at the bottom, hereunto fixed the common seal was forty one years ago!
I have saved the best bit until last "The proprietor or driver of a hackney carriage shall immediately after the termination of any hiring or as soon as possible thereafter carefully search the carriage for any property which may have been accidentally left therein."  
Then we have "carry it as soon as possible and in any event within 48 hours if not sooner claimed by or on behalf of its owner to the office of the council and leave it in the custody of the officer in charge of the office on his giving a receipt for it."
I and most other drivers have never heard of anybody taking lost property to the Town Hall and I bet this is another hangover from the dim and distant past.
So now I will have to find this officer in charge then handover the seven odd gloves, three single earrings, several soiled hankies and the cat box (the cat didn't survive its visit to the vets) that I have in my garage?

Lost

Now and again, I will pick some joker up who tries to catch me out by asking to go to a street with no houses on which very few people have heard of.

 A few local examples of these in Barrow in Furness are Water St, Reservoir St, Thomson St, and Wesley Place. The only time I do get caught out funnily enough is when at the end of a long busy tiring shift my mind will go blank when I am asked to go to somewhere I go to every single day.

But the fun really starts when I get jobs in the outlying villages and countryside especially when I am given vague directions to a place with just a house name.

 I always find that even in the most remote hamlets when I stop to ask the way it always turns out to be a stranger to the area or the local village idiot I pick.

 On one particular job a while back I picked a chap who looked sensible enough but when asked the way he replied “Ista gaan duwn yonder ginnel past meda wi sterks bur tat la left an gaas on abit lal git ta laurel hedge ista gaas onabit las lare. So that's exactly what I did and amazingly, I found it fairly easily.

But I couldn't  help keep laughing to myself after that thoughts kept entering my head of this guy doing the voice directions for those new fangled satellite navigation devices you get nowadays.

Lap of Luxury

The latest car to join our fleet at A1 83-83-83 is certainly turning a few heads.
Local taxi users just cannot believe it when this brand new Bentley look- a- like purrs to a halt outside to pick them up. Then when they step inside to a world of plush leather and walnut trim to be transported in the lap of luxury they are astonished.
One chap who had ridden in style the previous day told me, when I picked him up in my more mundane saloon that he couldn't stop smiling for the rest of his day.
Tony the colourful character who runs the big shiny beast tells me that it can be hired for any occasion. Weddings, nights out, birthdays, executive travel or even just to give your old mum a treat.

Russell (Barrows Dog Walking Legend)

Every Taxi Driver in Barrow knows of the local legend that is Russell Thompson. Russell can be seen at almost anytime of day or night walking dogs through the streets of Barrow and usually he will stop and chat with the taxi drivers and their fares and is a well known local legend in the town so whilst chatting to him this week I find him very upset and a bit down with himself. It appears that his dog (The one in the photo) had died peacefully in its sleep. It was quite an old dog. He is upset about it.

For those that dont know Russell, he is Barrows very own dog walking Legend and theres plenty about him on the internet. Hes on myspace and facebook and has lots of fans and is well known locally. Russell is also famous for appearing on my radio shows in the past.

Guest Blogger

Well since I seem to find myself busy with other things and don't get the time to update the blog, I think a guest blogger would be more than welcome to fill my size eleven boots for a while. So folks a big welcome to local celebrity and well known radio DJ cum Taxi driver Bill Clark.
Come on bill lets hear whats been going on whilst you have been out and about on the highways and byways of this corner of the UK.

Feathered Fare

Ive learnt that sometimes it's best not to ask whats in boxes when folk load them into the boot.
But the strange noises coming from a box that a passenger gently placed in my trunk today got my curiosity aroused. During the ride I asked about the strange clucking noises coming from the boot but my amused fare wouldn't tell what was in the box until we reached our destination.
Lifting the box out of the boot he took the cover off to reveal a pair of plump chickens. After I had snapped a photo of our feathered travelling companions I suddenly thought about the fate of the hapless pair, and said that I didn't want to be the one delivering them to their eggsacution. But my fare assured me that the birds weren't due for the chop just yet and were to be kept for their eggs.

Clamped Cab

A local cabbie come back to his car which had been left untaxed on Barrows Cavendish Street and found that he had been clamped. Just goes to show that you can't get away with it nowadays.
The car in question is not one of our firms by the way, but a frantic check was carried out to make sure that all the fleet were up to date with tax was started straight away.

Woolies Window

Here in Barrow we had an old saying, usually said by folks who earnestly believed that they were in the right. The saying went "if that's true I'll show my arse in Woolworths window" or "if I don't keep my promise I'll show my bum in Woolworths window."
Well I guess that now that Our 99 year old Woolworth store on the Main Shopping street is finally closing it's doors (and windows) for good, folks are having to rush in there to fulfill their promise. Look closely at the photo of the storefront!

Seasons Greetings

Hi Folks! Sorry to have been neglecting you for such a long while but I have been busy with other things. I seem to have hoodwinked myself into the management side of the taxi business and boy does it keep me busy! I have been spending less time out on the streets and as a result don't get to spend as much time gathering tales about our wonderful local characters. Bill another local cab-driver sent me this photo of "our Molly" who is without doubt the favorite fare of every local taxi driver. It seems that Molly is also a bit special to the many local town centre shopkeepers and market stallholders that she visits every day. They treat her like royalty and even took the time to decorate her much needed walking frame with sparkling Christmas decorations. If you look closely at the photo you may just notice that the twinkle in our Molly s eyes outshines the brightest tinsel. Things should quieten down in January and so I hope to be posting a bit more often then. Meanwhile compliments of the season and best wishes to everyone, and for those of you that have sent comments asking after me, sorry for not getting back sooner and thanks for the concern.
Cheers folks!

X-FACTOR

Lately Saturday nights have been turning out to be a little bit on the quiet side, so what’s going on? Is it the so called credit crunch or even as some believe the start of a full blown recession. Well I don't think so myself I put the blame fairly and squarely on ITV. They are stealing the peak Saturday night trade away from the pubs and clubs and more importantly from the taxi trade. Saturday night from 8pm until 11pm is dominated by that popular cult TV show the X-Factor. Why I don't know because I don't watch it, but on Saturday night it dominated the conversation of the fares I picked up, some of whom were actually going to X-Factor parties. What that involves, I don't have a clue but it sure seems popular. Even worse news was told to me by one fan that was dashing between two x-factor parties; apparently the series lasts right up until near Christmas. Why can't these TV companies be made to show this stuff during the week instead of wrecking the whole country’s night time economy?

One interesting snippet that I did get told on Saturday night from a reliable source fascinated me no end. The new club which is due to open shortly, CLUB-M has been fitted with a new entrance solely for the use of the local emergency services. This I am told is so paramedics can attend to injured or ill folk and cops can remove troublemakers all without going through the crowded club. But the best bit is that the club has actually got its own padded cells to detain folk and prevent them from injuring themselves or others. The polite name they tell me is the detention or holding area. But a cell is a cell to me and I wonder is it legal, can they actually detain someone against their will? Would it not be false imprisonment, is it a step too far?

Lost Doggy

A rather mysterious large bulky brown envelope arrived at out taxi office this week. At first we were a bit nervous about opening it because of the strange shape that could be felt inside. When we finally decided that it probably wasn't a bomb our brave boss felt inside the package. He went a shade paler when he felt something slightly furry. But taking a deep breath he fearlessly hauled the unknown beast out of it's hiding place and we were confronted with a small version of the nodding dog mascot which you see on some folks car parcel shelves. Attached was a handwritten note which reads "This belongs to one of your drivers. Sorry!" So far he or she hasn't been claimed by any of our drivers and rumours are rife about the adventures of the lost doggy. Has a dog napping taken place, and the villain had a twinge of conscience? Has someone picked up the wrong dog by mistake or maybe a child took a fancy to our driver’s lucky mascot. The lost doggy is being held to ransom by the boss until the £1:50p shortfall that wasn't paid on the postage is handed over.

Soap Opera

Now and again one of my fares will ask me if I had watched a reality TV show or one of the soap operas the previous night. Nine times out of ten I answer "no I don't watch much telly" and the fare will look at me as if I must be criminally insane or live in some strange other universe. But the plain and simple truth is that I just don't need to watch reality TV, reality plays out each and every day on the back seats of my cab. All the real life drama, comedy and tragedy you could dream of are unveiled by passengers telling me of their sometimes chaotic lives.

 The big difference being that instead of some attention seeking, money grabbing wannabe my reality show stars are real genuine local folks. And as for soaps, well some folks will give me the latest episode of their storyline each time I pick them up, sometimes the plot will be a bit dull but with others I just can’t wait for the next thrilling installment.

Take Saturday night for instance, a five mile trip turned into a whole series of roller coaster emotions, all played out on my all knowing back seat.

 I took no part in the performance; all the scenes starred just the one young starlet and her mobile phone. The first call she received seemed normal enough at first but soon degenerated into a full blown row with what I assumed was her partner. The accusations flew back and forth and voices were raised to a shout for a few minutes and then the phone was obviously slammed down on her. She looked at the phone for a minute obviously frustrated that she couldn't finish the verbal fight and then tried redial a few times. When she got no reply she let out a piercing frustrated scream and then burst into floods of tears. After a while the phone rang and she snatched it to her ear expectantly, but no it wasn't the kiss and make up call she was expecting but someone threatening her with violence in retaliation for some punch-up that she had been involved with the previous night. She seemed frightened and pleaded with the caller that wasn't her fault and that she didn't start it, and that she “didn't want no trouble.” After she had soft soaped her way out of a bashing she hung up only for the phone to ring yet again with another caller. This time it was my fare that was straight on the attack loudly accusing the caller of “grassing her up for doin that tart over” and threatening to “kick her head in.” After delivering a filthy tirade of swearing and abuse it was my fares turn to slam the phone down.

 We reached her destination and it was time for the closing credits, but the phone rang yet again and I couldn't help but notice that she smiled in anticipation of the next thrilling episode.

Why Me?

I’m beginning to wonder if it's just me, or is it some sort of conspiracy that I end up with the strangest jobs. Today for example I was asked to do a cigarette run, which in itself isn't all that unusual, quite a few housebound nicotine addicts ask us to buy fags for them and then deliver them. 

But when I arrived at the house which had asked for ten coffin nails today I was greeted by a woman waving a bunch of keys out of the open window. I was thrown the keys and asked to let myself in, which I did. The ould lass grabbed her precious cancer causers and started to rip into the packaging seeming to forget that I was there. It was only after she had lit one and greedily puffed one or two deep drags of nicotine that she remembered why I was there. Whilst blowing clouds of noxious smoke toward me she announced "I ain't got any money you'll have to come back in the morning." "Great I thought robbed again” as you might guess I don't smoke, so nine fags weren't a lot of use to me, so I put it down to yet another bad experience and left. Nobody was more surprised than me when she rang the office next day and asked me to go over to be paid for the fags and fare. But when I got there and again was passed the keys out the window, as I suspected, there was a catch. She handed me a £20 note and asked me to visit the local grog shop and get her some booze. I felt like some kind of secret alcoholic as I walked out of the shop at 11 am with three cans of the strongest cheapest lager known to man.

 But the surprises didn't end there; when I handed over the loony-juice to the cantankerous granny she actually paid me in full and added a generous tip.

Hard Life

For the last week or so I have been doing an occasional job transporting Russian sailors to and from the airport.

 The lucky ones were going home on leave from coasters carrying cargo into Barrow docks. Most are nice enough guys, but only speak as much English as I do Russian, and so the conversation is a bit limited. The one universally known word among them is "smoke," I have never known a Russian who doesn't smoke and so when I turn into the first service station on route and say the magic word it always brings on a big smile and" OK da." The replacement sailors I take to join the ships always look a bit glum and when I picked up one who spoke a fair bit of English, I learnt why.

I like a lot of folk had the false notion that these seafarers had the life of riley, seeing the world and meeting a new girl in every port. But no apparently I couldn't have been more wrong, he told me that most sign up for a six month contract and when they join the rest of the small crew on the vessel, that's it for the full six months they just never leave the ship. All of these vessels are registered under flags of convenience and so the minimum wage and health and safety rules just don't apply to these poor guys.

Since it is the first time inland in the UK for most of them I like to try and show them round our area if I get the chance. As well as many other local delights they get pointed out Dalton Wildlife Park and our spectacular Furness Abbey.

When I explained to the Russian sailor who spoke some English that the huge DDH shed was where nuclear submarines were built he pointed out that a few years back I would have been called a traitor and he would have been jailed as a spy.

On Friday night the Russian I collected from his ship was happy be going home but as it was 1: am and pitch black I wasn't able to point out our local landmarks. But as compensation I decided to drive him out of town by going past our local nightclubs and bars. As soon as we turned towards Barrow’s infamous Caza strip his mouth dropped open in amazement as he was confronted with the sight of hundreds of scantily clad young lasses. Two or three were lying on the pavement, legs akimbo and a few were happily vomiting the night away.

 A bit further up the street police struggled to break up a fight and the back doors of the police van were flung open ready to transport that nights bed and breakfast guests.

The sailor could speak a little English and he asked if Barrow was a big city and what was the population. When I told him “maybe sixty thousand” he laughed and replied “da and maybe ten thousand drunks, yes”

Parting Gift

Sunday morning and my disheveled looking fare come out of a town centre house with a smirk on his face. "Heck she was ugly, but I was drunk" he said as he checked himself out in the mirror. "Well I guess that we all make mistakes" I replied. "Yes but she was lucky to get me, I bet I'm the best looking guy she has ever had" he crowed.

 He was going the few miles to neighboring Askam and by the time we had got a mile up the road I was beginning to tire of his constant put down of his last nights conquest and his over the top conceit. As we passed Furness General Hospital a truly evil plan entered my head. Scratching my head and looking deep in thought I muttered "I know that house I picked you up from, I've picked up there a few times." He paused from studying his reflection and slowly took the bait "Oh yes where did you take her then" he asked trying not to appear too interested. I rubbed my chin as if deep in thought and after a long pause announced "That's it! I know she went to the Birchwood clinic"

 We drove on in silence for a mile or two as he thought about it and then he asked "so where is the Birchwood clinic then." "It's in the hospital grounds" I told him and then put on my best worried looking expression. It was just before we pulled up outside his house that he finally found the courage to croakily ask “what do they do at the Birchwood clinic then?"

 I paused for effect and then solemnly told him "it's the new sexual health clinic" and then slyly watched as he thought about it and then slowly made the implied connection. He left the cab looking deep in thought, with his hands thrust deep in his pockets as if checking on something.

The Closet Chav

Saturday night was a full moon which brought all the usual strange characters out in abundance one job consisted of two young couples off out for a nights moon bathing in the town. On the way into town they stopped at a supermarket cash machine to top up with money for the no doubt expensive night ahead. As the two lads waited in the queue for the busy cash dispenser the two lasses were having a strange conversation concerning one of the lads. The slightly bizarre conversation went like this:

Lass1 "so do you really think that he is one of them then?”

Lass2 "Well when we went down to Manchester shopping he kept looking in the window of that kind of shop, but I wouldn't let him go in.”

Lass1 "Oh that's awful but what else makes you suspicious"

Lass2 “Well I found some items of that kind of clothing hidden in his wardrobe, which I think he used to wear before he met me."

Lass1 "Maybe it was just a phase he was going through when he was younger; he might not be like that now."

Lass2 "No I really do think he is one of them, he tries to hide it but I've seen him waving and talking to them when he thinks I'm not looking."

Lass1 "Oh I'm so sorry for you, what will you do?"

Lass2 "Nothing yet but the first time I catch him tucking his pants in his socks that's it, I'm finished with the closet chav!"

The Trouble-shooter

We tend to think of Texan oilmen as Stetson and cowboy boot wearing big loud brawny guys, but the trouble-shooter from Houston that I collected from a local hotel was just the opposite. He was of Chinese stock conservatively dressed, quiet, refined and well spoken.

 He was telling me that he was over to help sort out the much troubled Rivers gas plant at our vast Rampside Gas Terminal. The multi million pound project was completed three years ago but has not ever been able to start production. This has cost the staggering sum of three million dollars a day in lost production.

 Our diminutive Texan beamed as he proudly told me that his team had finished sorting out all the problems the previous day and that at long last the plant was finally in production. But as we drove past the helipad towards the gas plant his smile quickly faded. He pointed at part of the plant and explained to me that there should have been a gas flare burning when the plant is working. "Shucks I guess that they've gone and broke the darn thing again" he said shaking his head and adding a few more million dollars to the losses.