Its all over bar the shouting.
Two women in the back of the mini cab were talking about the rotten nature of men. When one, in the opinion of her companion, went too far in her condemnation of her bloke. the companion pointed out to her that her bloke was possibly all a woman could hope for.
'But that is the problem' the complainant winged. ' I come home from work tired out and grumpy. I complain about something he has either done or not done and he apologises. He tells me he loves me and would not want ever to hurt me and promises to be more careful in the future.
To my amazement the companion immediately saw the problem even though the complainant had made it clear that the offence was inevitably trivial. If anything this only made the problem worse.
'No, you need one that fights back.' She sympathised
'Exactly my point. If I need an argument, it is his duty to give me one.'
' And it is his duty at the end of the day to let you win'.
' Exactly'.
Often women forget the driver but that is their problem. I consider it my duty to spread this genuine piece of intelligence if only to give further relevance to my paid occupation.
In January 1986 I bought a terrible yellow and white escort van and started work as Alpha 57.
Zen Minicabbing lesson 72: if you start your life on the road by doing only parcel work you will learn how to navigate the complex streets of London without having annoyed passengers fuming everytime you make a mistake.
However.
Zen Minicabbing lesson 73: when you do know your way around passengers are much more fun than parcel. Moreover, a passenger only needs dropping outside whereas a parcel has to be taken in and signed for, thus putting you at the mercy of the clamp.
'These Zen whatsits, theyre just a collection of truisms shah '
Margaret observed (Shah is a sort of verbal exclamation mark that Yorubas put at the end of a sentence for emphasis).
'You only say that cos youve read lesson 50' I replied.
'And whats that then'. Her voice rasped like the scraping of the bottom of a barrel.
Zen Minicabbing lesson 50: It is a well used truism that says: Things are never, either as good or as bad as they initially might seem, well beware of truisms as they are never either as true or as false as they initially might seem.
'And where does it say that?'
'Just above where you say, 'And where does it say that?'
'Alpha 57 pick up from the loading bay of Marks and Spencers Orchard Street'
'Alpha 57 Roger' I eagerly replied, having sat doing nothing for nearly two hours.
'Alpha 57, pick up goods going to 57 Baker Street'
'57 Rog'
'57 you are picking up a box of prunes. Its not much of a job but at least it gets you moving' - Controller humour.
'Alpha 57 will you take a dog'
'Roger' I take anything.
'Well alpha 57 youll be pleased to know that we have already asked the owner about the smell and he assured us...that the dog wont mind' More controller humour.
It was the start of February. We had been separated for some time but still kept in touch. Margaret hinted that Valentines day was looming. I gave her the story of our marriage as a present. I called it Memories are all we get to Keep. I had spent weeks word processing it. She gave mew a card to sign that she could put on her bookcase. Something people could see. Something she could put with the other card she had received. Phil used the title for a song and encouraged me to write more
Margaret was not entirely pleased with what I had written.
'It is obscene and insulting to Nigerians' she commented. 'Why did you write such awful things about our food' The fact that of all the things I wrote she was especially upset about my insults to Nigerian cuisine largely justifies my argument that they 'worship' their food.
'And who do you think wants to read about your willy?' she nagged
like an old horse.
I have always suffered from impotence. Nerves probably The one night stand is unknown to me. It takes weeks to lose the fear that it wont work. And that fear is what stops it from working.
'My old bass player a red haired chap from Yorkshire imaginatively called Ginger used to say 'When I were a kid I were shit scared cos I got skiddies in my shreddies ( brown stains in underpants) and I though I were unusual, but when I joined the RAF I noticed that all the other lads had them as well. I were right relieved I can tell thee '
'And thats your reason'
'I am performing a public service and it will all make sense when the book is finished'
'I cant imagine what kind of book this could be'
'A Tragi-comical, Psychological, Political , Satirical,
Autobiographical, Science Fiction, Self Help, Kiss and Tell, Diet and Exercise, Sex Scandal, Street Guide and Travelogue. Im not taking any chances'
I met Margaret, and if anywhere that is where the story starts. It was time to grow up, but at least I had been young for one last time.
Isnt it clever how they found four actors that look just like The cartoon characters' Margaret commented after seeing Ghostbusters. I loved her when she said things like that, and like: 'Wasnt Louis Armstrong the first black man in space' and 'You say all our water is recycled?.... That means I am drinking white mans shit!!!'
My first taste of Nigerian food came in the guise of deep fried Plantain which I must say I enjoyed the first few times but I sickened of it alarmingly quickly. The real shock came after we had bought some delicious looking fish from Deptford market. This was then cooked with onions, chilli pepper and plumb tomato, the result being a stew with an unnecessarily vicious sting to it. As I bit into the fish it bit back going for my throat with an aggressive spitefulness and leaving a bitter aftertaste of regret. True disillusionment set in when I realised that whatever we bought be it fish, meat or foul (it was all foul) would all be cooked the same way, and could be served for breakfast, lunch, dinner or supper.
Margaret lived with her sister Lillian, an attractive girl who mainly stayed hidden in her room guarding her hoard of biscuits and toilet rolls. One morning I foolishly entered into the kitchen curious as to the origins of an impossibly noxious odour. I found Lillian, dressed in a shapeless housecoat, her face deathly white from the layer of skin cream she had smeared her face with, cleaning tripe ready for the stew (They call it soup - be warned: beware of Nigerians offering soup).
Other favorite ingredients for soup include: Intestines Kidneys Liver etc, Okra, a vegetable that reduces to the consistency of freshly sneezed mucus and tastes like grass, and a form of spinach which lies limply on the surface of this red monstrosity, having given up hope of injecting any hint of flavour.
My colourful descriptions of Nigerian cuisine were a firm favourite in my repertoire of topics to discuss with passengers. I usually end up on the subject having started by mentioning how my circumstances do not allow me to live with my wife.
'Dont you get lonely ' they ask.
'Yes but at least I dont have to eat her cooking'
'Why? Is it awful?' they enquire leaving the way open for me to be totally insulting about my wifes culture, just to get a laugh. Margaret hated the way I I would say almost anything to get a laugh. I would willingly make myself the object of my own ridicule: my badly died, pony tailed hair, my totally inappropriate dress sense, my pretentiousness in believing that I am more of a social anthropologist than a 'cabbie', and the ridiculous idea I have of writing a book called 'Zen and the Art of Minicabbing'
In extreme moments of self delusion I have described myself to passengers as: 'The Last Iconoclast, raiding the citadels of hypocrisy', or 'a vital corpuscle in the lifeblood of the city, a minute but vital organism that needs its protection, seeks its guidance, and thrives on its energy'.
Zen Minicabbing lesson 14 Learning to laugh at yourself is the greatest laugh of all.
Margaret could not accept the romance of the rebel seeing only a scruff doing a demeaning job. Why do women like their film stars rugged but expect their men to look like bank clerks?
A black driver once saw my wedding photo and remarked 'Is that your wife'
'Yes ' I replied.
'But shes black' he observed
'Oh dear' I exclaimed feigning shock 'Whats my mother going to say'
In the Autumn of my thirtieth year, I put aside my ambition to be the hero of my own story and bought a silver Ford Sierra, with the intention of minicabbing. I had always considered taking to the road as a last resort should all else fail and it had. Margaret and I had moved into a flat in Hounslow and the rent had to be paid somehow. I noted this in Zen and the Art of Minicabbing.
Zen Minicabbing Rule 19: Every cloud DOES have a silver lining, and everytime it rains, it rains pennies from heaven.
I have often picked up a Radio Four Current Affairs producer, which offers me the perfect opportunity to comment on the number of ridiculous sayings with which radio announcers are debasing the language. The worst occur on commercial stations: 'Top of the hour', 'Up for grabs', 'Beaten by the clock'. News programmes also have their share of horrors: Hawkish, Dovish, Bullish, Bearish, Fudge, Mudge, 'Thin end of the wedge', 'Black Wednesday', 'Winter of Discontent', 'Rogue Traders' and 'Bung Allegations'; and, worst of all, any words ending in gate: Irangate, Contragate, Squidgygate, or words ending in 'oholic'.
Zen Mini cabbing Lesson 21:Nothing is obvious:
' K99' The radio crackled,' Will you take a smoker'
'Roger'
Zen Mini cabbing Lesson 22: If some one requests a driver who will let him smoke it is sure to be more than a bucket (MiniCab parlance for short journey)
' We want to go to the Theatre Royal Dury Lane, you do know where that is dont you driver) I hate being called driver which is probably why I replied. 'Yes its in Catherine Street, just like the Strand Theatre is in Aldwych, The Charring Cross hospital is in Hammersmith, Chelsea is in Fulham, Wimbledon and Crystal Palace are in Selhust near Croydon, West Ham is in East Ham, Millwall is on the opposite side of the river in New Cross and even Tottenham Hotspur cannot be found anywhere on White Hart Lane.'
'Are you from London ?' they asked as they usually do.
'I am a displaced person' Is my usual Reply.' I was born in Middlesex which now only exists in the twisted minds of the Post Office, and I went to a boys Grammar School which changed its name and became a mixed comprehensive'
Margaret and I married on my birthday. I thought this was both romantic and a sure fire way of remembering our anniversary. What it meant was that I lost the only chance to have one day in the year when we did what I wanted.
It became apparent that in order to make a living as a mini cab driver I would have to work nights. The nights of 88 were the glory days of mini cabbing. The jobs came fast and furious, the controllers screaming out for cars in all areas. After 10 pm we would pick up from ITN. in Wells Street W1. Then we would start to take staff home from hotels and fast food restaurants right through to 3 or 4 am. Each journey would send me on a round trip often culminating in some exotic outer reach of the empire such as: Barking, Barnet, Croydon, Sidcup, Kingston etc.
'Head in ...quick as you can 99' the harassed controller would yell down the radio as I called in empty. As if I was going to do otherwise. The silver Sierra of my yesteryear would then hurtle back through Streatham and Brixton, flash through Tottenham and Finsbury Park. Breaking the speed limit and jumping lights I would thunder down Mile End Road, crash down the Cally and high-tail it along the Highway having spurted out from the Blackwall tunnel. All the time being urged on by the incessant cries of the controller 'Where are you now 99? How long Baker Street?'
Their voices would raise in pitch and tempo like horse racing commentators as we reached the magic hour of 1 am, and were required by six different Pizza Huts all needing four or five cars immediately.
The duel carriageways: Western and Eastern avenues, The wide boulevards of Kennington and the urban motorways: M4, M40 became mad racetracks of broken heroes on a last chance powerdrive.
Often I would find myself chasing other G.L.H. cars down Finchley Road or through the back doubles around Gospel Oak that every North London cabbie used to avoid the horrors of Kentish Town.
When the work tailed off I would park in the Aldwych or Holborn hoping to meet up with the other night drivers. Or I might rejuvenate myself by taking in the bright neon lights of Soho, feel the energy of the crowds still revelling through the small hours, and watch the whores as they ply their trade on the corner of Meard Street with the nightmarish look of the tarts in French art house movies. I was actually asked once
'Can I show you a good time big boy?'
I imagined subtitles.
'Piss off Im just doing my job' I demurred politely
Zen Minicabbing Lesson 30: Do not work nights if you want to stay married.
The first time I worked all through the night Margaret phoned G.L.H. to ask if they would send me home, She had noticed that I had not crawled into bed at around 4am and was worried. Eventually she became so used to having the bed to herself that if I did come home early I would have to sleep in the spare room.
Zen Minicabbing lesson 31: Driving at night.
At night there is a different way of driving. Whereas during the day you just try to go as fast as you can, at night you slow down if you see a red light ahead and as it changes to green so you speed up thus not losing momentum and eventually beating the idiot who raced up to the red light and now has to start again.
Driving back to Hounslow on the A4 all the cars in all three lanes will be playing this game all trying not to have to stop, crawling along in front of red lights and breaking the speed limit in front of green.
'You this boy David your wahallah is too much' (you are too much trouble). Margaret was winsome...like a successful gambler as she prepared in her mind the question that was troubling her 'Dont you think the Nigerian people might be out to get you when they read what you have written'
'What about Salman Rushdie?'...I needed to say no more. She understood the financial advantages of infamy. Even if it was the Nigerians who would have it In for me.
'Why are the lessons in no particular order' She battered like a ram.
'Well that is Lesson 22' (or two little ducks as they say on Sundays at the social clubs behind the Catholic churches )
Zen Mini Cabbing Lesson 22: From The cradle to the grave we are regimented, given numbers and filed in order of age, intelligence, social standing, marital status, driving licence number, National Health number and Social Security Number...do nothing to add to this numerical obsession. Establish your own order of importance
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