Foursquare follies

We’ve got a new game, my day driver and I. A game where cabbies shine.

Foursquare, funking off the iPhone’s GPS and social networking. It’s a scavenger hunt, it’s a map of your day, it’s a point-scoring exercise, it’s gathering facts and sharing info.

Kiva cabbie

I can help. My passengers sometimes give me tips. The businessmen and the government officials so rarely tip that it is a cause for wonder when they do. But those who pay the fare from their own pocket, those who are least able to afford a generous gesture, they are my best tippers.

Himalayas

The Himalayan Mountains have moved to Canberra. Yup. Speed humps at Canberra Airport. In particular the last one when exiting the airport. For the life of me I can’t understand why they built that thing so friggin high. My taxi full of passengers and luggage has absolutely no way of clearing this obstacle without scraping the bottom of the car out. Once again it is quite obvious that Steve Byron does not have a clue.

Come Saturday Morning

Saturday is the day when I go out there and give 1.00 percent.

After a long week of long shifts, Saturday is my day for not caring. I do random stuff, maybe go shopping with my wife, a little housework, a lot of napping, reading the papers, drinking tea and just winding waaaaay down.

Rush job

We were sitting there, just enjoying the still, when a man comes running in from the darkness, smack into the automatic door, which of course was locked while the operator was outside. He looked around, and my companion sighed, got up, handed me the cigarette and went off to serve the guy.

Dream Performance

The strains of Humphrey Lyttleton and Acker Bilk wafted through the cabin

The colour of breakfast

Three young people from the post-midnight cab rank. They were in a good mood, continuing a conversation about tummy rumbles as they hopped into the cab. Young man beside me, sweet young thing in the back, and another young chap beside her. “So embarrassing!” she said. “Everyone looks around when they hear the noise.” “Ah, [...]

Golden Horn

“He blows a golden trumpet,” I tell the passengers, and out of all jazz musicians, I think I love him most of all. He also sings, and some of his love songs are classics, full of emotion and wordplay. My kind of music.

RIP Betsy

Heavens to Betsy, but she was the cab they drive in Paradise. so much to love about her. Automatic windscreen wipers, for example. They worked off a sensor, so you never had to fiddle with intermittent settings, or even turn it on. They were always on, and the more rain you got, the faster they went.
Just remember to turn them off before going through the car wash!

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