It is a quiet night on the taxi rank and we have been amusing ourselves by doing something about the current hot topic of the Uber nuisance.
The council has explained that they need proof that Uber is making local pick-ups, and so Abdul called an Uber and I got in it and went to the station, followed by Abdul’s taxi.
When I got out Abdul picked me up and brought me back to my taxi.
We are going to do it again later.
Abdul can’t be the passenger because he thinks he might be too recognisable. I suggested that he took his hat off, which would be practically a disguise, but he declined, perhaps he thinks he is going bald or something.
Anyway, we have a receipt now, which is the necessary proof to be handed to the council, so I jolly well hope they do something about it. It won’t be difficult to get receipts, all we have to do is spend a few days riding up and down the village in cut-price Uber taxis and the job will be done, although it rather defeats the cash-raising point of our own operation, it does not make much business sense to spend all night driving a taxi and then immediately spend all the takings getting in another, especially when you don’t want to go anywhere much.
I quite liked the driver, he was small and mousy and timid and told me that he was just passing through Bowness on a long string of jobs taking him all over the country. He said that he started in Blackburn this morning, which was a complete fib because we all knew perfectly well that he slept in his taxi on Rayrigg Road last night, honestly, people from cities have no idea how effectively the local grapevine functions in places like this. If you want something to be a secret you have got to do it by yourself, in the very dead of night, in the dark, preferably under a blanket behind a ten foot wall, and even then you might get caught out and ridiculed later.
We have got a week of MOTs this week, being Mark’s car and Oliver’s car. Mark has had his car in bits in the back alley for most of the day, replacing bits that he thought looked a bit dodgy, and he had almost finished when the MOT inspector wandered past.
This is Windermere, where everybody is maximally employed, and he was doing a bit of moonlighting repairing one of the holiday cottages a couple of doors down from ours.
He was interested in Mark’s efforts and said that he thought it would probably pass, and laughed. I jolly well hope it does pass, indeed, hope that both of them pass, because we are off to visit family on Wednesday night, and Mark is supposed to be going away again on Friday, which does not leave very much time for dismantling a taxi.
I have cleaned my taxi, which is the only car not going for an MOT, but which was beginning to smell revolting after a weekend of horrible drunken customers, some of whom had kebabs and chips, and some of whom smelled as though they had filled the dog’s basket with cigarette ends, done a wee in it and then slept there for a couple of days. No amount of opening the windows ever quite blows it away, although some customer had managed to wrench the back window off its hinges whilst trying, and Mark had to interrupt his MOT efforts to screw it back together.
Other than that the day has had the usual catalogue of Monday events, being a very lot of laundry because of the clean sheets and the leftover shirts and jerseys of Mark’s return. After that there was dusting and hoovering and a visit to Booths, which cost a fortune because there is not just me any more, and both Mark and Oliver are enthusiastic about eating.
I am going to bid you farewell and go and talk to Abdul about getting another Uber.
Until tomorrow.
