Bring in the New Year
Thursday December 31st 2009, 1:31 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Being stoned is a problem
In that all those deep insights
That make you laugh
As your brain forges along
Seem to be from some other place
Here in sobre world
They are daft ideas
But only a few hours ago they were thrilling,,,exciting possibilities
Like a high speed fishing boat with no nets
You buzz through it
And collect nothing
It must be in a different format
A format of the brain
I was trickling along with some thoughts
And in mid laugh
I thought…Ooooo…better write this down
This is good
So I grabbed the puter
But I couldn’t remember how it started
I spent ages trying to think of how it started
Until I remembered it
Yes that was it
But then I had forgotten the rest of it
So I just had this dumb beginning
Then after a short while
I couldn’t remember a trace of it
It had gone

As a cab driver
You come to learn ultimately one central thing
Everything is shit
I am pasing it
It is passing me
It never stops
And shit
And shit
And shit
And shit
No shit
And more shit
I am so tired of shit
That I can’t be arsed to do anything about it
There is just overwhelmingly too much of it
I am even struggling to write this
Yeah (comes round)
The Great Generation Game
Watching the great conveyor belt go by
It’s easy to remember most of it
Because it was all the same
The same shit
“Spencer Dial”
“What can You recall from the belt?”
“You have 30 seconds”
‘Well…there was lots of shit’
‘Mostly pointless shit’
Unlike manure
Which has a point
So this is worse than shit
It could require a new word
But shit is such a good word
I enjoy it
When I get home
And I am telling Mrs Dial
Some of the shit things
I really enjoy the bit
Where I emphasise
Just how shit
The shit thing was
We tried being positive at the rank once
But it didn’t work
We felt better whingeing
Or taking the piss

Lets hope 2010 brings lots more shit
So I can tell you
How shit it was

More shit
And a happy new year

Ups & Downs
Sunday December 13th 2009, 3:33 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

This week was a great example
Of the balancing nature of everything
I worked on Monday
Intending to work on Tuesday (6th straight day)
And then have Wednesday off
I really needed a day off
I was exhausted
But when I got up on Tuesday there was a text
From the night driver
Stating that he was going to work that night
This was a bit of a blow because I had got up really late
Thinking I could spill into the evening
So I made a start anyway
But it was a shit start
And morale quickly fell away
Then I remembered that the Step repairman was due in the afternoon
And morale crumbled
I would have to take this day as my day off
But taking a day off…your one day off
After you have already started it as a day of work
Is not good
As I ruminated about all this parked at the rank
The cabby with the bad teeth came to the window for a couple of fivers
He asked me if I hated the job yet
I said “No…not at all”
The job was definitely not good for me
But freedom from wanker bosses
And freedom to choose when I worked
And a wage that would be unattainable anywhere else
Seemed worth the grief

I gave up soon after
And returned home
With these freedoms in mind
I decided… why not take today ‘and’ tomorrow off?
So I relaxed into the sofa with a cup of tea

The phone rang
It was Dave the owner
He said that the Step repairman had pulled out of today
Great…he was going to upset some ‘other’ useful day
I may as well have stuck at it

I sat back down
The phone rang again
It was the radio room
They were offering me an 8-seater to Stanstead tomorrow morning
£160 for four hours work
I sighed a tired sigh
And dreamily watched my day off trip over the rooftops and disappear
So I moved my long awaited day off to Thursday

After a dreadful nights sleep
I took five Spaniards to the airport
None of them spoke English
And I…with two years of Spanish under my belt
Bottled the chance of dialogue
And didn’t speak a word to them for the whole journey
I am often disappointed in myself
Too often
A break was required before I returned
So I stopped at the Birchanger services
Everything was settling on me like a dirty fog
I stumbled around Birchanger for a while…indecisive
I hated Birchanger
The people who populated it disgusted me
I found a lonely seat
Ate a sandwich
Then closed my eyes
And meditated to an emitting TM mantra
In a few minutes my brain dropped a gear
And I entered a vast tingly plaza of satisfying confusion
A few more minutes and the mantra had become automatic
Lost in the hum
Then some old couple had the temerity
To sit at a sleeping man’s table
I pulled my eyes from the gloop of the treacly plaza
Looking around thinking the area must have become full
It was not the case
There were plenty of tables to sit at
And they were huddled around my little table
I wondered if I was emitting some serene happy signals
And then closed my eyes again away from disgusting Birchanger
Back to the delicious plaza
But I just coudn’t with these people sat there
They didn’t seem to notice me
Maybe I meditated myself invisible
I pulled myself together
And staggered off back to the cab
I sang loudly along to Burt Bacarach songs for the whole journey
To keep me awake

After I arrived back in Brighton
I took a walk into the town centre
Then ran into a spot of bother
As I walked through the old lanes I had to stop
I thought I was going to faint
I had to stand still for five minutes
When I resumed walking
It was with my chin resting on my chest
Walking very slowly in some kind of default repair mode
Slow concentrated breathing was required
Maybe my recent run of poor sleep had caught up with me
Or was it a recovery blip from last years operation
By the time I was back home I had improved slightly

Thursday morning came
It was at last my real day off
Then the phone went
It was Micky my previous operator
He had recently got back into giving me work
Since his own driver was proving unreliable
He had a cheque for me
And another job
It was a £25er that afternoon
Before I could say anything
He pointed out that I was the last person left who ‘could’ do it
And it would be partnered up with the same customer tomorrow for £50
There was a ‘please help me out’ pause
With a puff of air I agreed

For the rest of the day
I couldn’t settle into a relaxed ‘day off’ mode
Because it was going to be hyphened at 3pm
As the time approached
I consoled myself with the fact
That it would only take an hour
Then I would be completely free from 4pm

The job went fine
Until I was packing away the wheelchair ramp
“Are you coming back for us?”
“We are going to be an hour and a half”
Mick made no mention of a return
This must have got lost in the translation
I had to go and find a cafe
I really wanted a seat where I could close my eyes
Without somebody bothering me
Without opening my eyes to find a group of followers gathered at my table
There wasn’t such a seat available
So I sat for an hour with a lifestyle mag

I arrived back home at 7-30
There was nothing to eat

The next day
And I was back at the main helm
The week had been a mix of
Not enough work
And not enough rest
Just time escaping into some vacous side hole
Today was back in the mainline full day of work
Or so I thought
I had barely £40 on the clock
When the nearside step jammed again
It wouldn’t be so bad
If the thing jammed in the closed position
But you can’t carry on working
With a foot of step sticking out
So I had to pack up and head for the garage

When I arrived at the garage
The main man was having a stand up argument
With one of our drivers
I don’t know this guy personally
But he is one of the most miserable drivers alive today
He is known for wanking to porn dvd’s
In quiet locations inbetween jobs
His current misery however
Is a deep and destructive one
And caused by Micky
He replaced his 8 seater cab a year ago
And sold his old one to divwanker
220,000 miles on the clock
And 3 propshaft changes
I gasped when he told me how much it sold for
“Jesus Micky!” I said
“I wouldn’t have given ‘any’ money for that thing”
He laughed one of his compact evil northern laughs
But that wasn’t all of it
Put through a recent compliance test
It was a flying disaster
Then the engine blew it’s guts
He had sinced backpedalled another £7000
As he stood there at the door spitting his parting words
I could sense his hollow pain
Then he wombled away
And climbed into an 9 year old peugeot
That used to be his
Now he had the the indignity of renting it back

I tossed my keys on the counter
And popped across the road to one of my favourite little cafes
Where I sat and wrote this