Many of these occurred within the vehicle and due to the Taxi Driver Code of Ethics, I could
never divulge them (well not today anyway).
My only experience of ‘aerial phenonoma’ , was on a balmy early evening in August.
I was given a fairly normal job to pick up about 2 miles outside Bognor Regis town centre,
and bring my customers back to said centre, where they would join the other revellers in
getting totally rat-arsed, in order to keep us on our toes when we had the misfortune to be
the only drivers near enough to deliver them back home.
When you have been taxi driving for long enough, you get to know which jobs to accept and
those that you have to apologetically inform your controller that “sorry Karen, no can do, i’ve
gotta quickly nip in to me Mum’s and feed her goldfish/hamster/snake”.
However, I remembered picking up at this house the previous weekend at about the same
time and hoped I was going to enjoy the safe and very boring company of Mr. & Mrs. Bland
on our exciting journey into the metropolis that is Bognor Regis (the last resort).
I eventually picked up, after only waiting for Mrs. B returning to the house once, my manic
controller pleading with any available driver to help her with the bookings that were already 30
On our sedate ( I wasn’t gonna do all those late bookings, I had a hamster to feed) way into
town, I had to stop at a T junction.
As we waited for all the traffic to pass, I suddenly noticed something in the sky at what looked about 200 meters above us…………
I thought “WHAT THE F***”, and inturrerupted the Blands, not because I gave a toss
about their already obviously doomed relationship, but because this was an amazing
experience, that we all should see.
“Look at that! What do you think it could be?”, I said.
They stopped arguing and looked at the sky where I was pointing.
Damon (i’d discovered his name when Mrs.B held us up earlier) peered out and quickly
brought his head back in for fear of ruining all the gel work, gave me the look he usually reserved for his marriage counseller , spat out the window, and said,
” issa firework innit mate,,?”, and, shaking his still perfectly gelled bonce at the stupidity of
the guys who drove taxis these days, continued his argument with Mrs.B, saying , “ow do I
know, ask Charlene!……… gissa fag, and wipe yer eyes, were nearly there…… fuksake!
do yerself a faver mate, don’t get married”.
It wasn’t a firework…………..