It was exactly fourteen years ago today. It was in the very early hours of Bloomsday — the 16th of June. Delays on the flight back to London had escalated to the point that I only narrow managed to get the delayed last train out of Stansted to Liverpool Street station… but, by the time I arrived there, I had missed the last tube train to Kings Cross. A few of us followed the signs for the taxi rank at Liverpool Street station — temporarily by Platform 15 — arriving just as a taxi picked someone up.
No other taxi appeared. After about ten minutes a British Rail man, who must have seen us on the security cameras, came and told us taxis would not be coming to the rank because it was after the last train. But, if we went and stood outside the Broadgate office development they stopped there. I know the bloke who runs the scam. Sure enough, outside to the left there were about six black cabs with men hanging around looking hopeful. We went to the right and waited while taxis circled: some passed, some stopped and took the first person in the queue, some asked for people going in specific directions.
The cab driver was short but broad and had hooded eyes which he blinked slowly in the mirror, as if he was aware of controlling them.
Like many a cab driver, he fancied himself as a bit of a philosopher. No-one ever puts on their real face at work, do they?
He told me he had been looking for anyone going north because he had someone to pick up near Camden in 90 minutes. If they were only wanted for an hour, they would still get four hours pay. I do it for the money. I said I preferred to sort things out by just talking to people but, if I had to do any more, I was OK on that. I mentioned there used to be a brothel in the countryside just outside Radlett next to a Little Chef restaurant which has since been demolished.
