Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by shortfuse, Apr 24, 2006.

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  1. Who are this special breed of man?

    What drives them to this life of solitude and beaded seat cover hell?

    What is that f ucking warbling radio station they all seem to listen to?

    How comes they drive every where in 4th gear, making your teeth rattle out of your head at junctions?

    Round my way, there are a couple of legendary cabbies, one is Mick "the face" so called because from the passenger seat he looks normal, but when he turns to take your dosh, it looks like the other side of his head got stuck in an industrial hoover.

    Mostly these days they are a motley collection of Bosnians and middle eastern blokes who couldnt find their arrse in the bath... with both hands..... but this can be advantageous... for example, if i and some friends were coming back from London, and the driver asked for the address of the drop off and the answer was "Barnard Green mate" this is a "standby standby" for that sport of kings the cab bale out

    Barnard Green is a cul de sac with 6 alleys running off of it, and has been the scene of some of the funniest sights i have ever witnessed, pulling in there one night after a particularly heavy night and given the final warning order "just pull in here mate" i was out and running before the cab stopped, and heard a strangled squeak from behind me, when i turned briefly it became apparent that the front seat passenger had forgotten to undo his seat belt and had just garroted himself.

    The 2 danger seats are in the middle rear, and the drivers seat, a wary cabbie will spot the furtive glances and giggles and i have seen before the front seat passenger grabbed by the collar as he tried to bale, and given the good news across the napper with a crook lock.

    What magic tree do cabbies use?.... i have never seen one advertised as "hint of kebab"....or "blossom of vomit"... and is it an unwritten cab rule to have a petrol can loose in the back to make your head spin out?

    One of the lads from 6 Fd Spt squadron used to do a spot of cabbing in Andover, and it got to the point where he wouldnt take anyone from our Regiment back because EVERY f ucker used to leg it from him, being a cabbie in a garrison town must be akin to being witness to the worst excesses of hades...

    So, over to you kids, lets hear your cab related shenanigans...
  2. I take a lot of cabs, work away from home four days a week, don't drive, you know. Pretty much every cabbie I get in with in this town is ex-Army. Few Marines. Lots of Engineers for some reason.

    Co-incidence? Who knows...
  3. A subject I feel very passionately about SF.

    Being a lazy bi.tch I am a frequent user of taxi's - most of the drivers are ok to be fair.

    However, there's always one aint there! He is one of those cabbies that if you say "I've got two sheds" he'll reply with the immortal phrase..."THATS NUTHIN LUV...I got four sheds and a greenhouse".

    He then will launch into a non stop speaking competition in which the rules seem to be not pausing or taking into account the fact that you have jumped out the window to escape him.

    He once added £1.80 to my fare cos he carried on talking after we had reached my destination.

    Even my 3 year old kid says, as he see's him pull up, "Oh no mum, it's that Mr TalkAlot again"

    He has forced advice on me from childcare to jacuzzi's to holidays to jobs - despite the fact he is clearly a cnut and knows nothing about any of it.

    I once considered letting go of a stinking air biscuit just before getting out of his cab.....but knowing him he would catch me up, scream "THATS NUTHIN!" and shi.t down my leg. So I thought better of it.
  4. Oridinarily, I don't have a problem with most cabbies. However, the ones who don't know where they're going really grip my sh!t :evil:
    *Rant on*
    *Rant off*
  5. I f***in hate them, the fat sweaty c*nts (London ones anyway).

    Experience has included:

    -apparently the entire fleet of Nissan Bluebirds of one firm being used to ferry scores of reinforcements of Asian youths to a brawl we unwisely entered in Leeds
    -a fantastic fare-saving getaway up some Italian-job style steps in France, no way the fat f***er was going to unstick his arse from the seat and try to catch me

    Neither is particularly amusing. The first was just painful, but the second quite satisfying, and it left me with change for a kebab too.
  6. Some are ok, its like everything really.

    However, I would like to find out where the magic button is that, between the cab pulling up and the completion of the sentence 'That'll be..' puts the fare up by £5.00... :?
  7. Also, the myth that London cabbies knwo their way around. Well, yes, if you are an American tourist who wants to get back to their Park Lane hotel after their show and will fail to notice that you've been via Liverpool St and done three laps of Marble Arch roundabout to get there.

    Not if you actually just want a not particularly obscure street in central London.

    "The Knowledge". Such mystique surrounds it. F*** knows who they have doing their PR, but he's good. Damn good. Apparently it is this incredible knowledge that entitles them to such a privilged position and such elevated wages, for sitting on their fat arrses all day. Well, I know my way round London and I'm not even from here. Although i didn't (allegedly) dedicate a year to learning this - and I know it better. All the posties and cycle couriers do too but you don't get them bleating on about their sorry lot (although to be fair, the posties don't need to, they can help themselves to cheque books and DVDs and be in the pub for 11).
  8. RTFQ


    Erm, right - for the record I don't know nuffin, but a mate told me...

    If you want to get a good bomb burst away from an unpaid illegal taxi without anyone getting a proper machete-ing, there are ways and means:

    A handful of sherbet blown into the face of said cabbie and an alarmed cry of "Anthrax!" keeps them occupied apparently. Unless they don't know what anthrax means, in which case you get to see a bemused somalian taxi driver punch your mate in the fizog "matrix-style" through a cloud of sherbet. Either way is funny.

    Dropping 50p change in 1 and 5p pieces into the taxi driver's footwell as a distraction, then legging it can work. Unless this particular illegal is Haille Gabriesallassie. This is why I stop after crossing the finish line on the BFT then ask the next 4 blokes in after me if they want to go on the p1ss later.
  9. Got into a cab at Waterloo once, suited and booted, en-route to meet a police friend. 'Where to guv?' - 'Scotland Yard', says I. Immediately the cabbie launched into the 'Villains I Have Had In The Back Of My Cab' routine, closely followed by 'What A Good Job You Coppers Do'. I hadn't the heart to correct his wrongful assumption that I was a police officer, and my kindness was rewarded when he refused to take any money.

    A few years ago I took a casual job in an employment benefits office and mind-numbing it was too, so I jumped at the chance to assist the Fraud Investigators on one of their two week purges of local scumbags. It was well known that it was impossible to get a minicab on one Thursday a fortnight, because this was when the Husseins and Khans had to sign on. Some of them even used to drive up in their cabs. Anyway, the Fraud guys decided to go for them, and a raid was organised. The op was pretty impressive - Police, Immigration, Inland Revenue, Vehicle Inspectors and DSS as well as us, all in nice yellow jackets breezing in to the cab office and yard at 0900. Not one minicab was properly licensed, MOTd or insured, most of the drivers were illegals or had been claiming whilst working, and the owner had 'forgotten' to pay tax or do his books for quite a while. Good result all round, except that no-one could get a taxi for a while...
  10. Got an illegal minicab back to Welly B one night and bailed out at the gates.

    Watching a middle-aged robe-wearing "person of Asian descent" jumping up and down and shouting something in Urdu or whatever while 5 pished blokes taunted him through the gates was highly amusing. Especially when drunk.
  11. My dad knew someone who was a cabbie they were at a funeral and afterwards the cabbie asked someone if they wanted a lift down to the wake type thing afterwards at the social club as the cabbie was going down himself. Lad went with him got to the wake and the cabbie charged him for the ride :eek: .
    Best one we seen was a black cab in Kings Cross right up an cars arse flashing them and over took illegaly imagine to his surprise and our delight that the car in front was an unmarked police car and copper wasnt too chuffed when he pulled him over :D
  12. I was at a hotel at Heathrow and it was a bit away from the airport so after being delayed for 24 hours coming back from Qatar the bastard said he wouldnt take me to the airport. Had to get the bus with my case fcucking cunt.
  13. Same here. Lots of maniacally cheerful Jock or Laahndaan ex-infantry types, though. I mean, all of 'em. It would be a mild relief to get into a cab with a furtive Albanian that didn't want to chat about what I'm doing in Britain, what I do, what my fiancee does -- hey, he's in the Army? Cabbie was blah blah blah, etc. Especially when I'm trying not to hurl.
  14. Does every town have the same sweaty inadequate who has spent his entire adult livfe driving taxis? I wouldn't mind this itself, it's probably some sort of lifestyle choice that does indeed beat sitting in a factory from dawn to dusk, fondly reminscing about daylight to fellow workers, but why, oh why, do taxi drivers think they are any good at what they do?

    They are without fail, the worst drivers on the road, not because they are actually bad, but because they think they have some sort of legal dispensation from the rules of the road. "Yes mate, I realise that was a bus full of nuns, but just because their light was green doesn't mean it was automatically clear, they should have checked. Highway Code see... What, stop to see if they need help? Nah, mate, the people on the pavement will look after them, when they get up. Bloody women drivers, ban 'em I say......"

    My little bruvver was lying bleeding in a telephone box once a long time ago in a puddle of his own p1ss, vomit and blood after being beaten senseless by a gang of skinheads. Could I get a cab to collect him? Could I fcuk.

  15. Had a cabbie decide to take us the long route after a session in Leytonstone back to East Ham, cabbie thought he had a bunch of jocks down for the weekend. We ended up even in our inebriated state to tell him what streets he was going down and what streets he should have taken. Ended up we did a bomb burst and legged it up the street, 5 mins later local plod pulls up with cabbie behind, mate put on best lahndaan voice explained situation plod told cabbie where to go and not to waste their time.