Come in Control

Three days in Tooting Bec, now back here. With the crickets.

A long day. So, a taxi home. It's Sunday after all and no one in the transport department is going to waste their budget on 1am buses when half of the town has spent the day praying for their sins, and the other half committing the sins the other half were praying for.

So to the taxi office. Some nights go better than others. Tonight not so good. The 'Controller' was in his booth watching TV. He saw me, and went back to the screen behind him. I tapped my feet, coughed politely, then not so politely, rang the bell and knocked on his window. Aha, that got him. So it was he who put up the advert 'Controller wanted - No experience necessary.'

I'd never seen tonight's driver before, and I never want to see his like again. He was big. He had a hat on, and his car was five minutes walk away. In the car things were no better. He sat low and the rear view mirror was angled to give no rear view. What's more he wore a cap on the side of his head with the peak blocking all views left. It was an odd look, like he'd been slapped around the back of the head by a parent and was too defiant to adjust the fit. He also fell asleep at the lights.

But nevermind. I'm 40,000 words in to a 50,000 word novel. This week will be busy, with an article needed for Tuesday as well that I might have to sell to my editor. Not to mention normal work. We're into Monday. Hold on.