Wednesday 11 November 2015

Every now and then...

Every now and then in this job something happens that restores your faith in humanity. That just happened, at about 11:15 on the 11th day of the 11th month.

I picked up 2 German customers from Paddington about 10:45 and en route I asked them how they felt about the observance of the 2 minute silence at 11am. I asked this because, if I'm working, my usual practice is to pull over and observe it properly. Obviously I've never had Germans on board before so I was trying to be as sensitive as I could about the situation. Far from feeling awkward they graciously agreed and I told them I'd discount the fare at the end of the journey.

So as we entered Theberton Street at 10:59 I pulled into Gibson Square (would you believe! Apologies to non cabbie readers, you won't understand the significance of this location and I won't bore you with it now) and we sat for 2 minutes in silence with our own thoughts.

After this we carried on to the destination, not a word more was exchanged.

At the end of the journey I asked for the discounted fare. They refused and paid the full amount. In addition to this one of them asked my name (at this point I couldn't help but hear Arthur Lowe screaming "don't tell him Pike!"... apologies for that). I told him my name and he said

"Alan, here is an extra £5, I would like you to donate this to the poppy charity for us"

I don't mind admitting I nearly cried.

I never got their names, but bless you my friends.

Thursday 5 November 2015

20 years ago today. Everything changed.

Ok so I'll start off by saying this will probably go on a bit and most of you (assuming anyone does indeed actually read this) won't even know the person who is the subject of this post, but this is kinda for my own benefit. I think the word is cathartic, right? It's a subject I've never poured out on before but I've found that writing stuff like this helps me in some strange way. 

20 years ago today my life changed forever; and as far as I'm concerned, I changed too. I got a phone call from my brother in the early hours of the morning to say my Dad had died of a heart attack. Although he'd had a heart attack a few years previously, this was at a time he was fit as a fiddle so it was pretty much out of the blue. He died in his sleep so at least he didn't suffer. He didn't deserve to suffer, he was a good man, the best, so the least we could be grateful for, despite him being taken from us so young at 69 years old, was that it was painless for him.

I don't believe in God so I don't know who to blame, but who/whatever is to blame, I hate it with a burning passion. Hate the fact that my Dad was taken from us so early. Hate the fact that despite him being such a loving, caring,  soft hearted man who never swore, never said a bad word about anyone, always put others before himself, I could go on, he was robbed from my life way too soon. I know I'll be told that I should cherish the happy memories from his life and that I shouldn't feel bitterness about it, I get that, I wish I could feel that way, but even 20 years later I'm still struggling with that thought process.

You see the problem is, I'm not blessed with a great memory. I forget what I've gone upstairs for before I get to the top of the stairs, I forget what I did 2 hours ago, I have to rely on my phone to remind me of all kinds of stuff that most intelligent humans manage themselves. Having said that I can remember 5th November 1995 as if it was 5 minutes ago. I fell to my knees when my brother broke the news to me on the phone that day. I won't repeat it here but I remember the exact words he spoke to me, I can actually hear him in my head as I write this, I remember my short reply and I remember feeling completely numb. And I remember just feeling like someone had smashed me to pieces with a hammer. The pieces eventually got put back together but I'm not entirely sure they were put back together in the same order they were in before.

I'm 50 years old next year and in terms of memories, I remember very little from childhood. I have snippets forever planted in my brain, goals I scored (my Dad was usually jumping up and down on the touchline at that point, except for the week he upped the goal reward he used to pay me to 50p and I scored a hat trick!), fights I had at school, the time I got nicked for retrieving tennis balls from the railway line, you know the kinda things that would stick in your mind, but I remember very little about every day life with my Dad. I just have a general glow of warmth in my mind about him when I think of him. Don't get me wrong, we fell out over stuff, he could drive you mad with his absent mindedness on occasion, so he wasn't perfect but he was a proper old school fella who would do anything for anyone. A dying breed frankly.

So with this memory gap in mind, it came as a pleasant surprise to me a little while back when my Mum produced a set of diaries that my dad had kept from 1987 to the very night before he passed away. A daily diary no less.

I remember him keeping a diary but I'd forgotten all about it until they appeared. My brother had kept them for a while but though he'd tried to read them a combination of Dad's handwriting and one thing or another had curtailed him from getting too far with them. So I took them off his hands and started at 1987.

It's fairly mundane stuff in the main, I mean he literally wrote about EVERYTHING he did each day in there! But I loved reading it because I could hear him saying the words in my head. I have photos of him and one old wedding video that he's in that I can no longer watch as I don't have a video machine, but for some reason having his actual words that he wrote on a page, with a pen, no matter how mundane, is so much better. 

As well as that, the diaries are also an amazing account of my life with him and others over an 8 year period, about which my mind was mostly blank about. Just boring stuff like me running him up to Sainsburys (more on that later), him helping me fix stuff on my succession of unreliable cars, me helping him shovel cow shit (manure, as he would obviously describe it in the diary!) into bag after bag in some godforsaken field in Essex for him to then cart home (in the back of my bloody car I might add!) to his allotment. As I say it's quite mundane to anyone else but to me it is precious. Because every new day/page I turn in that diary a new memory is brought to mind and I can't tell you how special that is to me. 

I'm still working my way through the diaries, I dip into it from time to time I don't read them religiously like a novel. I don't have his last diary though. That still sits in the same place at my Mum's house that it sat the day he put it down, the night before he passed away. I'm not sure I could bring myself to read that to be honest. 

I mentioned my Dad's absent mindedness earlier and my favourite diary entry so far was in among his revelations on  3 July 87... 

"Alan took me to sainsburys with Vi's shopping list and when I got back I realised I'd left a chicken, 2 steak and kidney pies and some sausages behind!"

To add to the fun, he goes on to describe how he rang sainsburys, they kindly put the stuff aside and told him to come back up with the receipt and he could collect it. So back up there we trundled, with the receipt and when he got to the customer service desk he couldn't find the bloody receipt! It had fallen out of his pocket in my car where we eventually found it! Alls well that ends well anyway, the chicken, pies and sausages came home with us eventually! 

If you knew my Dad this would bring a smile to your face, he was such a silly old fool sometimes but in the nicest possible way. Sadly (or not perhaps) I have inherited his foolish ways and am now growing into a similarly bumbling old fool. I forget stuff all the time and am accident prone beyond belief. It takes a special kind of patience to live with me I expect.

My life since my Dad died has been somewhat up and down. The downs have been pretty much all my own doing and I can't help but wonder if I'd have made better decisions had I still had his wisdom and mere presence in my life. I suppose that smacks of me passing the buck really. But I do think I changed as a person 20 years ago today and not for the better, despite wanting to do right by his memory and try to be the kind of Man he was. It's hard to admit it really but I've lost count of the times I've looked up to the sky and said sorry to him (which you may think is an odd thing to do for someone who doesn't believe in God or the concept of heaven). 

Anyway that's enough of that. 

These days, unlike the 80s and 90s we have tons of photos and filmed footage of our nearest and dearest on phones, social media and whatnot. I don't think people see the point of keeping handwritten diaries anymore and I don't keep one myself for that matter. But perhaps this has taught me that when you're dead and gone, despite the photographs and videos and Facebook memories and all that business, having something which that person wrote on a page, no matter how mundane, is a priceless thing to leave behind for your nearest and dearest. Even if it isn't a daily diary, just some thoughts on a page or suchlike, something that they can read and feel you coming at them through the ink on the paper. It's like you're living through that page. Make sense? I hope so...

Thursday 8 October 2015

National Poetry Day. Why not...

Rolling into london
There's traffic everywhere
I need to earn some money
I need to find a fare
Scouring busy pavements
With an Eagle eye
Seeking out a needy face
With their hand held high
Other cabs go back and forth
With punters all aboard
There must be one out there for me
Among this seething horde
And then as if by magic
A hail is proffered forth
I wonder where he's going to
East South West or North
It doesn't really matter though
It makes no odds to me
I'll take them anywhere they want
Cos that's my job you see
So with a cheerful smile I say
"where you off to mate"
He wants the Netherlands embassy
Which sits in Hyde Park Gate
In he gets and off we go
The traffics looking iffy
But this cabby has The Knowledge, see
So we arrive there in a jiffy
He pays the fare and thanks me
For a nice efficient trip
And a happy glow envelops me
Despite the lack of tip!
So now I'll find another fare
To keep me good and happy
And that's the end of my poem
About being a London cabbie.

Peace x

Monday 20 July 2015

Olivers Army is here to stay... I hope.

Well it was only a matter of time, having got myself blogged up, that I would attempt this topic.

So I've been a London cabbie 9 years now and boy have things changed in that relatively short time. All manner of things have been sent to test us, terrorist threats, plagues of minicab touts, Ash clouds, the Olympics, exploding TX4 Taxis, big ugly financial disasters (but that's enough about Boris Johnson for now), but in the main we've coped admirably.

There are still days when I question my decision to give up a proper job (20 years in the IT industry), with a cushy salary, paid holiday, BUPA cover etc, but in the main I don't regret it really. Being my own boss far outweighs the pluses of a regular guaranteed salary, throwing a sickie, office parties and a bit of team banter. Anyway I digress. Generally speaking it's a good job with its ups and downs. Like any other job basically.

Becoming self employed seemed a little like a leap of faith after so many years of a secure, predictable monthly wage, but back then it seemed quite exciting and you knew if you put the hours in behind the wheel you could earn a decent crust. Threats to your livelihood come and go, some bigger and more threatening than others, but you keep your head down best you can and hope the long established reputation and popularity of your noble trade will see you through tough times.

The latest candidate for pantomime-villain-in-chief and potential threat to our 350+ year old, Oliver Cromwell-founded trade is a little beastie called Uber. A purveyor of, what is affectionately referred to in hipster circles as, 'disruptive technology'. In short, an app based service that allows Joe Public to effectively "hail" a minicab.

A harmless enough concept on the face of it, certainly to those of you whose livelihoods are not affected by it (ie you, the non cabbie reader, the aforementioned Joe Public) and are blissfully unaware of the laws surrounding the licensing of such services. But never has a new entrant to the already over crowded and ultra competitive world of public transportation in London caused such a commotion. Battle lines have been very distinctly drawn over this issue and there are two distinct sides to this conflict.

In the Red corner we have Uber of course. In addition we have Transport For London (TFL) who are the regulator and licensor of both London Taxis and Private Hire Operators (minicabs in old money). Finally, the foot soldiers in this particular force are a fair section of the general public, those being the customers and champions of the Uber service. Their ammunition in this battle is that Uber is great for competition; they're way cheaper than taxis (and most minicab companies apparently); it's a free market and the world is changing; the old dinosaur monopoly that is the taxi trade must be dismantled at all costs in the name of cheaper travel around the capital. Oh and it's "convenient'.

In the Blue corner, the London Taxi trade. Now we are fighting an uphill battle here because we are pretty much on our own. It's a modern day Alamo, if you will, minus the racoon-skin hats and the zapata moustaches. Our own licensing authority are seemingly batting for the other team and the main opponent is a multi-gazillion dollar tax evader who is in bed with any number of Tory MPs and media journalists. They have unlimited legal resources with which to thwart anyone who has the temerity to ask them to comply with annoying shit like 'the law'. Speaking of the law, this is the crux of the Blue corner fight. In granting a Private Hire operator license to potential applicants TFL stipulate, among other things, the following criteria should be met:

* a customer service landline phone number is provided by the PH Operator

* the service is strictly advanced bookings only (only taxis can ply for hire, ie instant hirings)

* the vehicles do not operate a metered tariff system (only taxis are allowed to operate this)

* the operator must ensure their drivers (or partners as Uber like to refer to them) have sufficient hire and reward insurance to cover occupants in the unlikely event (not THAT unlikely actually given their current driver track record) that there is an accident

Uber satisfy NONE of these criteria. Most peculiar eh? What's more, Uber not only operate a meter, they SURGE price it when they deem demand is high! It's like rocking up to Sainsburys and being told "we're low on milk so it's £12 a litre fella, that ok?". Recently during the 48 hour tube strike,  Uber very kindly assisted the travelling public of London by surging their prices by 300%. Which is nice. Of course, the Red corner argue this is fine because they are waaaaay cheaper than everyone else to start with (this being mainly achieved by Uber having a cosy tax domicile arrangement whereby they don't pay their dues like what us peasants do, plus they pay their drivers so little a large number of them rely on working tax credits to earn a crust). But hey, who cares about trivia like that anyway, we all drink Starbucks while browsing Amazon to find the cheapest electric toothbrush right?

Alongside these shortcomings is also the ongoing, not so well publicised (funny that) issue of Uber customers' accounts being hacked and their bank details appearing for sale on 'the dark web'. A multitude of complaints have surfaced about fictitious rides being charged to people who weren't even in the same continent at the time never mind the same city! A brief report of this issue appeared on the BBC's Watchdog programme although given the scale of the issue (you only need to search the #ubered tag on Twitter to see for yourself) it's odd that it received such limited airtime.

Now, finally we come to the drivers themselves. The Uber 'partners'. I don't deny these people are working hard to feed their families, I have no problem with that. But what I do object to is turning into a one way street and having one of them happily hurtling towards me at 30mph, with wide eyed and frantic punters sat in the back, because they have no clue where they're going despite (or because of) being glued to the sat nav glowing into their eager little faces. This is a pile up just waiting to happen and, once again, if you peruse the #ubered hashtag on Twitter you'll be presented with all manner of photos and video footage of their daring feats of idiocy. A combination of topographical cluelessness and long shift fatigue is a very potent mix. Couple this with the massive likelihood that due to the peanuts they're paid it's extremely unlikely they have the appropriate level of insurance, then you start to wonder at Joe Publics judgement too.

Anyway that's my not so brief and naturally biased summary of the arguments on either side. Of course the Taxi trade have a wider beef with TFL which spans many areas other than just Uber (lack of enforcement against touting, hideous delays in renewing driver's licenses causing them to be effectively unemployed, imposition of age limits on cabs, the list goes on), but there's no escaping the fact that TFLs inexplicably lenient tolerance of Uber and it's business practice is the main catalyst in this battle. All the Taxi trade is asking is that Uber operates by the same rules as the rest of us (existing Private Hire operators included, they are as much an opponent of Uber as we are). If Uber, the public, TFL, the Mayor, the Tories et al want a 'free market' that's fine, but all participants in that market have to operate on a level playing field, abiding by the appropriate regulations.

The taxi trade are lambasted by opponents saying they are afraid of competition. We have had competition from minicabs for decades (in fact every taxi driver on the road is competition as far as I'm concerned!) but this isn't just competition, it's UNFAIR competition because it clearly isn't a level playing field. We are told we are afraid of change and technology. We've had radio circuits for donkeys years and currently we also have Taxi apps like Gett, Hailo and the soon to be launched CabApp. Next up, "you're afraid of losing your monopoly/cartel"... We operate in a city where the public have the choice of a taxi, minicab, tube train, bus, Boris bike, their own bike, car, coach etc etc. If that's your idea of a monopoly I suggest you advance directly to jail without collecting £200 for passing Go. One criticism we are guilty of is that the ability to pay by credit/debit card is not guaranteed in a Taxi. This is an increasing requirement for the public and it's something that cab drivers are slowly realising is a necessary facility they need to offer. There are still way too many "cash only" signs in the back of London taxis but moves are afoot to address this situation as the trade recognises the importance of this issue. I and many of my colleagues do accept card payment and consultations are currently under way with a view to a compulsory system for all drivers to do the same.

A big problem with this whole situation is that the media, who love a good old fashioned scrap to get their teeth into, have picked up on this issue and as they are prone to do, they tuck in without doing their homework. Countless badly researched, ill informed and frankly embarrassingly clichéd articles have been published on this subject and Joe Public gobbles it up and buys into the nonsense they print. People still believe what they read in the press and a lot of misinformation has been put out there about the Taxi trade, perhaps agenda driven, perhaps not, who knows.

So where does this leave us? Despite all these issues, my obvious disdain for Uber and the overwhelming dubiousness of their operation, there's no escaping the fact that large sections of the London travelling public seem to like them and employ their services. It doesn't seem to bother the Uber fraternity what their new found darlings' legality is or whether they pay their share of taxes or whether the poor wretch driving them is currently into his/her 18th hour of a shift, they seem to feel it's a perfectly viable option. And that, my brothers and sisters of the Green Badge, is what we are up against whether we like it or not. No matter how many unpopular celebs (ie Katie Hopkins, Peter Stringfellow, Russell Brand, George Galloway et al) line up to tell us how lovely we are and how we are the Gold Standard, the heartbeat of London etc etc blah blah blah, the fact remains people are still using a distinctly dubious alternative simply because it's cheaper and more convenient (ie you don't need cash and you don't need to stand in the street with your arm up). This is how consumers are nowadays. They couldn't give a toss about whether you spent 3 years grafting to attain 'the knowledge', because "you got Sat nav now innit?" (don't get me started on that). Are you a fiver cheaper? That's all that seems to matter really for the majority nowadays. I have one word for you. Primark....

Don't get me wrong, yes I do consider we are the gold standard service in London. In terms of quality, expertise and reputation we are unbeatable, but let's not kid ourselves that large swathes of the public value our knowledge and reputation as highly as we do. People will tell us what we want to hear of course, but let's face it we all bemoaned the demise of Woolworths right? But how many times had you been in said pick n mix purveyors stores in the 12 months leading up to their demise eh? Think on that.

The conclusion? I don't have one is the honest answer. Despite all the above I happen to believe that road congestion is the biggest threat to the future of the London Taxi trade (or any metered form of travel for that matter), but that's another story...

Be lucky!