Damned if you do...
I'm going to make it a new rule, when in a taxi I'm going to say nowt unless we're talking about the weather, and/or the property market.
I had an early meeting this morning and as if often the case I jumped a bus into town (quicker than driving and looking for parking). Had said meeting, grabbed a coffee, read a paper and decided to head home to work/enjoy glorious sunnyday/work.
So, I grabbed a cab.
Well sweet fucking Chulutha. We hadn't gone two metres when my driver-about fifty five and English- starts in on the release of the 15 sailors captured by Iran and how disgusted he was with England's 'pussy actions'.
''Facking gift bags! They got facking gift bags. Can you imagine?'
'Better gift bags than body bags I suppose.' I said.
He made some weird noise then, a sort of cross between a 'peeef' and a 'flaarrrrp'.
'They should 'ave bombed them the moment they took 'em.'
'Who should have?'
''The British.'
'Do you want a war with Iran?"
'They started it, it's an act of war kidnapping our facking troups.'
'Well, weren't they in Iraq waters?''
'Media lies.'
''Right.'
I have always wondered about this media lies thing. How does anyone know the truth of anything if both sides of the meeja are big spoofers?
'Well, ' I said, at least they're coming home safe and sound and no blood was shed.'
'No blood? No blood? There's no blood, ya don't need to spill blood when you can rip the spine out of a country that easily. No blood? Ffffttpprrfht. We're a laughin' stock, no blood? Fpttthhtht'.
His jaw mucles bunched.
'Hum,' I said, 'Plenty of blood shed at the Man U/Roma game last night though wasn't there?'
And he was off. I'm not even sure how he managed to draw breath such was his invective. Occasionally I would sense him flagging and I would casually say things like, 'Did you see that guy with the blood all down his face?' or 'I heard that there are 18 fans in hospital ' and 'at least they kept them seperated.'
By the time I reached my front door he was red faced and wild eyed. I paid him and began to climb out. 'Still with all the craziness going on, it was nice to see a photo of Bertie and Ian Paisley shaking hands like that, wasnt it?"
He roared off without another word and I let myself into the house and made a nice cuppa.
I had an early meeting this morning and as if often the case I jumped a bus into town (quicker than driving and looking for parking). Had said meeting, grabbed a coffee, read a paper and decided to head home to work/enjoy glorious sunnyday/work.
So, I grabbed a cab.
Well sweet fucking Chulutha. We hadn't gone two metres when my driver-about fifty five and English- starts in on the release of the 15 sailors captured by Iran and how disgusted he was with England's 'pussy actions'.
''Facking gift bags! They got facking gift bags. Can you imagine?'
'Better gift bags than body bags I suppose.' I said.
He made some weird noise then, a sort of cross between a 'peeef' and a 'flaarrrrp'.
'They should 'ave bombed them the moment they took 'em.'
'Who should have?'
''The British.'
'Do you want a war with Iran?"
'They started it, it's an act of war kidnapping our facking troups.'
'Well, weren't they in Iraq waters?''
'Media lies.'
''Right.'
I have always wondered about this media lies thing. How does anyone know the truth of anything if both sides of the meeja are big spoofers?
'Well, ' I said, at least they're coming home safe and sound and no blood was shed.'
'No blood? No blood? There's no blood, ya don't need to spill blood when you can rip the spine out of a country that easily. No blood? Ffffttpprrfht. We're a laughin' stock, no blood? Fpttthhtht'.
His jaw mucles bunched.
'Hum,' I said, 'Plenty of blood shed at the Man U/Roma game last night though wasn't there?'
And he was off. I'm not even sure how he managed to draw breath such was his invective. Occasionally I would sense him flagging and I would casually say things like, 'Did you see that guy with the blood all down his face?' or 'I heard that there are 18 fans in hospital ' and 'at least they kept them seperated.'
By the time I reached my front door he was red faced and wild eyed. I paid him and began to climb out. 'Still with all the craziness going on, it was nice to see a photo of Bertie and Ian Paisley shaking hands like that, wasnt it?"
He roared off without another word and I let myself into the house and made a nice cuppa.
Labels: lack thereof., spines, War
posted by fatmammycat at 10:31 a.m.
16 Comments:
Don't know if you read BBC's Have Your Say, but it was frightening how many English folk were of the exact same opinion as that tool - loads and loads of comments, the gist of which were "bomb first, ask questions later".
Blair's got his faults, but the diplomacy tack was the way to go, particularly when it was clear to the rest of the world that all Iran were doing was trying to come off as magnanimous "friends".
I know Kav, this guy genuinely seemed disgusted that these particular service men -who were well fed, not tortured or poorly treated despite their capture- should be released without resorting to war. Staggering.
Ah yes. Taxi drivers. Care to take my short survey on them, FMC?
Stroke of genius by the Iranians if you ask me. Making the release a gift to mark the prophet's birthday. Tension diffused without loss of face.
What age is he now anyway? Must be getting on a bit.
Consider it done PS.
I can never understand how people see a country as a "team" that they "play for". What is that driver on about? "We" and "they"??? He hadn't a clue what he was talking about.
After your parting shot I pity the poor sod that got into his car next!!!
I dunno.I'm a bit fond of the odd cabbie rant every now and again.The last cab I took was in Limerick and the driver (a devout countryman) pulls over for his prayers when The Angelus boomed out of the radio.
The time before that I was with Da Brudder in DC and the driver just pulls out of traffic,unfurls the prayer rug and faces Mecca for his business.
Now I just need a Jewish cabbie and....
Huzzah, FMC. Winding up nutters is the only defense normal, right-thinking people have against them. More riling, I say. Rile 'em up good.
I don't play the them/us card either JL, most of my boozy crew are international gadflies. I hope he stews good 'n proper.
Hanger, that's hilarious! How did you keep a straight face? You're right though, sometimes they're a hoot.The other night I had a cabbie who was about 107 and he was telling me all about flying over east asia and being shot at and so forth, it was an excellent way to pass the time, that and he drove at 25k per hour the whole way home. When he pulled in you should have seen the slew of outraged drivers that passed him by.
Jimmy, I'm doing my level best. Sometimes they're just handed to you on a plate.
I do love Ireland when it's sunny.
The whole thing with the sailors
sounded like a PR exercise to me. I expect they'll all get rich selling their stories to the Daily Mail. Taxi drivers are a breed on their own, regardless of nationality, they are rip off merchants who love a captive audience as they see themselves as expert politicians, actors, tour guides and journalists rolled into one. I huddle in the corner and pretend to sleep.
You should pop along to Primal Sneeze's gaff, there's a little poll there that might interest you.
It's POETs day here to-day so have a very Happy Easter, hope you gets lots of eggs!
The whole episode from capture to release seemed orchestrated by the Iranians to make themselves look good and benevolant and humane and the rest; and the British government look flummoxed and untruthful.
We couldn't go rushing to Iran now even if we wanted to, and they know it, (as does North Korea). The US is stretched to capacity in Irag and Afghanistan (although Bin Laden seems to have been forgotten) and I don't think the British public would stand for another war.
You're spot on Sam, it wouldn't go down well at all. I agree it's all very smooth and a bit back-slappingly stagey too, but it could have all gone very horribly wrong too and those 15 sailers could have been tried and sentenced to God knows what, so I for one am glad they're going home. My God, when I look at them on TV they look so young. Not much more than teenagers some of them.
Shebah have a cracking chocolate filled weekend.
Before the plane had landed Blair was mouthing off with belligerent talk again and extressing deep sorrow at the latest casualties in Iraq. But who sent them?
tell me about it. a loud and angry argument broke out between two at my local cafe the other day. One is Iranian and a refugee, and the other, yes you guessed it, a local taxi-driver. it went on for some time before the Iranian said, "When I left had to walk for days over mountains, and there were no gift-bags offered. The only gift-bag they'd have given me, would've been a body-bag, and maybe not even that".
Me, I'm all for talk-talk, and less. in fact, no war-war.
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