The highway to hell!

taxi mate?
sweeeeeeeet!!

What with Thursday mornings taxi shenanigans I have been forced to change from Value Cabs to Fon-a-Cab. The difference being like night and later that night. Although my taxi driver last night was a real freaking treat. I think I dialed the wrong number. I thought I had phoned for a taxi when in fact I had ordered a happy hardcore disco.

All seemed fine when I got into the car, I said hello, he said hello, I told him where I was going, he said,

"No prablem mate, sweeeeeet."

This should have been a warning to me, the elongated use of the word "sweet" is a tell tale sign of a chap who enjoys the strange delights of a home rolled "infused" cigarette. Maybe it was because I was tired but I never noticed that he was in fact a grade A, 100%, full on mentalist.

Twenty seconds later and I was gripping my seat for dear life and starting on the first decade of the rosary. A red traffic light is nothing more than an annoyance for most drivers but for my guy it was the start line of his Indy 500. As we accelerated at something approaching mach 2 he turned the radio up as loud as he could. It was something involving whistles and a woman moaning loudly, in a sexual way not about the unhappiness of her life.

I shat myself.

"THIS TUNES FUCKING BANGING MATE EH WHA?!" said he

"WE'RE GONNA DIE!!" said I

"NAH MATE IT'S FUCKING....." wait for it ".....SWEEEEEEEEEEEEET"

Oh good holy fuckarama. I'm in a car doing 70mph through the city centre with an extra from Trainspotting at the wheel. Then the nasty happy hardcore tune finished and something by Westlife came on. No relief there then. As I started on my next decade of the rosary, this time for an end to the turgid pop of Westlife, he started twiddling with the dial of his radio. This thing was like the flight deck of a space shuttle with it's many lights, dials, and buttons. He kept flicking until he found more nasty happy hardcore. This time it was a raved up version of the theme tune to Pulp Fiction.

This is how I would die, at the hands of a taxi driver come DJ playing his favourite rave tunes whilst driving like a joy rider through the streets of Belfast. My favourite moment came when he turned to face me and said,

"KILLER TUNES THESE EH WHA?!!"

I could see the pearly gates and all the dead grandparents and my first dog beckoning me in. As it was I made it home alive and it has to be said in record time. I pretty much threw the money at him and didn't wait for any change.

"AWH CHEERS MATE, FUCKING SWEEEEEET!" he said as he sped of to terrify another unsuspecting punter.

I might just get the bus in the morning and take my chances with the sick and the infirm.......