Thursday, January 29, 2009

NCT; The Result

I'm legal now until 04/10, managed to plug the rad with radweld gear, still wary of working with it for now, hopefully bringing it for a new rad tomorrow. So it looks like i'm off the road for the next few days.

Nature of the beat.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Sweeny It!!

Murphys pox of a law!

Checking the oil in the Motor tonight and i seen this to my dismay.

Yep a hole in my rad, wouldnt mind coz the old girl is heading for the NCT Centre on Thursday. So the Carina is off the road and thanks to my recent stroking session in bayside, i've aquired a 1994 Corona 2.0L Diesel Auto, granted you'd whistle faster than this bitch takes off but shall see me right for a few days until i get the taxi back up and running.

Cant go far wrong for €350 Nct' and Tax'd?

Sunday, January 25, 2009

The Carina

The car i drive as a taxi is a Carina E 1.6 Auto, it's never let me down, keep it clean and Oil changes every 6K still running like a true blue after 136K.

In 2012 she'll be deemed unsuitable for taxi use, despite i probably wont have a shillin to rub together to fork out on a new car. New regulations are in force already you cant have a 9 year old car as a taxi as of 1 Jan this year.

Fuck sake the Carina is that good they even made a song about it.

Flying The Nest

It's about time, yea i've the typical Irish Mammy cooks, cleans, washes me clothes. Everything short of literally chewing my food. But time to move on at the ripe old age of 22.

I'm in two minds of what to do, one i'd like to buy my own gaff but the market is in shit the ''R'' word. Thinking of somthing like this ;[cc_id]=ct1&s[a_id]=195&s[mnp]=&s[mxp]=250000&s[bd_no]=&s[search_type]=sale&s[furn]=&s[refreshmap]=1&s[sort_by]=price&s[sort_type]=a&limit=10&search_type=sale&id=420800

But wouldnt mind fecking off to Ameri-ke for the summer mate of mine is fluting off to NYC (Hello Ciaran if your reading) But jobs over there are as rare as hens teeth.

But there is less Taxi's over in NYC so i could become a Cabbie over there?

Last nite was a bit mad, Picked up this fella wanting to go to Dunboyne (creamy jocks again) as we were in Sutton when he hailed me!! So over the M50 and up the N3, €53 please!! He was in his mots gaff and he missed the last bus. Kept going and out of trouble until the wee hours.

I was passing Grangers pub throngs of punters out and two lads put the paw out, Looked at them, they were two of my old school mates. So they hopped in and Mikey said ''Darndale please'' I turned and said ''Fuck You'' old Mikey was getting ready for a bull and cow with Mr Taxi Man. He twigged ''Ah Leon!!'' caught up with the two of them and moseyed into his house for a 5am cupa tea.

Always wanted to stop into a punters gaff so they'd make me tea.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

3 Couples And A Wet Patch

Picked up a Polish couple last night wanting to go to thier car and then to Clongriffin, didnt ask many questions on why they were going to thier car 1st and then home.

So we got to his car, he hopped in and tryed to start it no joy, so he hops back into my car and says in broken English ''Clongriffin please'' so we drop off his lady friend (1st date) and he wants to go back to his car to start it agian, so i oblige. Again no joy, he starts swearing and blinding ''Culva mach''- (Son of a Bitch). Who says i'm not cultured eh?

So the clock was at €20 at this stage, he hops back in and says ''Pillerstown'' hadnt a fucking notion of were that is, tuns out he wanted to go to ''Tyrellstown'' in Blanch. I nearly creamed myself with excitement as we were in Donaghmede!!

So out over the N32 and M50, he was gacking out of him cursing yer wan and in the same breath ''Nice Girl'', then the asshole starts haggling with me €50!! he barks, it was €65 to his door, didnt want to have to waste my time arguning over, so we settled it at €55. So it was out of dodge foot to the floor.

Then picked up this two off the rank could see the tension before they set thier arses on me leather, she says ''Baldoyle'', not much was said for about 5 mins then it started ''See yeww ya cunt why the fuck didnt ya get out at 8am today'' proper cat and dog stuff. Yer wan starts slapping and punching yer man in the back seat, no if it had of been vise-versa he'd be in Beaumount hospital, cant stand violence with women. He contained the siuation tho more shouting and screaming on her behalf.

Then yer wan turns to me ''See you taxi driver i bet your laughing at this arent ya'' needless to say i kept stum. We get to thier road (thank fuck) she hops out and slammes the door on my Carina (I wasnt happy). Yer man pays me and turns and says ''thanks buddy good luck'' think you need the luck mate. Leaving the happy couples road looked in the backseat. Damp patch on me new leather (Bollix) musta been a drink spilled on her back and wiped off on my seats.

So it was a experess valet (leather wipes and and a dry rag) was back in the game baby!

Then at this stage i had to pick up my skin and blister from Barcode, no major goss there as my sister is the picture of innocence (yea right)

Picked up two more victims, from Howth later that night she hops in and says Baskin lane. I spoke aloud the route thu the back roads, Yer man eurrups at yer wan and says ''For fuck sake he's right there, we'll direct him if he gets lost'' and they proceed to have a full on bull & cow. Got to baskin lane and he hops out and i turned to yer wan ''Whats up with happy Harry'' She just laughs and appolgises for his behaviour.

I've had enough of the Divorce court for one night, got me brekkie roll at the port and was homeward bound.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

100% Dubliner

Been a hectic week, had to say goodbye to my gran. I've always been close to her chat and talk to her about anything, and she'd always bring a smile to your face.

But anyway, chatting to my ma tonight remanising and what not. She told me where my gran was from Sundrive Road in Crumlin, my granda he was Inchicore (The Ranch) on account that wild horses used to roam freely. I know my da's side of the family, my gran is originally from Thomas St, and my granda is from the Liberites.

My not sound anything special but to have your parents from Dublin, but all four of your Grandparents from Dublin is a bit rare. Even more so that both of my parents grew up on Northside (Raheny & Beaumount) despite my Grandparents coming from the Southside.

Back then the likes of Inchicore was considerd the boarder of the Countryside and the likes of Beaumount and Raheny was defo considerd the countryside & there was no Northside/Southside divide.

Always nice to know where you've come from.

Friday, January 16, 2009


Stopped into CUC (Car Upholstery Co) on Usshers Island there yeasterday, there was a rip on my back seat that was driving me mad for the last while (getting bigger) so i called in, two old ladies run the shop. Very friendly, showed them the rip and asked instead of just doing a repair could they re-trim the car in leather, at a cost of €400 which is damn cheap (for what it is) so i agreed.

Dropped the car off this morning and picked it up at 4pm today.

And it looks brilliant, every contour is perfect, i'm delighted with them.

The car passed it's meterology exam today fully legal and above board, so i'm a happy bunny for the moment. Just have to find some meat for the seat tonight!!!

Monday, January 12, 2009



Traditional music i've always had a interest in, despite no knowing one end of a flute to the next.
In my taxi i've hooked up my I-pod to the head unit so there's about 7,000 songs on tap, some muppet was adamant last night that Kelly The Boy From Killane is trad song, i argued the point that it was republican music NOT trad.

I'd put Jigs and Reels in the catagory of trad;

Or on the other hand we've purely IRA anthems that some ill informed muppets class as trad.

I love the Wolfetones but i would never class them as trad

Taxi Drivers Law

Is the law that ensures you when you have a passanger in the car that you've waited 3/4 of a hour to find, Every single person on the streets is looking for a taxi guaranteed!

Bit of a messy night last night, picked up a young one last night down by the new o2 arena, heading for Sean Mc Dermot st, or as she called it ''Sean Maker streee luv''.

It transpired that she was going to her ''fellitz gaff'' to pick somthing up off him, and wanted me to wait for her to bring her back home to Sherrif st ''Sherrifer'' so we reach SMDS she goes in and leaves here phone on the seat as collateral (Working class people will always do this, the higher up the social ladder people become the higher up their hole they get)
So it was about 5 mins waiting for her, hear a bit of commotion coming from the house (shouting and screaming, and banging and clatterin') then the reason becomes clear, apparantely ''Anto'' yer 'wans ''fellit'' was caught riding some other 'wan from Emmet st!

So the usuaul ''See yew ye toerag ever near my fellit again and i'll hook ye around the streee ye cunt'' yer man was there trying to defused the situation, but he did drop the ball and a small cat fight ensued, when i say cat fight i mean punches and kicks between the two ''ladies''.
Our Romeo ''Anto'' finally breaks it up telling yer wan from Emmet St to fuck off, which she does, Anto comes over to aid his love, not before getting a full force slap across the face.

Yer one comes back into the car, emotional and tearey eyes. Felt sorry for the poor girl, not only having to find out in the way she did but having it aired on the street. She thanked me for waiting, i played dumb and asked what was it all about? She tuned to me and said ''All because that cunt of a cousin'', and on that note i bit her a farewell.

I'd love to be a fly on the wall at her next family reunion.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Throwing More Shapes Than Barney On Blow

After a truely dire Friday nights work i decided to go out and drown me sorrows last night.
Headed for Kiernans on Dame St to meet up with a few of the lads nice enough Pub, but there was commotion from down stairs, as in what i thought was a Brothel.

There i was necking a few Scooners then ya see Birds coming and going wearing tight leather, Porno stars had more on thier backs then these chicks, all rocker/goth heads, no not for me.

So we headed for Dorans there was me ''Throwing More Shapes Than Barney On Blow'' or dancing for the lay terms. Not a look wide ways at any one, so went up to one Bird said ''Hello may i have this dance?'' - Me being the gent that i am, she looked at me up and down and had a head on here that i just pissed in her Cornfakes.

So Fuck that said my goodbyes headed for Westmoreland St got a brekkie roll and headed up O' Connel St to hail a Joer, got my arse into a Lexus GS 300 01, Driver then tells me it's been non stop all night? Feck it any road, heading out soon have a bit to make up!

Little Poem About Taxi Driving

Well, taxi drivers are scum bags. Now I know you’re a scum bag. Worse. You’re a whore. A pimp and a whore under one roof. And you’re a fucking little sociopath. These credentials are impressive, but won’t necessarily make you a good taxi driver. You might look the part, if you weren’t so goddamn cute. A few more years of drink and drugs will take care of that. Anyway.Taxi drivers are scum bags. They lust only for whores and gambling. They like to fight. They like to kick jerks out of their taxi. They are jerks. They’re not nice to women and children, Arty types don’t make the grade. They’re sheep in taxi driver clothing. A real taxi driver is a full time son of a bitch. He may or may not know how to speak great English, but you can bet he’s a talking asshole in any language. The son of a bitches will never grow up. They don’t want real jobs. They’re eternal boys, which is to say your average irish fellah, except they do it for a living.Have a beer.Taxi drivers take the worse shit a man can take and get paid for it. Mercenary killers are higher on the ladder. So are whores when it comes to selling your ass. A taxi driver is a legal criminal. Something like a lawyer, same branch of pedestrianism. Know what they call a taxi driver without a hangover? A nonsequitur. No such animal. You’d fit in there pretty well. Drugs too. You gotta take lots of drugs to be a taxi driver. But know how to handle them. Combine them like an alchemist. The best taxi drivers can shoot a goofball in their neck going sixty in heavy traffic and the passengers won’t even notice. You’d do alright there too.Where was I?Oh, yeah. The most important part - and I don’t know if you fill the bill here. We’ll see - a taxi driver’s gotta know how to push a taxi. If you can’t pass a taxi through the eye of a needle, you ain’t no taxi driver. The taxi’s gotta be an integral part of you. It has to fit like a glove, hang like a genital, bounce like a tit, shit like an eagle, fly like a demon, burrow through the city like a rat in a garbage heap and come out shining. You gotta be able to sneak up on a fare like a pickpocket. You gotta squeeze through double parked cars like toothpaste. There can’t be more than the distance between the hem of a whore’s skirt and her snatch between you and sleepwalking pedestrians. You gotta have nerves of steel and the patience of a toad. Otherwise you’ll crack up. You’ll get fired or end up in a fireball on the motorway. Taxi driving is magic and you gotta master the automatic pilot. If you’re the type of pedestrian who bumps into other people on the street, probably you won’t make a taxi driver. Got it? Now’s for the passenger. You gotta put meat in the back seat. That meter’s gotta be running or you ain’t going to make it. You’re going to sweat blood to find the bastards and eat shit when you do. They’ll put you through the ringer. “Driver, where you taking us? This isn’t the right way. I’m taking your number. The garda will hear about this!” They’ll get out after chewing your ear off and stiff you. The ones you’ve given the best service to. The insult cuts like a knife and the stiff knows it. It’s hard out there these days. People are frustrated, powerless like they were in Hitler’s Germany. They make their little power plays wherever they can. You got to shrug your shoulders. Keep your armor shining. Keep the meter running. You’ll be a true blue misanthrope in no time. Just take a few hundred of the bastards around on Saturday night and you’ll see what I mean. They get in smelling of toothpaste, deodorant, perfume, mouthwash. You’ll pick them up a few hours later reeking of garlic, alcohol, digesting food. A rich nauseating stink of momentary happiness. They’ll scream in your ear and tell bad jokes. The assholes will test your patience. They’ll spill drinks, vomit, ejaculate and fight like cats and dogs. You’ll get real familiar with the hose and the rag. You pick them up overflowing with gaiety at the beginning of the evening and drop them off at the end angry, depressed, gibbering drunk. You’ll hear the same selfish, petty, narrow-minded, ignorant, misinformed, vicious conversation repeated over and over. Every one of the bastards thinking their situation is unique. Planning kids, marriages, and careers before they know how to tie their shoes. It’s the same everywhere. The big muddled blueprint of the herd. Now you’ll have some fine human experiences, the kind that flood you from head to toe with a warm sense of beatitude. You’ll pick up the father who’s just watched his wife give birth. You’ll pick up the widow who’s just watched her husband die. You’ll pick up the ones that have been stabbed and shot and raped and take them to the hospital. You’ll take them home later bandaged from head to toe. You’ll pick up the guy on his way to the bridge to jump. You’ll pick up the young lovers and you’ll wipe off the back seat when they get out. You’ll pick up a thousand sob stories and broken hearts. You’ll pick them up by the tens of thousands and they’ll all give you the same corny lines. The hopeless banality of it all will sicken you like the smell of rotten meat. But the taxi driver has to put up with it. He gets the big picture. He gets the whole stinking overview. It’s okay for the passenger who experiences reality from one point of view. But a taxi driver sees it like the Buddha. He’s got to cultivate the sewer. Another beer? Sure, sure. Go ahead. Have a line. That’s what it’s there for. Don’t interrupt. I keep losing my train of thought. Everybody’s desperate. Everybody’s got guns. They’ll shoot you in the back and ask questions later. You gotta have your radar on. A map of the city’s gotta light up in your brain. You gotta see not only where the fare is when I call it, but the fare that ain’t called. You’ll see a fuzzy area where the danger is. It’ll come as a stink or a bad taste in your mouth. You gotta size up a killer from several blocks away before you can see his eyes. Gotta see how he’s standing. How he’s dressed. How he signals you. If he’s hiding something, it’ll show. A sick light will burn a hole through the map. You’ll pass him at sixty. Only then will you see the ozone in his eyes. The blank hole which is the enemy. Hermes won’t fail you here. Take my word for it. That’s why I don’t put no fucking cage between you and the back seat. If you’re stupid enough to pick up a cemetery run, you shouldn’t be driving in the first place. There’s something else. You gotta be a good Christian. You gotta be nice. A real sweetheart. You gotta be kind as a bloodthirsty bat at a prayer meeting. Clever as a praying mantis in some rich matron’s crab salad. Somebody different for every asshole that gets in your taxi. Oldest trick in the world. All holymen are hip to it. You gotta be what they want you to be. Then you’ll succeed. I mean you gotta be nasty when it’s necessary. But not lowbrow nasty. You gotta score. And you don’t score with cheap shots.Another thing you should keep in mind: Taxi driving is contagious. Once you’re addicted, it’ll eat you inside out and spit out the pit. You won’t ever want to go back to a regular job, that is - if you’re a true taxi. Of course I know you’re a whore. You already know the business from one angle. It’s like religion. Eat at some holy trough while the head monk sticks it to you. Anyway, as I was saying, the virus is lethal. You’ll find you can’t function without the taxi. You’ll hate it. Take a day or two off and you’ll be longing for your ride. It’s like drugs that way. Taxi driving will eat your soul and there won’t be anything else for you.Guess that about covers the details. Only thing you have to do now is get out there and get to work. And I told you not to ask questions. Just follow orders and don’t worry. I’ll tell you what you need to know over Radio Two. Just keep your ears open. I’ll be talking to you.Now hit the road.

The Dollaz

Expensive week (not over) 1st this morning was a €70 drop off to Skan atm to pick up my safety kit with mikey mouse regulations over 2Kg fire extingusher and other such bollox. The TR (Taxi Regulator) is starting to fine drivers for not having them, the fine is €250 if you do not have one in your taxi.
Then i had to book my meter to be resealed €90.70, thats getting done next Friday. And just today i’m picking my Taxi back up later today (bout a hour or so) she was in for a Auto fluid and Rad Coolant change dont really wanna think of the cost but, it could be a hell of alot worse. With more and more job losses in the Country it’s making for depressing times all round. Just yeasterday 1900 jobs were lost in Limerick, those people had loans out for thier houses that they paid for in the boom time and now still paying for it when the arse has fallen out of the Housing Market.
Out last nite so not much being done work wise, but heading out tonight and see how the land lies.

I Got The Points Not The Point

There on last Friday i was heading for Denis Mahony in Finglas or ‘’Exit 5 M50′’ to make it sound posh. So there i was driving past Charelstown S.C and got flashed by a Transit van.
So now i’m looking at 3 peno points on the licence.
(Just praying i didnt pick up anymore on my recent excursions to Northen Ireland, went 3 times in the month coming upto crimbo)
No work tonight as there is feck all on the streets.

The Pizza Boy

So after a stint in the nest (zzzzz) woke up about 1pm, up and out did a few shopping runs, came home and headed for a pizza had to pop home 1st. So before i leave the house i always phone ahead for collection, leaving my estate and got hailed, thought feck it (hoping it was a short run or in the direction of my pizza) NO! It was 5 Miles in the opposite bloody direction Ah well atleast it paid for my pizza! Did have to endure luke warm pizza and a soggy garlic bread tho!

Apox On Thee!

Thats me done and dusted for another nights work.
Few local runs in the ‘burbs (the way i like it!) then i get a txt msg (thinking it was from yer ‘wan) it didnt register on the phone as a number already saved, and she was the only one if given my phone no out to in the last while, so here’s me thinking in like flynn. Asking to be picked up East Wall, i was in Ballyfermot at the time. So the four on the floor was straight up the quays. Only to find out it was my little pox of a 18 year old cousin, well i coulda burst him!! Told him the story anyway.
So it was picking up nicely, headed for the ‘code nice handy one to Coolock, heading up the Malahide Road and the Artane roundabout was cordend off my the shades, so had to take a detour up the Ardlea Road into Coolock village and i seen every Motorist / Taxi drivers worst nightmare, a head on collision with a Caravelle (taxi) and a Passat, looked vicious. What happend is the Passat driver was coming out of Coolock Village from the Chanel School and turned right thinking it was a contra-flow lanes. Which that section isnt! And had a head on with the Taxi.
Did one more drop from Barcode it was getting messy at that stage fights were breaking out and lads harrasing taxi drivers. So headed for An Lar picked up two lads (thought they were a couple of pigs ears getting in) from Clanbrassil St going to North Strand then Philsburg Av. Dropped yer man at NS then the other fella was wanting to go back into a Nip shop on Leeson St after. Heading back for the City Centre i have a heart to heart with him (about recent matters concerning the heart) his solution was to to bring me into the Top Bar with him, which i thankfully turned down.
Well time to go to the Leaba, as im shagged (not in the way i’d like)

The X-Mas Season

Bit late for to be thinking about it now, but worked it and enjoyed doing it, no messys, no druggies, the car wasnt used for a brothel, well it was used for a sitting in divorce court . All quitened now on the western front.
Last night was a quiet one set up nicely with a fare from Sutton to Tara Towers Hotel in Blackrock, she was all chat. She was heading for a friends night out she told me she’s going to meet a ‘’friend'’ in the Foggy Dew Pub later on who was somone who she met over the internet, and this girl was good looking funny and smart, we shared the simmilar interests (music) but here’s the killer she was 41 but my god she didnt look it! had her down for late 20’s at most. So i did the gentlemanly thing, i gave her my number if she needed a lift back to Sutton and said ‘’if it doesnt work out with yer man give us a buzz'’ she laughd and said ‘’I'm old enough to be your mother'’, thought you can tuck me up anynight love. So was looking at the dog and bone all night but no joy . Ce la vie!
Not much around the city so headed for the burbs and gave up at 3.30. didnt fare too bad for the night that was in it.