My taxi driver Dave

Meet Dave. Every now and then I will grab a taxi into the city when I am either late or in a lazy mood. Sometimes, I will get one specific taxi driver and today, it was him. Opening the passenger door felt like eternity.


You know those same conversations you have with someone that doesn’t remember you? Groundhog day, a bad case of déjà vu for the whole journey. It starts with Dave asking me if I like football. I do, however if I say I do, I know I won’t get a word in edge ways for the next 15 minutes. Thankfully I have been in this situation before. I am prepared.

‘Erm, not really, I never get the time to see the games, I am usually working’

This didn’t work. 

I still didn’t get a word in edge ways. In fact I managed to take this photo of St James Boulevard, the road leading up to our stadium which you can see above, hidden behind some modern high rise hotels and student accommodation. He had no idea I took the photo…

I feel I could have stuck my head out of the window and took a selfie without him realising. The longer the conversation/ lecture went on, the more he convinces himself I must like football. I know I do, but I told him I didn’t. Isn’t it funny how people can be so into something that they choose that you like it? I am not mad, I find it hilarious. I was chuckling to myself most of the way.

He is a nice guy and what can I say, I would rather a friendly taxi driver than one that was miserable. I don’t need those vibes from people, however a little more variety in conversation would be desired. I wonder what it would have taken to not have listened to a one way conversation about football… 

What if I told him I hated it? That it was the last thing I would have wanted to talk about? I honestly don’t think this would have made much difference.

‘Well that’s a shame, I was going to ask how you felt about our most recent signing. Did you know that he…’

Oh Dave, you beauty.

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