Today I experienced one of my favourite things ever... a taxi driver who is not racist but still willing to talk to you!
Getting in a taxi like this is like opening up the centre of a Kinder Egg to find you've got the kind of toy that needs putting together and having intricate sticker added.
Not only was this taxi driver not racist - he was also hands down hilarious. I think you're beginning to understand why I would need to dedicate a whole blog to him. He was brilliant.
For starters, even if he had been a xenophobic tool, I would probably have sat and listened to him chatter all the way round Rotherham just because he had that excellent mixture of Pakistani and Yorkshire accents which is a true joy to the ear. He couldn't finish a sentence without calling me 'love' and delighted in telling me all the ways in which people try and rip you off on a daily basis. Despite teaching me how to haggle for the vast majority of the journey, he refused to accept anything less than the £10 he asked for... and I feel I'd almost have happily paid twice. Just for the amusement of getting to travel with someone genuinely interesting.
Weirdly, it was when he started telling me about his wife that I truly, truly felt my soft spot for him developing into an entire duvet. He explained that they were truly good friends, and that was what made it work. They had been married for 22 years (plus 2 years of 'hanky panky' before - genius!!!) and they still worked perfectly as a couple.
They had five children together, which together made up his firm proof that he must love her because he hadn't married her for a pass port. I think any married person would tell you that spending 22 years with anyone is not worth getting a pass port for. But he and his wife are blissful.
He has truly made what would otherwise have been an exhausting day, really shiny. I'm very grateful for him for doing his job with a little bit of extra personality and spicing up my taxi journey immensely. What a hero.
In other news... my room's a tip, I've only eaten apricots and toblerone today, my hair looks like a precarious birds nest having been just released from its bun... and I have to go out in about 10 minutes for a gig in Tooting. Rather than solve any of these problems, I'm blogging about a genius taxi driving man that I'm not sure I'll ever get over. Huzzah for the world.