I live very high there...

Two young lads approached me in Piccadilly Circus. "How much to Travelodge Covent Garden?" - asked a fat, dodgy looking fellow with funny cut eyebrows. He wore those, well corny, big, round, bad boy style, goldie looking signet rings. He had that attitude too, one could tell by his eyes... The other lad looked pretty harmless. The bully haggled hard. Finally we agreed a tenner fare. As soon as I got to their hotel fatty looked around and said: "It's not the one. Go there!" He showed me a little, back street off Drury Lane. I did as he wanted. "Stop here!" - he ordered. "We haven't got any money!" He looked at me boldly. "We've got to get in!" So now it actually was their hotel. "I'll go with you." - was my answer. I got off my trike. Bully had an opportunity to see clearly that I was much bigger than him. And it was his idea to get into that back street... He didn't seem to be so self confident any more. "But I live very high there, you see..." He indicated hotel's upper floors. "It's ok!" I grinned. "Ok. We've got only a fiver, actually six quid..." "Well, I need four more then..." Fatty looked rather lost. Other lad looked pretty harmless. "Erm... Have you got change?" "Loads!" I assured him.

Phone calls from wifes and girlfriends

Early in a morning, especially on Sundays, the base where we keep our rickshaws is definitely taken to another dimension or maybe even a higher mystical level. Entering an altered state of consciousness many of us become Übermenschen. Superman Alex (he´s a geezer), Frenchie, Billy, Hungarian Brotherhood, Immortal Fans of Vallenato and many other Little Big Men drift away in search of meaning of life or maybe quite on contrary, to try to forget what is this actually all about... Incredible, true stories, quips, banters and wisecracks, nutters, lost and promiscuous female clubbers and even true artists whirl around like colorful, exotic butterflies amongst vivid and withal exotic flowers. Rickshaws´soundsystems emit beats, hands transmit joints and bottles, wise conversate, fools laugh, nuts go nuts. Time passes quickly and suddenly mobile phones start to twitter. ¨Don´t go!¨ - a friend stops me. ¨Why not?¨ ´Let´s stay and drink!¨ Showing me his mobile he adds: ¨My battery got flat and no one has a nokia charger but that´s all right cause my girlfriend can´t call me!¨

Figure that out

I was right by the base when that young man stopped me. It was about 4.30 am, cold like hell. He wanted to go to Tower Hill. I gave him a critical look. Nice black suit, white shirt and smart shoes, all new and all dramatically spoiled. It seemed like he was weltering about in half melted, muddy snow on a road, or God knows where and in what exactly... At that moment he was already quite sober. ¨Have you got money to pay me?¨ ¨Don't worry! I will make sure that you get your money!¨ He turned around and went to a cash point nearby. Furtively I removed my blanket from passenger´s seat. (It would be bad enough has he stained the seat itself. Why should I wash my blanket only because he doesn't know how to drink?) He came back with some receipt in his hand. ¨Can you figure that out?¨ ¨Sure!¨ I took it from his hand and read loudly: ¨Your card has been blocked...¨ ¨Hmm... Could you give me some directions please?¨ I showed him the way and placed my blanket back on the seat.

Pussy´s smell

A fellow rider told me about his three customers who wanted to go to a strip bar. Everything seemed to be all right, until they got outside that place. Two of them liked it and basically got in. The third one, though, shouted: "I can't smell pussy in here!", quickly mounted that rider's rickshaw and drove it right into a broken glass puncturing front tire. Desperate rider tried to get some help from other two guys and asked them to talk some sens into that geezer. By the time he got them out, from that bar's reception area the third nutter drove off and even flat tire wasn't able to stop him or slow him down too much... Seeing that, the rider, chased him hastily. The loony finally abandoned his tricycle and fled.

Message in the bottle

There was a bottle in Cambridge Circus. She was a wine bottle. Once full and corked, now abandoned and nearly empty. Nearly. She wasn´t complaining though. At least she wasn´t broken yet and there was something left over inside of her. Nobody could even try to talk about half emptiness here but nevertheless... ¨They only want you when you´re seventeen, when you´re twenty one you re´not fun...¨ - the bottle was humming quietly and that very moment a, somewhat homeless, geezer spotted her and marveled at her, somewhat passing, beauty. He approached her unabashedly, lifted her up and looked through her! The he looked inside her, right through her neck! Finally he smelled her and one could tell that he liked her more and more! She accepted his advances enthusiastically! He swept her away like a bat out of hell and carried her in his arms like a little baby. ¨What a beautiful couple!¨ would have thought anybody who had seen them together.

Father Christmas

Why people who go out for a drink in December eagerly wear Father Christmas's suits?!? In any case I met one of those last night on Oxford St. He was quite drunk and looked lost. I asked him if he needed directions. "Thank you mate!" - he replied politely - "I know very well where I am. I do appreciate what you do! I don't think you can help me but I'll give you a story." I was all ears :)
"Look at this building! I've got to buy it within a few days..." "Really?! What you gonna do with it?"
"I'll smash it and then I'll rebuild it. The problem is that property behind it... I've been working on it during last five days... " He looked ridiculous in his red suit. He was pretty boozy and the whole situation was hmmm... surreal. Nevertheless I tended to believe that he was genuine. Finally he shook my hand and disappeared in depths of night...

Hey what about me?!

Once I got a lift with two not too young, not too fit and not too slim lasses. I agreed to drive them to their hotel. On the way one of them kept touching, slapping and squeezing my bum. After a while it started to be annoying... I promised her then that as soon as we get outside their hotel I will surely do the same to her. She disregarded my warning completely. After a while we reached our destination. They paid me and as they were about to leave I asked her to wait a moment. She looked puzzled but I didn´t care. I grabbed her arse cheeks with my both hands and started to squeeze them vigorously. Her friend, seeing that, mooned and shouted accusingly ¨Hey! What about me?!?" The porn flick we shot later on is available on my website... LOL LOL LOL

Where is Simon?

Christmas time entails many merry peripeteias.
First of all there were those two guys, one steering another very drunk one, on Regent St. His completely boozed companion wore a big bright orange plastic bag as a bib. I had never seen anything like that before, however I must admit that I truly admired the idea. Seriously, somebody should start to fabricate bibs for late night drunks, so they don't spoil their smart outfits by throwing up all over themselves anymore. After many a year of investigating the problem I daresay that overshoes would be also very applicable.
At some point I had to stop by Oxford Circus station. One rat-arsed young men greeted me in French. He carried on, speaking that language. I asked him why was he speaking French. He answered that he had been taking many french lessons. Then he added (mixing French and English constantly): "Look at Oxford Circus! Look at those people! There's nobody friendly around here! I'm looking for somebody nice and friendly!"
When I asked where was he from he answered that he was a Moroccan from Chicago, leaving in Montreal. Afterwards there was much more nonsense said on his behalf, both in English and French. Finally he said he respected people who took the responsibility of driving others from one place to another and that I was worth much more then I would probably think I was. It was then that he spotted some nightshift workers emerging from the tube station and ran to make friends with them too...
Later on a gent, whom I spotted wondering around Cambrige Circus told me that two Irish gayboys stole his hat and escaped. "How odd!" - he added - "I came here from NY on business trip to get my hat stolen! I'm an Irishman too..." I advised him to write about it in his blog or something. He wished me a good night and went on in search of his hat...
A girl standing not so far from me started to say something in my direction. I couldn't quite get it until I got a bit closer to her (that does not implicate any carnal knowledge of her on my behalf). She kept repeating one phrase. Finally I got it. Giving me a well dramatic look she kept asking: "Where is Simon?!"

I respect your hustle!

Every now and then somebody shouts at me: "Find yourself a real job!" Obviously he walks away quickly while saying it... Many people also refuse to seat "on that thing". I remember once two guys asked me for directions but they didn't know London at all. Very politely I intended to explain to them where was that place they wanted to get to but it was quite hopeless. I offered them a lift then. One of them wouldn't mind, but the other just said loutishly: "I'm not getting on that fucking thing!!!" "Well, fuck off then!" - I advised him eagerly. I smile every time I remind myself the face he pulled while leaving.
On another occasion a customer invited me to join him when getting in a stripbar. One of the bouncers tried to stop him saying: "C'mon! What are you doing! The rickshawriders are just a bunch of punks!"
One night I was stopped by a very posh company. They asked me to take two ladies (likely girlfriends of some of them) to a very expensive hotel. Nobody asked me about price. One of guys gave a acouple of notes to women. As I arrived ladies asked me how much was the lift. Wondering what was gonna happen I said that it was up to them and... I was given a fiver. Very disappointed I told that story to Guiseppe (a very, very experienced rider), later on. He laughed and said: "You see, people give you as much money as they think you look like. Clearly you look like £5!"
One very cold winter night I was cycling through Wardour Street. It was snowing. A guy saw me and exclaimed: "You are a man! I Respect your hustle! You are a big man!" I felt proud, as usual when somebody r e s p e c t e d m y h u s t l e ;~)

Patrician

A seriously looking gent was walking down Regent St. His grey hair and smart clothes gave him an air of a patrician. I asked him politely if he was looking for any bar or any other place at all.
"Actually!" - his accent was rather common - "I would like to go to this hotel in Bayswater." I answered that I could take him there for only £20. "I will walk then!" - said he and carried on. "You are walking wrong direction though!" - I said to his back. "I don't give a fuck!" - to my disappointment uttered the "patrician" and kept walking.