Dinner with Swedish king

Love, love, love! Sudden and unexpected strikes of passion - isn't it what human nature is all about? "Sex and violence" - was the song from The Exploited. The lyric succinctly, however very accurately indeed, describes what humans like to do the most, when off duty. A lot of booze is also (not) to be (v)omitted. When everything goes smoothly enough, there's no need to throw up nor fight. Winner takes all. That may even include a lost, lovely bird willing to spend the rest of the night with you. A hotel room is all you need.

Unfortunately that is the root of all problems. London town is a busy one. No matter day of the week, hotels are always full. A rickshaw rider is very often asked for help. I am never overenthusiastic about this kind of a challenge. It takes ages to find a vacancy and not every customer is generous enough to appreciate your efforts. And as the wind blows emotions grow cold... You not gonna believe it but there are some jokers out there who dare to offer one a "no room - no fare" deal...

Sometimes there's no choice left. Something is better than nothing. It's always a long journey and we talking here about visiting about 15 - 20 hotels minimum. Often a customer believes that he possesses some magic powers and insists on doing the talking himself. That leaves you alone with the pray for a while. One lady once kept assuring me (and probably herself as well) that: "He's not seedy, you know?" As if she knew him forever. But that's exactly how we click, isn't it? The short lasting feeling of "it seems like we've been knowing each other forever" is a key factor.

Another night I met that couple. That guy was Swedish, really cool and well spoken. He informed me right away that in case I find them a room he will get me a dinner with the Swedish king. How could I refuse? It wasn't easy. Journey was long and challenging. I was even stopped by the police who performed some routine check on me. My passenger kept shouting that he will pay all the fines, even though the officers assured him that there were no fines whatsoever. Finally we found a place. Object of his desire had the highest high heels I have ever seen in my life. I'm sure he deserved it. He was a gentleman and he knew well how to prove his appreciation in terms of money. At least that time finding a hotel for my customers was a good fun.

Dickhead

I just came from Beak Street. Right around the corner, on Regent Street, I saw a black cab. A guy with two women were getting on it (one female was already inside). That instant some other, well boozed fellow came quickly towards them. Suddenly I realised that he was some drunk boor, especially when shouting something unintelligible, he strongly pushed the other gent. I heard the other one asking in puzzlement: "Are you serious"? The drunkard started to shout insults and push both the other guy and first woman. Second one emerged from the cab only to be pushed too. It seemed to be a kind of an argument over who was first to flag that taxi down, but cabbie took no parts and was just waiting. I stopped behind the taxi and watched, wandering if that lunatic would really start punching them. The attacker was mad and drunk, red-faced , his eyes frenzied. He was ordering those people to get on that cab and be gone. They kept trying to reason with him for a while, to no effect though. He was constantly threatening them with violence, rising his fists and counting to three. By the way, I doubt he could count any better than that. "GET ON THE FUCKING CAB!!! I'M COUNTING! ONE! TWO! THREE!" Eventually those women persuaded the other fellow to actually leave that place on that cab, immediately. All of the sudden there where just two of us left. As he got closer I looked him in the eyes, smiled and asked quickly: "All right mate?!" "FUCK OFF!" He screamed and walked around my trike. He crossed Regent St and kept going towards Hedon St. There are some cash machines in the corner. I followed him wandering what would happen next. There, by the cash points, stood three smartly dressed gents and a lady. That ruffian approached them briskly. Again fists up, foam at the mouth, counting to three, he pushed one of them, then, repeatedly, another. They were regular people so just asked him to stop it and go away. He wasn't up for it at all. God only knows what would have happened if, suddenly, a police car hadn't arrived. That instant the wolf turned shepherd... As I was about to leave, that bully, smiling innocently, started to talk in a very friendly manner to questioning him police officer. I hope they didn't fall for it...

Where is left?

"Hey boss!!!" - a tall British lad shouted at me loudly and rudely. I stopped, as usual in that case, out of curiosity what the cat brought in this time. "Boss!" - he carried on shouting in the same manner - "Where is Leicester Square?" I answered boldly, imitating his tone: "You go straight and there is a big crossroads. You need to take a left into Charring Cross Rd. Then just carry on walking!" His ability to sense a sarcasm was clearly underdeveloped. On he went: "How long boss?" "About five minutes! Just take a left over there!" He seem to consider what was just said for a while. Then he looked at me and asked seriously: "So where is left, boss?"

Oyster card

Imagine this: I stand on the corner of Old Compton St. and Frith St., right by Cafe Nero. Some guys come from my left, some others arrive from my right. They see each other and greet each other enthusiastically! Around five-six people are standing in front of me, hugging, cheering and shouting merrily, like if they haven't seen each other for years. And then that girl appears. She holds an oyster card and starts tapping one of those on the shoulder. "Sir! Sir! Your oyster card! You dropped your oyster card!" That guy doesn't hear her. He doesn't even feel it when she is touching his shoulder. He's in the middle of an euphoric encounter. "YEAH! YEAH!" - him and people around him shout happily, blind and deaf for the outside world. She doesn't give up. "Sir! You just dropped your oyster card! SIR!" Those guys carry on for a while, as if nothing else mattered, but finally that fellow realises somebody's patting him, he turns around, looks down at her and says: "I don't do Oyster cards!" And everybody starts to laugh. And she stares at him perplexed: "But... But..." And then her boyfriend just drags her away...

Long lost civilisations

Night wasn't that young any more. Incredible stories were peeping through fissures in reality. Ghosts of the past were walking side by side with the mortals and nothing at all was certain. Those two fellows appeared out of nowhere. One of them was a stocky chap. The other was very, very short. They didn't want a lift. At that time of a night strangers seem to be like brothers, so those two basically stopped for a bit of a friendly conversation. After a while somebody asked them where were they from. "Peru!" - explained the stocky one. Then sniggered, pointed out his very, very short friend with a finger and added jeeringly: "Inca!"

The Connaught Mayfair

It was raining. I looked for a shelter inside my trike. Suddenly I was approached by two, smartly dressed gents in their fifties. "Take us to Connaught Mayfair. We want to pass by Bentley salon." - They politely ordered. I started to pull down the rainshield. They said they didn't want it. "You'll get wet." I warned. "We'll get wet like you guys!" I smiled internally, thinking that to get wet together is a great example of solidarity... There was something unusual about them. They spoke English with a very thick Atlantic twang, however between themselves they used French. It was a very bizzare French though. Were they some exceptionally snobby morons or, maybe, they came from Quebec? We will never find out... They asked me to stop by the corner of Bruton St. and Berkley Sq. to take a look at those fat Bentleys inside the salon. They cheered and shouted like little boys. Both of them produced their mobile phones and started to take some pictures... After a while they got enough of that and sat back on my trike. "Let's go to the hotel." Then, very unfortunately indeed, I got cofused. I couldn't remind myself where that bloody hotel exactly was. I was going in circles for a while. They didn't mind much, clearly enjoying our little journey. Finally I stopped by Chesterfield hotel on Charles St. and asked at the reception. Those very kind people who work there gave me directions. My destination was near by. I got there quickly. Believe me - The Connaught Mayfair is a VERY high profile hotel. I felt quite guilty so I said quickly: "Gentlemen, my apologies. If I were a Japanese I would commit a ritual suicide." They laughed. One of them asked: "How much do we owe you?" "20 quid." "20 what?" He didn't get it. "20 pounds." "Nooooo! This is too much!" I was soaked, sweaty and felt pretty humiliated. I just wanted to get over it quickly. "Okay then! Pay me whatever you like..." They exchanged a few phrases in their grotesque French. Then counted some change, one of them passed it to me and they were gone. Some say rich people live too far from reality to be human but "it occurred to me that, like most of the very rich people I had known, he was trying to save money" to buy a new Bentley, I suppose.

Corridors of power

One hundred six years ago was born Lord Charles Percy Snow, Baron Snow of City Leicester, English writer, physicist and politician. His political fiction presents a fascinating vision of influential academics, scheming politicians and lobbying businessmen fighting tooth and nail, amongst somewhat dark and narrow corridors of power, to carry off the palm. On his birthday I wonder what the highly privileged protagonists of his novels would think about rickshaws on the streets of London. Would they notice them at all? What would they say to people who spend a fortune on "Ban! Don't license!" campaign?

For ten years we've been patiently trying to set clear and fair rules for the industry and to get licensed. In exchange we've got only a tedious waiting game, abusive publicity and repetitive repressions towards rickshaw business. Repressions will not change anything. Simple and just rules can do it once and forever. Here we are - hard working, serious people. We are part of this city. Be responsible and let us do our job responsibly. Everyone will benefit from that. All we need is to get licensed. As a result all the fuss and misunderstandings will basically disappear.