Posted on Sunday, September 26, 2010
in Family, Rantings, Taxi driving
That’s the thing about eight-seater taxis… you’re so muffled up the front in the driver’s seat that you can’t hear the bloke behind you spewing his Bacardi all over the kip so by the time you find out about it, it’s too late.
There’s an Aviation Day in Newcastle happening right about now, I had meself all geared up to bring the kids for a bit of face-painting, flight simulating and skydiver admireage, but it just wasn’t meant to happen I reckon.
Nope, it just so happens that our eight-seater taxi is also Laughingboy’s only mode of transport so one whiff of the pen in that taxi when I opened her up was enough to convinve me to make other plans. The heat of the sun had warmed her insides up a little, see, so the vomitus belch of stench that erupted was so strong it just wasn’t worth tolerating for the sake of an interview with the Irish Air Corps.
AND I’ve lost my rubber gloves.