God drives a taxi.

One, of many, good things about Aberystwyth is that it's small enough to get to anywhere in the town on foot. Although on nights out you sometimes just want to be lazy and taxi it.

I don't normally like getting into taxis as the drivers often scare me. They tend to be either quiet and surly, and you start to fear that there's a meat cleaver, masking tape and cheese grater in the glove compartment; or overbearingly friendly and you have to answer all the usual questions as well as pretending to actually give a flying fuck about how busy they've been and what time they knock off.

This has all changed recently with the introduction to my life of the finest driver ever. For the purposes of anonymity, we'll call her "Linda".

On the last two nights out she has provided the wonderful transport thrice. But when you get into Linda's cab you know you're in for more than a smooth drive. She is kind, warm and generally lovely.

Examples:

• On the first trip my group of friends, for reasons I cannot disclose here, got onto the subject of spit roasting. Many taxi drivers would possibly ignore this or even show signs of disgust, but lovely Linda told us about the time she went to a house party and got done at each end by two burly rugby fellas in the garden. This was a liberating experience and everyone should do it at least once.
• Last night Linda councilled a member of my group on the woes of relationships, as well as marrying me to the lucky breeder sitting next to me and assuring us that she's never been tempted into lady love. All in the space of 2 minutes or so!!!
• There are other ace things too, but I'm sadly never in a fit state to remember them fully.

The good news for you all is that Linda's agreed to presenting a daytime, better-than-that-cunt-Jeremy-Kyle, chatshow. Should I ever be in the position to comission a chat show.


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