Cablog

Messy

Last night I was asked, “Aren’t you going to blog about Anzac Day?” The inference being that surely there were some meaningful passenger encounters to report.

On later reflection the answer is, no, none of any note, save for a wasted ex-serviceman in a suit and medals who snored for the entire journey.

Whilst I was impressed by the number of young guys who’d attended Dawn Service in their local districts, even this encouraging sign was tempered by one who admitted, “I only went 'cause me mates went.” After which they hit the grog with gusto.

The overriding vibe around town was akin to an Australia Day party, or the excitement of New Years Eve making for one of my busiest and most profitable shifts ever.

And the traditional solemnity of Anzac Day was long gone by the time I started at 4pm with an endless succession of young adults, male and female, rotating from one venue to another. By then it was all about ‘hooking up’, booze and two-up.

Thus, in the cab, Anzac Day was messy, early.

UPDATE: For the police it was worse than messy.

Assumptions

During a downpour last night I was hailed by a bloke standing under the colonnades at Central Station. This is a favourite haunt of the homeless and wayward fleas as it affords shelter from the rain and relative safety during the night.

The hailer with unkempt hair and clutching a bottle of grog in a brown paper bag wore a shabby, long overcoat and white Dunlop Volley sandshoes without socks.

I almost drove on but something about him suggested he was no ordinary bum. Maybe it was the easy posture, projecting confidence and pride as he casually hailed with an assuredness that I would stop. He was right.

In fact, he was a banker running a start-up mortgage broking business who'd been out for a long walk and was heading home with a bottle of red wine. And he tipped, heavily.

So much for assumptions.

Weeds

With the advent of the financial crisis I’ve been starting work earlier each night rather than work beyond 3am. Prior to the crisis one could exploit the absence of cabbies at that time of morning but since November the late night corporate accounts have all but disappeared.

One area of afternoon work is around hospitals as staff, patients and visitors head home. Recently I collected an elderly woman down from the country for treatment of leukaemia.

On approach I thought she was a groovy baby-boomer with chopped white hair and colourful clothing. However as she hobbled to the front door it was obvious she was a patient in some distress.

After ordering an address in the inner west she told of visiting from a farm in western NSW for regular doses of chemotherapy and others operations. “See here,” she said, pulling back her blouse to expose a large bandage across the chest. “I just hope it doesn’t start bleeding again.” I immediately resolved to drive with extra care.

For a cancer patient she was surprisingly chirpy and happy to chat. Most likely, I guessed, due to escaping from the house of pain and death, if only for a nights reprieve in the real world.

Many country patients stay alone at boarding houses and motels so a friendly conversation with a cabbie is generally welcomed. I asked about the chemo side effects and she admitted the depression and weight loss was substantial due the leukaemia being fairly advanced.

When I suggested she may find marijuana a help she smirked and tapped her nose. “We might have a few weeds behind the shearing shed,” she chuckled, “just for me and a few friends in the same boat.”

And she didn’t need any advice on making pot cookies. Good for her.

Bleak

This was the Mid North Coast last week; rain, more rain and ugly, grey seas.

Due to the train line being washed out I was forced to drive rather than taking a relaxing train journey, necessitating a 5 hour return trip on Saturday for work that night.

However a two hour siesta got me through the shift despite receiving notice of the loss of three more demerit points. This occurred recently at a newish speed camera on Cleveland Street outside Sydney Girls High, doing 60 in a 50kph zone, late at night.

Yes, I made a mistake but, gees, speed limits clearly changed for the sole purpose of revenue-raising is bloody cruel.

James Hill

Remember James Hill, one of the Aussie applicants for The Best Job in the World ? Watch here as he receives news of being selected for the final 16 from a field of 35,000 candidates. Only problem is he's ensconsed in bleak London, alone, late at night. Congratulations also to Queensland's Hailey Turner.

(Aussies have their spray)

Spam

Random scene in East Sydney. Click image to view an intriguing, immobilised character.

Lately Cablog has been under attack by Eastern Europeans spammers. Okay, it's not a serious attack but the frequency is starting to irritate me to the point of needing to enable comment moderation until these clowns lose interest.

Thus comments will be withheld from posting until I get to them, usually at dawn and afternoons. Coincidentally I'm out of town until the weekend so it's a good time to delay further posts.

In the meantime you'll love reading some tales from a New York cabbie's blog, Cabs are for Kissing. Gene only posts every couple of weeks but, boy, he's a great storyteller. A good start is this piece chronicling the life of a taxicab, in words and images, from birth to reluctant retirement...with a fitting twist.