Alcohol
was always a necessary lubricant in the advertising business. Pubs were
landmarks and everyone knew where the Mucky Duck was located. Turn left at the
Crown and two Chairmen, past the Dog and Duck you will find the Carlisle Arms.
Characters spent time, sometimes lots of it and the quality of food was not an
inducement. Jeffrey Bernard was often unwell there.
Maurice
was a regular. He used to stop off there after work for a few jars before
taking a taxi home to Barnet. One evening lasted longer and on the way home,
after the taxi careered around a roundabout, Maurice fell off his seat and
disappeared from sight. The taxi duly arrived in Barnet and the driver said: "We’re here, Guvnor". When there was no answer and not spotting Maurice, he
assumed his passenger had slipped off at some traffic lights, cursed himself
for his carelessness and drove back into the West end.
Up
pops Maurice, asking; “Are we there mate?”
Alistair
decided to drive home late one night despite being well over the limit. Past
Baker Street and on the elevated section, he decided that since he knew the
road ran straight for a mile, he could afford to shut his eyes. He awoke, on a
roundabout and heading for the central reservation, he jerked the wheel around
and crashed into the barrier. Below him on the pedestrian underpass an elderly
Jamaican woman, on her way to an early cleaning job, stood shaking as she
brushed glass off her woolen hat. She said: “I tell you what, someone’s trying
to kill me. Third time this has happened this week”.
And
I killed my new car and the only taxi in Central London plying his trade at 3
am. Curiously there were hundreds of witnesses.
Even
stranger, they were all taxi drivers.
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