Now, I thought I liked the mayor. Or perhaps it was that I liked the
thought of a mayor. Either way, a couple of conversations I've had recently have led me to believe I think nothing of the former thought and that actually,
that man's a bit of an arse. Grrrr me.
The inkling that he (the mayor) was a bit of a tit came when I heard that he'd put the cabbies license costs up from £120 to something like £285.00 - well that's not bloody fair is it? From that bit of news I tested it out on the other smashing cabbie boys and they all had bits to add, including the fact that when you use radio taxis that instant charge of £2 you get goes straight to THE BLOODY MAYOR.
So I wasn't terribly taken with the man myself, and then I got speaking to the chap in a hut-type-thing outside the big Boots near Piccadilly... Annoyingly, this man gets asked questions all day. I, for example, asked him if he knew where I could get a key cut. We got chatting anyway, as is my wont, and the next three people all asked similar stupid things, like: 'where is Piccadilly?' or 'Do you know where lie-chester square is' and 'am I in London yet?' (actually, perhaps mine was the most sensical, so there). Our happy chappy, a true East Ender with splinter sparkles in his eyes, answered every question as best as he could. Including mine. I told him he ought to have a sign saying 'Donations for directions appreciated' and he said 'well, it would help me pay my rent'.
His rent used to be £200 a month. It's now over a thousand pounds more than that. Because the mayor things that's okay. Christ. It's more, I'll have you know, than my extortinate rent, and that's saying something (at least, I think it was, I'm not terribly good at maths and numbers tend to just squelch in to a muddy math pit when I'm not looking and I could have most of the contents of this and the last post wrong)... Anyway...
So there he is, quintessentially one of the people that under-pin Our Lovely London, not too far removed from Our Great Cabbies. People like this man, whose name I never knew, are imperative to our city... they answer the stupid questions for us, point out the correct way of saying Leceister Square and make every tourists day by dropping a 'guv' here or there at the end of sentences. And above all else, he sold me a darn sight better espresso that some good awful, truly nasty, yuck, yuck, yeah doughnut place opposite (seriously, it was foul. I've been telling everyone. Horrible). And... he charged me £1. And shook my hand, and made me smile.
So I gave him £6, well - I was paying for the day's directions.
Bad Mayor. Nice Man in hut. Help keep London lovely...
