Taxi for Gimplord

I really don't like getting into any kind of conversation with a taxi driver.

Shut up and drive as Rihanna would say. By the way, what a forehead that lass has. You could lay out a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle on it. That's a girl who really suits a fringe.

Anyway, yes, taxi driver conversations are uniformly dull and that's because they always set the agenda. You never get into a taxi and think, right today I'm going to talk to the driver about the Wesley Snipes tax trial, the upcoming rugby internationals, what DVD he last rented and if he's ever had an STD.

Nope, never happens. Instead you're asked about your work, weather, traffic, roadworks and if you know the best route to where you're going as he can't be arsed thinking about it.

Even worse are these microphones they have so that when the taxi stops these speakers activate and you can hear the driver talking more clearly. Unfortunately you can also hear them masticating and, as happened to me last week, you get a good belch in stereo sound.

I just close my eyes, pretend I'm asleep and start daydreaming as Rihanna tells me she's missing a bit of edge and could I get down on all fours and help her find it.