Monthly Archives: July 2018

Lost Property & Missing Policemen

(Original edit, and original title, of article written for Taxi magazine).

I hadn’t found any lost property in the cab for a long time. I was keen to get home to start a three-day weekend when my vigilance deserted me and I let a man leave his phone in my cab.

These things always seem to happen at the end of the day before a day off.  I have an excellent record for re-uniting folk with their mobile phones though. What usually happens is they call the lost phone, I answer it; then arrange to deliver it make to the owner. No call came this time, so I took the official lost property route. It was frustrating though because I remember where I picked my man up and where I dropped him; I just didn’t know the door number.

It was 6.30pm, so the TfL Lost Property Office at Baker Street was closed. Not to worry, I knew West End Central Police Station would be open so I headed to Mayfair. The problem with police stations is that there’s no parking. They hardly encourage you to report a crime, do they?  I parked on the rank in New Burlington Street and made the sixty second walk to Savile Row. I wasn’t there long. Just long enough to read the notice saying they were closed.

It was Thursday and I was in Going Home mode on ComCab. I wouldn’t be back in London until Monday. Bearing in mind the twenty-four hour rule I thought where else could I hand in the phone? I then remembered a bilking incident from 2016. A PC at West Hampstead helped me recover some money after a penniless student fled from his own house leaving an unpaid £41 taxi fare. His parents weren’t in to lend him the cab fare from Shaftesbury Avenue to Hampstead and he panicked and fled the scene.  Anyway, I remember the police officer saying that he worked nights, so I was confident West Hampstead Police Station would be open, and it was on my route home.

The last time I handed something in at a police station was about twenty-five years’ ago. As a young butter boy I foolishly accepted a £50 note that two youths gave me as payment for a fare. When I went to pay for my meal at the Royal Oak caff we could all see the note was a fake.

Later that evening I heard a radio report about a gang of counterfeiters who had been apprehended. I figured my moody £50 note was probably one of their creations. When I handed it in at Tottenham Court Road, I half expected a reward;, but all they did was put my fifty into a plastic bag and send me on my way. Don’t forget I’d also given the two scroats about £40 change.

Tottenham Court Road Police Station is long gone, but I was pleased to find that West Hampstead was open. Great. I had my apology prepared as the male and female greeted me behind the glass: “It’s a boring one… Lost property.” The lady was even more apologetic than I was when she told me they no longer accept lost property. She also pointed out how lucky I was to find them open. She could clearly hardly believe it herself as she exclaimed that they only open three HOURS per week!

She had the air of a provincial librarian. In fact the whole place felt like a small town library. It wasn’t like the police stations I’d come to expect from watching TV. There was no harassed bloke in white shirtsleeves trying to tap stuff into a computer while folk drunkenly fell all over the counter mumbling nonsense. There were no streetwalkers sat sullenly on a bench awaiting processing, or hoping to be let off with a warning and a lecture on keeping yourself safe. It was just two middle aged people manning the station; and, I noted, a pet dog lying under a desk.

I know little about mobile phones, so I asked their help in trying to open the device to identify the owner. The man couldn’t open the phone either. They said I could go to Kentish Town Police Station as an alternative. I explained I was heading towards the M1 and home. He said I’d done my bit by trying two stations, so I agreed I’d have my three days’ off and take it to Baker Street on Monday.

We try our best to do the right thing and re-unite people with their lost property, but cuts to the Police Service have resulted in the situation where we’re put in a difficult position: TfL Lost Property Office works office hours; most police stations closed; and there’s nowhere to park if you are lucky to find one open.

They say the police are never around when you want them. Several days later I passed a rank of police vans parked up on Bridge Street prior to the anti-Brexit demo. There was a policeman in a yellow vest stopping people drive into Parliament Square. I wondered what station all these coppers came from, and whether if I tapped on the door of the van they’d take down some particulars and put any lost property into a plastic bag for me?

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My World Cup Shame

I’d like to say I remember something about the 1966 World Cup – ANYTHING – but I can’t. True, I was only 4 1/2, but you’d think I’d remember something; at least the atmosphere around the event: perhaps my dad holding me aloft like the gleaming Jules Rimet trophy as our little black & white TV showed us beat off the West Germans? No, nothing.

During the 1970 World Cup I was living in rural Staffordshire. Like all my friends we collected the free Esso World Cup coins from fuel stations (not silly stickers in those days). They were swapped amongst us, and put on to a commemorative board (shown). Again, I remember nothing about the actual football event.
I don’t think my complete coin collection made it into 1971. In fact, I think I can remember destroying it, once it became irrelevant to my eight year old head. I expect they would’ve been swept away in a spirit of punk rock revisionism six years’ later anyway.
I’m not even going to research how much that collection might be worth now…
essoEsso 2

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The Book They Tried to Ban

I’m delighted to announce that last night I completed my book manuscript. I started it about five years’ ago. I wrote it part-time, and there was about a year when I didn’t touch it at all: I just never had the time when I was working as a Knowledge Examiner at TF Hell (and they wouldn’t have allowed me to publish anything mentioning them).

I’ve emailed the whole 93,200 words off for proof-reading and eventual book production. It’ll need formatting for book layout, cover design, &c. As I’m publishing it myself I have total control over all aspects of production.

I’ll post updates on the book’s production; and I’ll put up some outtakes (probably including my Brexit Rant chapter, which didn’t make the finished manuscript).

As an amuse bouche, here’s the contents list:

Contents

Introduction

 

1) The Knowledge

2) Butter Boy

3) My Personal Revolution

4) Back on the Cab

5) How it all Works

6) Passengers

7) Know Your Enemy

8) When Things go Wrong

9) Examiner

10) Back on the Cab (again)

11) Examiner 2

12) The Years of Change

13) Uber

14) The Future

 

Appendix A:  Q&A

Appendix B:  Knowledge Boy Tips

 

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