|Donald Trumps Big Green Ballbag|
What is this I am hearing about a financial crisis? I have never heard such bollocks! My customers are enjoying the best available to them. Wrists are still heavy with the best watches money can buy and when I get them home, their drive has all the latest and newest vehicles, my boot is always full with shopping fresh from Milan, Monaco, New York and Leeds.
I meet and greet men dressed in the finest Zegna suits, unfortunately, the amount of times I see the ‘handmade in Italy’ label still attached to a sleeve and the pockets still stitched up is on the increase, new money I suspect. I can forgive the new young executive for not being aware of such things and wanting to make an impression on his peers but walking through duty free and spraying everything on to your new Italian finery and present yourself to me smelling like a tarts handbag is quite frankly atrociously unforgivable to me and woman kind.
I have a regular customer that owns a golf course in the beautiful Sussex countryside; it has become an academy of excellence for the tuition of golf, it is full to capacity all year round with eager fellows with their brand new sets of golf clubs arriving from all over the world. Still freshly reeling at the excess baggage cost getting them into the country I can often kill a conversation by mentioning that it would have been cheaper to buy the golf clubs here and give them away when they have bent them on our frozen greens.
Women do not escape my critical but forgiving eye for detail either. Consider impossibly large handbags that are in vogue at the moment, (You now, the ones you can put a medium sized fluffy dog in and all of its latest Burberry outfits.) I have recently seen one carried by the most diminutive of women wearing a 1950’s Chanel two-piece she probably procured from a disgustingly expensive vintage shop in Paris, perhaps hoping that lime yellow dogtooth check will come back into fashion one day. (Let’s all hope it doesn’t eh?) These bags are not fashionable when a woman is about four foot eleven; she looked like a toddler carrying a laundry sack.
The only real crisis I encounter regularly are the well-travelled and well-heeled failing to grasp the concept of the UK being aggressively intolerant to smokers. Lighting up big, long, elegant Cohiba Corona Especiales cigars when in my cab is now, not allowed by my delicate lungs and the big nasty government. My polite request to extinguish the cigar is awkward and often culminates, sadly, in it being lobbed out of the window. In fact, on one occasion a whole box of them flew out of the window by an enraged ruddy faced large American completely dressed from head to toe in beige. He would have blended into a sand dune in the Sahara, yes, I know, THAT beige.
So listen up, there is no crisis. You fashion worshipping, cocaine sniffing, tax avoiding, cheap fag buying gadget fiends. Ok?