A tale of two cabbies

Once in a while, I take the train from Chorley over to Liverpool to spend the evening with my chum, Bob. Normally we meet at around three o'clock but today we were meeting a little later and I took a cab straight over to a bar he has on Lark Lane. 

My train arrived late and, typical of privatised rail companies, no one endeavoured to keep us properly informed as to what was happening or when we might expect to arrive. So, as the cab pulled away from Lime Street, I texted Bob to say I was mobile and on my way.

This did not deter the driver from starting a conversation. Now I get that it's probably a perk - or maybe even one of the reasons - that people do this as a job: a bit of chat, air your views, pass the time. And I'm also pretty bad when it comes to small talk, so I'm a poor arbiter here, but when I said I'd come in from Chorley he replied "I bet that was a piece of cake".

Guys.

And then he explained to me why Chorley cake isn't actually a cake. Or maybe why it really is. idk as the young people say. 

But I had a splendid evening with Bob and our friend, Richard, and all too soon it was time to take a taxi back to the station. These local boys were dubious about my chances of flagging down a taxi and ordered me an Uber, my first one. 

I had my doubts about it, I must say, but the driver was a great guy. He came to Liverpool ten years ago and now he worked in a shop from early morning until mid-afternoon and then worked for Uber all evening, in order to get his daughters through school. 

Given that, I wonder were you think he came to Liverpool from? And what does that tell you about what we all really know about people who come here to make a better life for themselves and their families? They work at it!

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