GLASGOW taxi drivers are nothing short of an institution.
They have an answer or solution to any problem, their general knowledge is astounding, they have the best gossip when it comes to famous people getting cabs when they've obviously had one or two sherries (unfortunately in my experience the stories are usually about me, a kebab and serenading them with the one Celine Dion song I know in French at 3am in the morning) and they are now the 'go to' men and women for Independence debates.
In the last week I've had two or three drivers debate the upcoming referendum with such passion and gusto while sitting in the back of their cars I'm certain even Jeremy Paxman would have found it hard to outsmart them when it comes to the bare facts or lack of them.
Yes our taxi drivers are a force to be reckoned with and I'm sure everyone of us has a funny or embarrassing story they could recount, I have many although one does stand head and shoulders above the rest.
It was 1998 and my parents and three younger sisters were in Spain on holiday leaving myself and my younger sister Lynsey home alone for the first time ever and in charge of the house.
My mother had spent the best part of an hour before she left carefully describing to us the world of pain we were in for if we even dared to misbehave or step out of line.
We both promised to be perfect angels but of course the reality was that only three hours after waving them all goodbye our house had 40 teenagers squeezed into it for the party of the century.
I awoke the next day with a phone call from my manager asking why I hadn't turned up for work that morning to which I responded with some wild excuse and promised to be at my desk within the hour.
I jumped into a shower and opened my wardrobe door to find all of my clothes gone and one single coat hanger swinging on the rail.
Turns out my younger sisters had emptied every wardrobe and drawer into their suitcases and left us with nothing.
I've always been on the bigger side and must have been a good size 18 even back then but I managed to find an oversized silk shirt (it was the 90s) and a Lycra size 12 skirt.
It took all my strength to get the skirt over my hips and backside but even Dynamo couldn't get the zip to close which was fine as the shirt covered most of the skirt anyway.
I called a taxi and in no time was zooming over the M8 and on my way to work.
Now to this day I'm still not quite sure what exactly happened but I think I tried to cross my legs while sitting in the back seat chatting to the driver when my skirt gave up the fight and split completely up the back through the zip and because it was made from Lycra flew off my body and into the passenger seat of the car leaving me wearing nothing but a satin shirt and a pair of 15 denier tights which now had a huge ladder up them caused by the force and speed of which the skirt was ripped off my body.
To say that poor taxi driver almost went into cardiac arrest would be an understatement and I spent the remainder of the cab journey back to my house trying to convince him that I didn't take my skirt off and throw it at him.
Yes that's my embarrassing taxi story so if you were that taxi driver and you're still in therapy I apologise and for future drivers fear not my clothes will remain firmly on unless of course you start asking me questions such as 'what's that Simon Cowell was really like?", then I'm afraid all bets are off.
So I began my first week of Active 2014 and it's actually going pretty well.
I've bought myself a juice machine and I've had at least one pint of vegetable juice every day.
I also went for a good brisk 40 minute walk around Queens Park twice last week and was soaked to the skin in the process so my new challenge for this week is to join one of the Glasgow Club gyms to eliminate the need to exercise in waterproof clothing and wellies, an attractive look I'm sure you can imagine.