Whilst having our usual catch-up my friends and I got chatting about the pleasant taxi driver who had just dropped us off at the pub.

“That’d be a great job,” enthused Mae.

“Don’t you fancy it Janice?”

“You’re not stuck in the office, and you get to meet nice people all day long.”

“Recently my mum came out of Tesco and jumped in a taxi with all her shopping,” explained Angela.

“She sat in the back seat for ages blethering to the driver before giving him her address.”

We wondered what could have happened to Angela’s mum.

“Eventually when he managed to get a word in, the driver turned round and explained that he wasn’t a taxi driver, and that he was just waiting to pick up his wife!”

“Goodness, she must have felt a fool getting out of the car,” Christine guessed.

“Well, not as much as I did a couple of years back.” I continued.

“I jumped in the back of a taxi and waited for the driver to return.”

“When no one returned eventually the penny dropped that the burger van behind was indeed attached to the car I was in, which meant I had to get out in front of the long queue of people looking a right idiot for sitting in a car with a burger van attached to it.

This led me to tell them about my colleague Yvonne and her husband Bobby who were in Glasgow to celebrate her birthday recently.

Apparently, a number of hours and quite a few drinks later, they staggered out on to the streets of Glasgow.

Sensibly they decided that perhaps it was time to call it a night and, a little worse for wear headed for the last train.

However this seemed like a mammoth task, even to coordinate where the train station was.

“I jisht cannae wait for a train,” Yvonne slurred.

“Letshh…… jump in a taxi.”

So, as if hailing a taxi on a busy Saturday night in Glasgow was the simplest thing in the world, the pair staggered off.

But no matter how many times they waved their arms, whistled, made gestures, no taxi would stop.

Finally, a driver shouted from his cab window.

“If you want a taxi you’ll need to get one from the rank.”

So, off they went in search of a taxi rank.

But as luck would have it, as they passed a local nightspot, a black hackney drew up to pick up his hire.

That’s when Bobby decided to be a bit of a smart ass.

“Shorted Yvonne,” he said smugly.

“No need for ushhh to queue at a rank.”

“Taxshi,” Bobby hollered and waved frantically at the driver.

“McGonigle?” The driver asked out the wee side window.

“Yep, thatshhh….. shrite mate.”

“McGonigle,” Bobby slurred with a big cheesy grin on his face.

So after ungentlemanly shoving his drunken wife into the back of the cab, Bobby shouted out his address.

“Twenty shix ******** Court, Baillieshton mate.”

Perhaps it was just years of experience, but for whatever reason the driver then turned to Mr and Mrs McGonigle and asked.

“Are you sure you ordered this cab?”

“Of courshhhh….” an inebriated Yvonne replied.

“Ages and ages and ages ago.”

“OK then.” The driver had noticed another couple frantically waving their arms at his cab.

“Spell McGonigle.”

Yvonne stared at the driver as though she had just been asked a Mensa brainteaser.

“Eh?”

“Ssshpell whit?”

“McGonigle,” the driver reiterated.

Hesitantly the drunk passenger attempted to spell what was supposed to be her own name.

“M for makeup.”

Hic hic.

“C for ….. em chips.”

Yvonne’s use of the phonetic alphabet wasn’t quite up to speed.

“Thatshhh a wee c by the way.” She felt obliged to confirm.

“G for ……

“Bobby,” Hic hic.

“Whit’s G for?”

This question was too much for Bobby’s brain as he swayed on the back seat.

“C’mon folks,” huffed the driver.

“It’s simple.”

“Just spell McGonigle.”

“Shooooo….Where are we up to?” Bobby had the cheek to ask.

“Shink we were at a wee sheee for ships.” Yvonne replied.

“It was actually G the driver butted in,” Now smugly confident his tactic was working.

“G?” Bobby questioned.

“Okay mate.”

“G for em, em, emmmmmm”.

Bobby’s brain was ready to explode due to concentrating on phonetically spelling his ‘own’ name.

Meanwhile, his Mensa brained wife was fast asleep on his shoulder.

By now the driver had sussed the fraudulent pair and sternly commanded.

“Right the pair of you……. OUT.”

Summing up her night Yvonne explained.

“You know Janice, some of these taxi drivers are very short tempered.”

“I mean, me and Bobby were just trying to get home.”

And I thought to myself.

Me a taxi driver.

Never.