For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Man the pumps (22.02.11)

I read an interesting article regarding the fuel rises of late. Someone with more time on his hands that is really healthy came up with these interesting figures. Being the same age as me he started driving in 1965 and according to his calculations, the national average wage was £700 a year or around £13 a week (I was on £5 per week, but no mind), and I was paying four shilling (20p) for a gallon of diesel. That meant I could buy a total of 67.5 gallons if I was earning £13 a week. The national average pay today is £22,000 a year or £423 a week and the average price of diesel is £5.81 a gallon, so I can now buy 73.15 gallons of fuel with a week’s wages. As a percentage of my earnings, I’m paying less for fuel than I was 46 years ago. So why do I get angry over the cost of motoring or is it that as a cabbie I’m buying over £120 of the stuff a week?

This simple “back of a fag packet” calculation would indicate that we have nothing to complain about when it comes to fuel prices, for they are charging less in real terms than they were 40 years ago. Should we be concerned about the companies that sell the product, who cares that Shell was raking in £1.6 million an hour in the final quarter of last year? Well, yes we should.

With oil reserves becoming so inaccessible it produced the fiasco that BP found itself in the Gulf of Mexico last year. And now with proposals to drill under the polar icecaps, and all the difficulty that will entail, not to mention the possible cost to this fragile ecosphere, you would think that the diesel for my cab would be remorselessly rising faster than the cost of living. But according to my fag packet calculations that is not the case.

For more added value can be obtained from processing the black gold. Shell makes the vast bulk of its profits on the “upstream” side of the business – producing oil and gas – rather than the “downstream” refining and petrol sales. These by products are much more profitable than flogging diesel to London cabbies, which after all are only going to burn it and come back for more.

It is for this reason that oil companies are increasingly trying to alienate themselves from the motorist. Take the typical petrol station, its forecourt is dirty, fuel often leaking from nozzles and covering your hands with diesel, and here’s the rub: Notices that tell the motorist – and only the motorist that he’s dishonest. The motorist is photographed from every angle while you brace yourself from the wind that always seems to blow through these soulless places. There is on the forecourt a presumption of guilt. On each pump the sign reads: “Make sure you have sufficient funds BEFORE you fill up. We will prosecute anyone who drives off without paying for their fuel.” And this might surprise some, at night garages insist on payment up front, so you have to queue up in the cold twice to pay (the second time is because the high prices make it impossible to stop at the desired amount). When paying up front I once requested a receipt and I was told once by the poorly paid attendant I’ll give you a receipt after you have filled up. My reply was of course: “If you don’t trust me, I’m hardly going to trust you”.

If you are lucky to enter the warmth of the shop what do you find? Well, if it is in Chelsea or Fulham everybody doing their weekly shop. So you have to queue as if it was Tesco on a Saturday morning. And here’s the thing: those shoppers don’t have to pay up front for their frozen peas, milk or bread, nor are they told as they peruse the shelves they are potential thieves.

So here are my suggestions taken from when I was paying 20p a gallon: Stop serving coffee and selling groceries; man the pumps and clean the forecourt; have you staff in smart uniforms and pay them enough so they actually do care if I buy diesel; trying getting your attendants to fill the tank so they get covered in diesel and not me; and get them to wash my windscreen if it is necessary. But it’s unlikely to happen for you see the multi-national oil companies only make a few pence profit per litre – some estimates are as little as 2p a litre.

Finally, and I promise this is the last gripe, why, with previous Governments spending a fortune encouraging motorists that drinking and driving don’t mix, are these shops which happen to have petrol pumps attached to them, allowed to sell alcohol?

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Divided by a common language (15.02.11)

It’s that time of year again when all the hotel chains offer cut price breaks to pull in the punters.

In the summer months communicating with London’s visitors is simple: those tourists from the Middle East have learnt two or possibly three words of English; “Harrods”, “Selfridges” and “ThankYou”. Europeans on the other hand make a better fist of it: the Dutch have better English grammar than most cabbies I know (I was told once that they watched BBC TV from a young age); most other Europeans have English as their second language and feel the need to brush up their linguistic skills with any cabbie they can find. The ever resourceful Japanese take some headed notepaper from their hotel room and show it to the driver.

Thank goodness the American’s have a sense of humour for although they speak American it is not easily understood by the English “Our hotel is in South-Waark” or “Li-Cest-Tur Square are common phrases. But after some good humoured banter on the correct pronunciation of tomato or potato we usually manage to arrive at their destination.

But for our bargain mini break visitors, well, it’s frankly embarrassing; to paraphrase it is like two languages conjoined by a common country. If I can do my best at Estuary Speak and sprinkle “geezer”, “wots up” and “fink” into my lexicon, those northern folks after watching Eastenders four times a week since the old King died, should at least understand me and I them.

But help is at hand from of all people The University of Leeds who are preparing a “Language and dialect atlas of Britain in the 21st Century”. In an important use of their £460,000 research grant they intend to highlight regional variations of English.

Just how we have got to this stage of the development of English since we have been speaking it among ourselves since Saxon times, with just a slight interruption from the Normans, I don’t know. For by now the BBC’s received English should be the spoken norm for all of us.

But what I do know is that Wayne and Charlene will not be using the research paper to brush up their cockernee for their next visit to the Capital. And certainly can I be bovvered?

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

In search of The Stone (04.02.11)

Every day thousands rush past a hideous grill attached to an empty 1960’s building awaiting redevelopment not realising that behind the ironwork set into a niche is one of London’s oldest landmarks, known to have been in The City since 1198.

While on The Knowledge it took me some considerable time to track down the so-called lonenstan or London Stone, an unprepossessing piece of Clipston limestone or oolite. With its round-shouldered top and twin grooves, measuring about 18 inches across, if found in a field, one would ignore it.

The discovery of remains beneath Cannon Street Station led archaeologists to believe that a Roman Governor’s Palace once stood on the site. It is known that during the reign of Augustus, a central stone was placed in the Forum in Rome, this measured 8ft tall and was covered in bronze. The obelisk was used to mark the starting point for the measurement of Roman highways. When London became the capital of Britannia a similar point would have been needed. Could this be the top part of the golden milestone that was used to measure the straight Roman roads that radiate out from Londonium?

Edward III made London Stone the axis of London’s trade and granted rights to hold markets within a 7-mile radius and Jack Cade during the 1450 Kentish peasants’ revolt struck London Stone with his sword and declared himself Lord Mayor of London, he was subsequently killed and his head ended up on a pike adorning London Bridge.

London Stone has been the subject of various legends including that Brutus brought it here from Rome; the stone marks the site of Druidic sacrifices; that it sits on a Ley line connecting significant places and marks the mystical centre point of London or even the British Isles; that the stone one formed stone circle of King Lud (whence came Ludgate); and that the City’s prosperity depends on its safekeeping.

The London Stone is pure history, there are so many amazing stories and theories behind it, yet thousands of people walk past it every day not even realising there is anything there. This lump of ancient and mystical limestone must be the most the most unnoticed and unloved tourist attractions in the City of London – and all you have to do is search for it. To point you in the right direction follow this link.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Committed to Committee (01.02.11)

What’s the difference between the Millennium Dome and the O2 Centre? Well, when the Dome was conceived and built on the Greenwich Peninsular – probably the most inaccessible spot on the planet – the “stuff” the Dome contained was chosen by a committee; worse than that, it was a Government appointed committee. So after deliberating interminably they came up with riveting ideas to pull in the punter, such as Faith: Making of Key Life Experiences, How Shall I Live?

Within one month of its opening it was running at a loss, nobody wanted to enter its canvas portals. Even the charismatic and talented Pierre-Yves Gerbeau could not persuade people to cough up the cash for a visit.

When it closed it was costing over £250,000 a month just to sit there gathering dust. Then the American billionaire Philip Anschutz came along, bought the place and spruced it up and persuaded O2 to sponsor the place to the tune of £6 million. And do you know what? With a government committee allowed nowhere near the place it’s been voted three years running as the world’s favourite popular music venue selling 75 per cent more tickets than its nearest rival. Yes, that’s right, better than Madison Square Garden, Wembley Arena or Sportpaleis in Belgium. An oversized tent in the middle of nowhere surrounded on three sides by water the world’s favourite – amazing.

Roll on a decade and we now have the Olympic Delivery Authority getting their collective knickers in a twist over who will take on the 2012 Stadium in east London.

Now here I should declare an interest – or more accurately – a non-interest, I don’t follow football. Get in my cab and I won’t be regaling you with my opinion of the upcoming transfer window; my interpretation of the offside rule, or for that matter; talking about Beckham’s left foot. What does rather exercise my brain however is how this Government, through its committees, spend my hard earned taxes.

The Olympic Stadium which is expected to cost £547 million and seat 80,000 spectators, who might be expected to pay on average say, £20 per seat per day, and given that the 2012 Olympic Games will last 17 days plus 12 days for the Paralympic Games, £46.4 million could be generated from ticket sales. That is if the Olympian God of profit (Dionysus the God of wine, celebrations and ecstasy possibly) was on their side,but unfortunately that leaves a short fall of at least £500 million.

Now two London football clubs are bidding for the venue. The original design allowed for 55,000 seats to be removed at the end of the 2012 Olympics which seems to be agreeable for West Ham with their smaller gate, but they apparently need a Government subsidy to pay for the Stadium. The other contender is cash rich Tottenham who have promised to redevelop the dilapidated athletics facility at Crystal Palace as part of their bid to take on the Olympic Stadium, which they intend to demolish and rebuild without the running track. Who want to demolish the stadium and as a sweetener is prepared to upgrade Crystal Palace Sports Centre, seems crazy to me. Why don’t Spurs just build a new stadium – in say – Tottenham?

Anyway my advice to both clubs don’t employ a government committee to help you in your endeavours, you’ll be bankrupt before next season.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Formerly Off Alley (28.01.11)

This little alley close to Charing Cross Station commemorates York House which once occupied a 7-acre site overlooking the river Thames.

Originally owned until the Dissolution in 1536 by the Bishops of Norwich, Henry VIII then passed it on to an old friend the Duke of Suffolk and in 1624 the estate eventually came into the possession of George Villiers, The Duke of Buckingham.

Villiers restored the bishop’s old estate and built the magnificent York Watergate which survives marooned in Embankment Gardens.

Villiers was murdered in 1628 by a Puritan fanatic, but the Duke’s wife lived there until she lost the property in the Civil War. Her son, the second Duke, fortuitously fell in love with the daughter of York House’s new owner and on marriage regained his family’s home.

He had a better eye for heiresses than finance, for by 1672 he found himself in hoc up to his neck and sold the house to speculators to redevelop the site. The second Duke of Buckingham secured £30,000 for the house and gardens to repay his debts.

But one stipulation of the sale Buckingham insisted upon was that the developer Nicholas Barbon record literally every sound and syllable of his Grace’s name and title; Buckingham Street; Villiers Street; Duke Street and George Street still remain.

But unfortunately the Burgers of Westminster don’t possess the wit of Nicholas Barbon when he named the streets, for Of Alley has been given the rather prosaic title of York Place.

A footnote: George Villiers, 2nd Duke of Buckingham started the first foxhunt in England, The Bilsdale Hunt in 1668 and later started the Sinnington Hunt in 1680. He died from a chill after digging for a fox above Kirkbymoorside. At his death in 1687, the title again became extinct.