I’ve just seen a man riding a customised bike up Tottenham Court Road with two children on board, one in front of the handlebars the other as a pillion passenger, none wearing head protection, and no rear lights in the dark.
What’re the chances? Twice in a week, I’ve had a job right out to Richmond. Went to the same expensive road both times, they lived 6 doors away from each other.
Some dozy twat of who went under the grand name of the junior Lib Dem Business Minister once seriously suggested that all verbal undertakings offered by tradesmen to their customers should be enforceable by law and to that end, the customer should record this on their mobile phone as evidence. It means that if Ms Jo Swinson’s proposal makes it to the Statute Book I could be prosecuted if I tell a punter “Hop in, Guv, I’ll get you to the airport in 30 minutes”, and the Westway is jammed solid.
I once had my favourite punter in the cab, close to completing a 25-minute journey, while thrusting his i-phone at me, proclaim that I’ve “taken the wrong way”. I patiently point out that he is holding the map upside down and if I had taken his route we would be drowning in the Serpentine by now. The conversation ended at that point.
Just come across a blog, described as ”part art project, part labour of love, part experiment, part mission to highlight how shit our roads are” the pothole gardener wants to brighten up a few peoples lives momentarily, and creating mini-gardens in potholes is my means. He does this by planting out potholes, well if you can’t get rid of potholes, why not?