I don’t think a day has gone by since the Romans arrived that Bishopsgate has been free of roadworks.

Occasionally, just occasionally a rather strange series of events play out in a working day. My first job was to pick up actor Ralph Fiennes and take him to an editing suite in Soho. Within yards from dropping him off, I was hailed by a guy in a wheelchair. As I was lowering the ramp he told me, and you’ll just have to suspend disbelief here, he had just been asked by a beggar for £15. Whatever happened to “Got any spare change Gov’nr?” Half an hour later, in the back of the cab, I found a camera case with a digital camera memory card within, but no camera. I inserted the card into my own camera that I always carry for the blog. Returning to the rather swish restaurant where my fare was dining I proffered my phone showing the punters image to the Maître’d and got him to scour the darkened restaurant. Errant punter found I returned to my cab with a self-satisfied smug look and little else.

I had resolved to stop writing up my diary, and then some irascible old trout gets into the back. It’s 6 o’clock in the evening and she asks “Baker Street”, now if somebody says “London Bridge” I don’t drop them off halfway across the River, I naturally assume they want the station. So after she has watched me head for Baker Street Station she waits until I stop outside the station to tell me she wants the Sherlock Holmes Hotel and then accuses me of being “A wrong’un”.

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.