DIARY OF AN URBAN BOGMAN, DAY 15. Conversation with Mr. Taxi Man, Pt. 1

There’s this taxi driver I call every time I need to get somewhere awkward, like a mystery place that is not connected by bus or rail, but for some reason still exists. In this city, where transport links look like they were drawn by a drunken three-year-old with a pack of crayons, this happens quite often. Naturally, I get to know the guy quite well.

“So who are ya goin’ to vote for?” I ask him this morning. “See they announced the date and all.”

“Not sure I even will, to be honest. It’s all a farce, innit?” he replies gingerly. This guy is like the definition of a Dub, blue jersey and a scratch card in his pocket, a particular brand of sarcasm, and he can talk about the weather and traffic for hours.

“Ah but ya gotta vote! Otherwise you’re just letting the bastards win, aren’t ya?”

“The bastards will win either way, pal. Whether we vote or not. It’s just the way them politicians go, they all talk this and that, loada rubbish ’cause as soon as they are in office it’s out the window with election promises and they just take orders from the banks and corporations. They’re the real bosses, but of course they work across the globe so it doesn’t matter if you’re here or in Papua New Guinea, they got ya by the balls. Don’t anwer to nobody, either.”

He makes a fair point, I have to admit. As if to acquiesce, he asks me who I’m going to vote for.

“That Richard fella, probably.”

“Ah yeah I know him, he’s the one that’s always kickin’ up a fuss in the government eh? Bit of a leftie, isn’t he?” he asks with a smirk. Thinks he’s got me sussed. He probably does.

“Yeh. Fighting a tough battle, that lad. He’s puttin’ on a Christy Moore concert though.”

“Fuck me, is he? That’s deadly, I’d love to go to that. Sure, if you’re gonna be taking sides, might as well go with someone who knows how to put on a good social, eh? And what about the other ones, them what were arrested down at the airport wanting to check if the planes were carrying slaves or something, fair play to them… Did ya see that? And they wouldn’t even let them! Took ’em to court and all! Mental! Shoulda let them check the planes, if you ask me. Can’t be havin’ any of that turnin-a-blind-eye shite. I mean, these are human lives we’re talking about. And then yer wan, that gobshite getting pelted across the head with a water balloon, and of course the coppers launch a massive investigation like it was a big terrorist attack. Bleedin’ clowns, the lot of them, if you ask me.”

Can’t argue with this guy. Couldn’t even if I wanted to.

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