Wandering home from the pub munching on some chocolate and a cab pulls up in front of me. The driver asks for directions to a street I didn’t know. I recognise the passenger as the lead singer in a band I’ve seen live a few times. She says her phone is dead and she can’t contact her friend and asks if I live nearby and have a Nokia charger. As it happens the answer is yes to both, she tells me to get in and I direct the cabbie to my place. The fare on the meter is already hefty; apparently they have been driving around for half an hour trying to find the place.
The cabbie waits outside and she follows me into my house, obviously a bit wobbly, plugs in the phone and waits for it to come to life. In the meantime, I tell her I’ve seen her band and she’s surprised but very pleased. She calls her friend, who gives me directions. She tells her friend I’m some totally random but lovely guy. On the way out, she keeps saying what a nice house I have.
I direct the cabbie to her friend’s place, which is convoluted . . . it’s Newtown after all. On the way she hands me a cabcharge slip. She tells me I must come to their next gig. We get there and the friend comes out and takes her inside. Then the cabbie takes me home and I sign for the now very large fare. That’ll take some explaining back at the office, I’m sure.
I wonder if she’ll remember me.