With my back to the river I can find Heathrow

I arrived back in the UK after 30 years in Africa. London was the obvious place to settle, any further north and I’d be to cold. Besides I had a business to set up and run and London streets are paved with gold, right? Wrong! The streets are narrow, windy, potholed and certainly do not have any precious metal set in them. Business was handled differently here and the buyers had no time for a middleman, even if he gave them more options than they would normally have had. My business idea failed, I had no money, no job and a borrowed car.

The Evening Standard had a small-classified section where I found some adverts for drivers, there were about twenty (these days you would be hard pressed to find five). I chose one at random and called the number. The voice that answered told me they were an Executive Chauffeuring Company and that I should come and see the Operations Manager. A time was set for the following day and I was given the address and some general directions.

Next morning I jumped into the car and drove into the fray. My god! I had never seen so many cars in so many lanes travelling so quickly along a motorway called the M25. I had heard of this motorway; it is said to be 125miles in circumference and is the busiest ring road on the planet. I had heard a Greek tourist had circumnavigated it 6 times until noticed on a CCTV camera. When finally stopped by the police he told them he couldn’t find the end. I became immediately claustrophobic and a little paranoid, I had to keep my distance, keep my wits, watch my speed, not hog any particular lane, and keep a keen lookout for junction 16. Oh and I had to make sure I was going clockwise.

Shortly after exiting junction 16, I came across a large intersection called Hanger Lane. This is a roundabout with 5 exits, everyone queued on the approaches and became grid locked once in the circle. After a delay of about 15 minutes navigating this mayhem, I was on my way again. After a few mistakes on some side roads I arrived at my destination, Precision Cars. It sounded more like an engineering shop for Grand Prix racing; in fact it was a glorified Mini-Cab company.

The company was situated on a small industrial estate near Wembley in North West London, at the time it didn’t occur to be that I had come all the way from South London. Anyway I stepped into a small dank and dark office, four desks were set in a square facing each other two by two. Each desk had a computer monitor and a telephone on it and there was a person sat at each one chattering away. Beyond the desks were two offices, one occupied by a guy with long greasy hair and an Acne scarred face. He was wearing a bright orange t-shirt and black leather trousers. The second office was occupied by his mode of transport to and from work. A low slung, high handle barred Harley Davidson, Chrome backrest, Silver Fire Logo on orange fuel tank. The Works!

I am not sure what I’d expected when I entered the office, but the cacophony of ringing phones and heated conversation threw me. I just stood in the doorway agog. I couldn’t say anything as nobody would have heard me, and everyone was so engrossed in what they were doing no one noticed me immediately. As I was about to turn and run the woman at the desk nearest the doorway must have sensed my fear and looked round. “Hang on” she said into the mouthpiece of her phone. ‘Can I help you” she said to me. She was wearing a headscarf, bandana style and wire glasses; she was missing a few teeth, and the remaining ones were chipped and black. That song about a Gypsy Queen sprung to mind!

“Erm! Yes I hope so” I said nervously, “I have an appointment with Neville”

“Office, over there” she replied rather abruptly, turning away and continuing her phone conversation before I could thank her.

I entered Neville’s office without knocking because he had seen me walking over and waved me in, he was on the phone also. He pointed to a seat from an era way back. I sat and waited; didn’t they ever get off the phone in this place? Surely they would not have a business if the lines were stolen! Wait a minute your not in Africa now, that doesn’t happen here. You’ll be safe, no muggings no hi- jacking no theft, no power cuts, your in London now, I told myself.

Neville finished his call leant over the desk and offered his hand. I took it, firm handshake, good start. He proceeded to tell me about the business, unaware that I was a total novice. “We have thirty five drivers and service some large corporate accounts and some high profile V.I.P. passengers,” he said. I managed to glean that by accounts he meant the likes of Coca Cola, Universal and a few investment banks. By V.I.P. he was talking celebrity and company director. He reeled of names I’d never heard of, but I didn’t let on. All of a sudden he said “any questions?”

Yes, I thought, hundreds, but said “just two. I am very new to all this” sweeping my arm in a semi circle, “so where do we take these people? And as I don’t know London very well, will they direct me?”

“We take them mainly to the airports and to meetings” he replied “and NO! They won’t direct you, but you found your way here on time, anyway we will teach you some routes, and get you used to things, client by client. Remember though, being on time is everything.

He took a piece of paper from a pile on the desk and scribbled an address on it, then handed it to me. ”Pop up there with your vehicle log book and buy some private hire insurance, then come back tomorrow with your drivers licence and new insurance document and you can start work”. As an afterthought he said, “I assume you know where Heathrow is?”

“Yes” I lied, “I have a good sense of direction, I know east from west, put my back to the river and I’ll find it.”

“Good” he said, “so tomorrow, come suited and booted and I’ll introduce you to the controllers, they are to busy now. See you then.”

I was wearing my best beige suit, so I asked “what do you mean suited and booted?”

“Dark blue or black suit, white shirt, and plain tie” he said. So my tie with the letter W followed by an Anchor wasn’t suitable then!

“Oh and get an Abercrombie too” he called as I was closing the office door.

“Ok” I said, what on earth is an Abercrombie I wondered………….