How not to arrive for R and R
I thought I was going to die yesterday. It seemed simple enough to take a taxi ride across town for some lady maintenance while Daddy and Curly Girl had some quality time together. But I hadn’t banked on my driver being a shoe-in for the next open spot in F1. There are two taxi speeds here, normal and warp. Unfortunately, I got the latter.
We shot down Danshui Lu like a bullet from a gun with scant regard for anyone in our path. My life flashed before my eyes on more than one occasion as we swerved to narrowly avoid cyclists turning across our path without a) signalling or b) checking to see if there was a mad taxi driver hurtling towards them on a direct collision course. The main roads here are pretty good but the ride in this charabang was bone-shaking. At least my cellulite got a good work out. At one point I thought we were going to lose the car body and carry on without it, Laurel and Hardy style.
So I decided the best option was just not to look out the windscreen at all and passed the rest of the ride looking through my fingers as this travelling horror movie unfolded before me. When we finally arrived I waited for my stomach to catch us up and reflected that this probably wasn’t the most relaxed way to arrive for some R and R. But on the plus side, people pay good money for roller-coaster rides and this one only cost me the equivalent of £1.50.