Fare Game

Outside the station, despatch said he would be, big bloke with blonde hair and a rather strange complexion. Bit odd I thought, but hey, a fare's a fare, so onwards and upwards.

He was wearing a long black overcoat with a hat concealing much of his face, but as soon as I drew alongside he opened the rear door, climbed in and settled himself. 

'Where to, guv?' I enquired as I eased out into the early evening traffic.

'Take me to a typical English pub,' he said, in a voice that sounded strangely familiar. 'Somewhere with good food and a log fire. Somewhere I can experience your famous English hospitality,' he continued in an increasingly familiar accent. Definitely American and most certainly familiar, but who?

This was music to any cabby's ears on a slow day, free reign to run up a truly handsome fare. I headed eastwards along the river and smiled into the mirror in the hope of catching sight of my new benefactor, but he didn't want to play.

'Is this your first time, sir? First time in England?'

'First time unofficially,' he replied, with a degree of finality.

I glanced into the mirror again, but he still wasn't playing, so I fixed my eyes on the road and headed out into Essex and my brother-in-law's pub, the Badger's Whatsit, just outside Grays.

It was early evening and still quiet, so I pulled up by the main entrance and turned to face my mystery guest. 'This is my local and as English pubby as it gets,' I smiled, 'I hope you enjoy your evening here sir. That'll be £65 please.'

I switched on the interior light above his head to assist him with payment, but as I did so, he took off the hat, lifted his face into the light and looked straight at me with his finest New York arrest, mug shot expression. It was Donald bloody Trump! 

' American Express?' he asked, as I stared at him through the orange glow, unable to conceal the look of horror on my face. For a second or two I was at a loss for words, but recovered quickly in the hope that a large tip could be in the offing. 'We do sir, just tap the card machine in front of you.'

'On second thoughts,' he said, 'how would you like to leave the meter running and come inside with me; spend the evening here at my expense; let me get your opinion on one or two things I'm planning. I'll make it well worth your time.'

It took a little persuasion to get brother-in-law Malcolm to allow us early sole occupancy of the snug, but once he realised I wasn't pulling his chain and saw who I was with, we were quickly settled by the fire, accompanied by two pints of Guinness and Matt Monroe gently dreaming the impossible dream. There sitting opposite me, without a Secret Service man in sight, was the most ridiculed man in the western world, Donald bloody Trump and he was asking for my opinion and was prepared to pay for it.

Now that he was the most powerful man on the planet, he told me, he intended to appoint himself president for life, just like his new friend Pootn. As such, he now had plans to take control of anything that could make him money, beginning with the Panama Canal and Greenland and then probably his neighbours Mexico and Canada, as they were doing quite well, but needed the Trump golden touch.

England, he told me, would be another great acquisition, as he already owned most of Scotland and together they would make a really spectacular theme park. There'd be historic reenactments with Highland clansmen in the McTrump tartan fighting Beefeaters, Roundheads and Roman Centurions. They would jump from red double decker buses, disemboweling each other on the battlefield at Waterloo; if that wasn't too close to the station, he added pensively. He had all the best people working on the details back home, but first he needed to get a feel for the place himself. I'm here to make England great again he said, what do you think? With that he drained the last of his Guinness, belched loudly and with a look of great satisfaction, held out his empty glass.

As Malcolm pulled two more, he nodded towards my guest and asked what the hell he was doing here. No idea, I told him, but the one thing I do know is that he's completely barking. I handed Trump his drink, sat down and looked him straight in the eye. 

'Mr Trump,' I began, 'do you have any idea why nobody likes you?'

He took a long swig and smiled. 'Everybody likes me,' he replied. 'I'm a really great guy.'

'Not in England they don't. You're totally devoid of every important human quality. No charm, no grace, no empathy, no humour, no awareness, no humility, no honour, no morality and worst of all, no compassion. You're a petulant bully and in this country we hate bullies.'

I knew that none of this would penetrate his armour plated ego, but I did detect a definite change of complexion, a slow but positive transition from pale orange to a sort of flushed blood orange. And then he erupted.

'Fake news' he blurted, fake news. A media witch hunt controlled by crooked Joe Biden, crooked Obama and your crooked Prime Minister. I'm the greatest president since Abe Lincoln. I'm the greatest business man in the world, an empire builder. All the greatest academics in the world agree with me.' 

And on and on he went, like a clockwork toy at a Nuremberg rally, until I could stand no more. I walked out to my cab, collected the card machine and went back inside. He was still at it with Malcolm and the newly arrived darts team, so I set the amount and held it in front of him mid dribble. Without missing a beat he took his Amex card from his pocket and touched the spot. A little creative I may have been with the final tariff, but hey, Donald isn't the only one that has trouble with accountancy. I look back on the incident now and think of it fondly as my Stormy Daniels moment.