11 "I Just Don't Like Hastings"

In the old days, I would have hailed a cab. That was what you did in an unfamiliar town. That, or you walked back to the Railway Station and paid over the odds because whoever owned Station Taxis had to pay somebody an awful lot for the privilege of monopolising the custom getting off the trains. Not any more: it was search on-line for the local taxi firms or, since I was in the affluent South, Uber was also an option. But not for me. I tried to avoid any app that required knowledge of my exact whereabouts to do anything. I thumbed the keypad on my phone, got it to display 'GoGoGadget' on the internet browser. Inevitably, a quick search brought up ABCTaxis first on the list. I scrolled down to E-Lite Taxis. Hoping this meant that it wasn't a very hi-tech outfit, I copied and pasted the number into my phone app. An app to use your own phone. Talk about complicating the easy. I gave the controller my location: on the corner of two streets, neither of which really seemed to go anywhere.
'Five minutes.' He said.
'Five minutes from now, or five minutes after the next drop off?'
'Driver says five minutes.'
'Name?'
'Is it four now?'
'Never mind.'
'Don't you want a name now?'
'No. You'll be the bloke standing on his own on the corner, because you're a c-'.
I disconnected.
About 10 minutes later a 15-year old diesel saloon turned up. The white-backgrounded 'E-Lite Taxis' sign on the car door was dirty and peeling off. Maybe E-Lite just meant they didn't have any Priuses in the fleet.
Having looked through the rear side window at the back seat, I sat up-front with my driver, who either didn't have a name, or wasn't giving it to me.
'Where to?'
'Nearest Travelodge.'
'Fucking Hastings. Jeezus. It'll be more than a pony, mate.'
'Yeah, there and back 'cause you can't take a fare from Hastings, or the East Sussex Mafia will be after you.'
'No, I just don't like Hastings.'
'If you do it in 15 minutes, there'll be a tip.'

He did it in 10, despite slowing down for various speed cameras. I tipped him a tenner. As I was heading for the Travelodge entrance, he wound the window down, 'Next time, ask for Kreshnik, Shkodran's brother.'
The diesel, as it had proved on the way, could move fast if it needed to, so his tail-lights were gone in the time it took to think about what a coincidence that was.