Glastonbury

I picked up two customers, one of whom seemed somewhat “chemically preoccupied”.
We were talking about music festivals, as I had just returned from Drum Camp (www.drumcamp.co.uk) in Suffolk.
My rather befuddled customer was quite into his festivals, and had been to Glastonbury last year.
“It was really good,” he said. “When it finished, I stayed on and picked up litter, just to help them out, and they gave me two tickets for this year.”
“Nice,” I remarked.
“Yes, he said. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
My other customer and I paused to reflect upon his words.
“Erm…” I began reluctantly, not wanting to burst his little happy bubble of anticipation.
My other customer was more forthright. “Mate,” he declared emphatically, “I hate to break it to you, but you’ve missed it!”

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Speechless

was recently rendered speechless by a mother of teenage children, who was a customer in my taxi. We were talking about young people and their drinking exploits.


“Alcohol is weird,” she said. “It’s almost like they put something in it to make you drunk. Like a drug, or something. But it’s only a liquid.”

I was, and remain, utterly dumbfounded.