Tax-ing

Fear not, my friends. I've not given up my blog (plog - pass it on, it might become a craze). I have been - and still am - in sunny Gateshead and miles away (well, metres at least) from a PC. Obviously I'm not metres away from a PC at the moment. My arms aren't that long.

I flew up from London City on the world's smallest plane. It had propellors. They sat all eight of us passengers at the back "to balance out the weight of the engine". That's not really something you need to know, is it? My favourite moment was the announcement that "The cabin crew will now tell you all about the safety feature of this craft." Feature? Just the one? Instead of an in-flight magazine and some shopping manuals, I had a safety card and a sick bag. The seats, I noticed, were wipe-clean.

I'm returning to London this evening, and wind gusts of 50 mph are currently whistling past. This could be fun.

Still, Gateshead has been... well, a bit odd actually. I've had two separate taxi drivers tell me how much they love "Les Misérables". Me too. I think it's a great musical. But clearly far more popular up here, amongst the taxi-driving literati than in London, where it's had to move to a smaller theatre. One taxi driver even put the soundtrack on for me, and we had a singalong. Well, he had a singalong, whilst I smiled politely but awkwardly, dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand and clenched my buttock muscles.

Why does this stuff only happen to me? Come on, seriously. Any of you ever had to have singalongs in a taxi? Twice? And yes - I know I should be practising my friend Erica's "smile and walk off" (SAWO) technique. But it's pretty hard to walk off when you're in a taxi, when they have your luggage. And are singing "Empty chairs at empty tables".

This morning's taxi driver favoured Barry Manilow. At least it was a short journey.