'Felix', Herne Hill

Alright, already! I know that a cab journey of under a mile doesn't do great things for the environment, but it was cold, and I was both late and drunk. I sobered up pretty quickly, though, as within seconds and as we waited at the first set of lights, the quite frankly vast chauffeur-cum-body-builder was into his sales pitch.

'Don't suppose you ever need security, do you?'

OK. So I accept he was considering my own susbstantial frame, and couldn't have known that I do on occasion have that particular need, but before affirmative words were out of my mouth, he continued...

'Because I run my own firm. We do all sorts. Gigs. Pubs. Clubs. Got my licence, too, so the Old Bill are happy. Not like the scum punters, though. I tell you. Anyone gives us grief, we sort 'em right out.'

The second lights were red, too. He looked at me, and stared a moment.

'If you get my drift?'

I breathed a sigh of relief as we pulled away, and his threat was redirected toward the VW driver that had tried to 'burn' him from the lights.

'Here. Take my card,' he said. 'And give us a call. I'll do you a job', he commanded on arrival.

And now he knows my name, my number, and my address.

Oh good.