CABBIES. Where would we be without them? Still standing on the street corner, probably.

In my experience they mainly fall into two categories.

There’s the “Sit down, tell me where you want to go, shut up and then pay me the fare” type.

And then there are the chirpy, chatty ones.

“You’ll never guess who I had in the back of my cab last week. What’s your job?

“Journalism? That’s the hardest game in the world.

“I wanted to be a journalist. Man of words, me. More of a poet, like: ‘There was an old lady from Twickers’.”

And so it goes on… Abroad, it’s slightly different.

As a young lad visiting Paris I pointed to the Square I wanted to go to.

The cabbie took me at my word and sped across four lanes of traffic without braking until we had reached our destination.

He found me wedged between the front and back seats.

Another hired driver in the centre of France decided to play a late-night game of chicken.

Not for him the joys of casually parking in a parking bay near a community centre.

No, he said he was going to drive us to the community centre, so that’s where we were going.

Into the community centre.

Hurtling at great speed towards a brick wall that was the community centre, he ignored the hysterical screams around him until he slammed on his anchors at the last minute.

You could have only got a wafer-thin mint between our vehicle and that wall.

Great driving, I suppose, but try telling that to the passengers who are still on medication.

But at least he knew where he was going. Unlike some cab drivers in the USA.

One took me to a hotel that was fantastic, but it wasn’t the right one.

It was only after he had left and the receptionist made some apologetic noises about me not being on the list, that I realised I would have to continue my search.

Another got lost, taking two hours for a 30-minute journey, borrowed my mobile and then asked me for the fare.

He got a few choice words and a couple of quid for the trouble.

He’s probably telling his passengers now. “Never guess who I had in the back of my cab recently.

“English journalist.

* JUST to redress the balance, my favourite cab ride was in Philadelphia.

My Jamaican taxi driver was blasting out some reggae.

We got talking about the music and its influences and British reggae bands.

The 30 minutes flew by and the conversation never dropped.

I didn’t think much more of it as he dropped me off at the airport.

But when I came to go, he hugged me like a long-lost friend and said if I was ever back in that city he would give me a free ride.

Since I’m a little bit on the tight side, I’ll be keeping him to that.

And about that goodbye hug... I don’t even get that from the missus.