What do you have to do to ensure the late-night journey home of two young girls?
Here’s a tip: forget trying to organise a taxi; forgo your Saturday night vino and pick them up your flaming self.
Last weekend I’d been entrusted with the 16-year-old daughter and her best mate by my Hull friend.
The girls were going to a gig at the Leadmill, needed a bed for the night and their parents didn’t want them getting caught up in the city’s night scene.
Having checked the concert had an over 14s policy, I ordered a taxi, explaining at length I needed a firm arrangement to get them home swiftly and safely.
The woman in the cab office was very reassuring; we would get the car’s make and reg. number and the driver would be given my address and phone number and be instructed to call me on the way, as our house can’t be found on sat-nav.
I duly got the car details. Great. But the girls didn’t get their cab. I rang the company to find out that, because they were seven minutes late, the cab had gone. There were apologies; another car was swiftly despatched, but two shy teenagers still had to stand on the street in an alien city amongst hoards of revellers.
That second cab, by the way, got lost. The driver had on idea he was to call me for directions. The fare was steep, too; it seemed the girls had paid for the privilege of being lost.
Fortunately they got back safely, but that was despite the fact that the precautions I had strived for got dumped by the roadside.