I did a bit of overtime Sunday daytime to fund an evening out with my brother that night.

Town was quite busy due to the Liverpool versus Man Utd match being shown in the pubs, but there was also an atmosphere that can only be described as edgy.
I don’t think I’ve ever swapped allegiance from team to team as much as I did on Sunday; call it self-preservation if you like, but I supported whoever the lads in the back supported.

You see there were lots of groups of men out for that game, and with Preston’s geographical location being an equal distance from both Manchester and Liverpool; I’d say the support was split down the middle.
Not every group I taxied was rowdy; one group were a great bunch of lads who were all in a joyous mood due to their team’s win. They flagged me on Friargate so I pulled over for them. As they started to climb in I noticed one of them had a massive kebab that was bulging out with sauce, salad and half a farmyard of animals. I said “fellas, you’re not getting in with that thing, I’ll gladly wait for you to finish it though”. “Sure, no problem” they replied.
So the lads got back out and waited while the hungry one munched his kebab.

I did mention they were supporting Liverpool didn’t I? Well, what happens next is this Man Utd fan, who was let’s say, worse for wear, came staggering up the rank.
He was bladdered; his head was wobbling as he walked and he could hardly talk. He came up to the cab and opened the door but he was greeted with jeers from the Liverpool fans. I told him that I was booked with the lads stood nearby, so he mumbled a reply along the lines of “I’ll go to the pub instead then” and walked off.
I somehow doubt he would’ve been served!

So anyway, I loaded up with the lads and took them to their destination and returned back to town for one last job.
I found myself on the Church St rank with time going against me, as the work had started to dry up and I needed to go home and get ready for my night out.

I wanted a job going south; as I live over the river…a Frenchwood, Walton-le-Dale or even Fishwick would do, and I needed it quick otherwise I was going home without a job.
What’s this I can see walking towards me? It’s another group of lads and this lot are bit rowdy. They came to the cab and climbed in. I turned around and asked where they wanted to go, to which they replied “Leyland”.
Back of the net! I couldn’t have got a better destination and a fare far enough away to fund a few pints later that night. The lads chanted Liverpool songs the entire journey home.