Black Cabs and the London Cabbie may be regarded as part of the cultural collateral of London, in the same way as red buses and the familiar red and blue symbol of London underground. For the tourist, clambering into the back, might be as much a part of their sightseeing as is visiting the Tower.  The London cabbie has almost become synonymous with  words like honest, hard working and working class. With so many unlicensed, illegal cabs crawling the curbs in clubland, the black cabs are also viewed as safe.

However, the cabbies like their short distances. They run a business after all, and maximise their income if they take short fares. Even though they can use the bus lanes, and are not meant to refuse fares, they do. Their best excuse when they hear where you're going to is to say they've had a fare come up over the satellite. They take precedence.

I remember one Christmas standing on Oxford Street, the West End, unable to walk beyond the curb at Selfridges. I left my shopping to the last minute, then did it in one swoop, arriving out onto the street and the rain as if on a tight rope with an unsteady, cartoon like, tower of packages, and bag handles, literally, beginning to dig through my fingers. 

I needed to go six and a half miles to Brent Cross where my car was parked. A succession of black London cabs pulled up, only to drive off again with some excuse.  In desperation, and almost after an hour of agony, debating whether I would ditch the presents, I had to bribe a London cabbie as he was pulling off,  "I'll give you a hundred pounds", I pleaded.

Of course he stopped, and took the fare. You know, I was so grateful, I gave him a tip as well.