Why I Love London’s Cabbies

Thursday was a great afternoon with Cleo in St James’s.

I was still on a high after our adventures at the Polo on Saturday and with me booked out of the office, it was the perfect opportunity for an undisturbed fest of good food and fucking.

Cleo was on a high, she’s been called back for a couple of auditions and so there was an all-round good vibe as we lunched and then drifted the afternoon away in bed.

Come 7, I had to head to a dinner in the City, so I offered to run her back to Shoreditch.

The taxi stopped by her flat, I opened the door, got out and kissed her goodbye, before getting back in and asking the cabbie to take me to the Embankment.


I sank back into my seat, feeling both tired and elated, when suddenly the cabbie piped up,

“You don’t mind me saying mate, is that your girlfriend?”

“Yes, she is” I replied, feeling more than a little smug, but desparately trying not to sound it

“You bloody lucky bastard, how do you do it?”

Mr Modest kicked in… “Oh, well, I don’t know, er, well, she’s a friend”

“Yeah, right, pull the other one, tell me how you pulled her” (Cabbies are the only people who still talk like this)

“Oh, ok, if you must know, I let her call me daddy when I fuck her”

A long period of silence…

“I wouldn’t care what she called me if I got to fuck her”



I love London

OK, I know from feedback I get that this may be controversial, but I have to get it out there.

I Love London.

I’ve been fortunate to live in and visit some of the World’s greatest cities, NYC, Paris, Chicago and Shanghai, but nothing beats London, especially in the summer.

london rooftop

Everyone’s happy, string 3 or more days of sun and heat together and otherwise grumpy Londoners start talking to complete strangers.

I have a team of mainly under 30’s who report to me, so I’m always hearing of the latest cool places, rooftop bars in Shoreditch, street food vans in the Borough, edgy clubs in Bermondsey.

So, weather being good on Mon, Cleo and I will be hitting a rooftop near me to get the evening started.


London in the sun

Slow day yesterday, it seems that the last week in July is when London officially goes into holiday mode.

It’s a good 28C and fortunately I’ve only one appointment out of the air conditioned haven that is my office.

Been thinking about Cleo a lot, although we’re not seeing each other until Monday, I’m already beginning to plan our next date, when out of the blue at about 1030, I get a call from her,

“Hi Daddy, what are you doing for lunch?”

I tell her I’ve got a short meeting in Mayfair and am free afters.

“Why don’t we have a picnic in Green Park?”

So, meeting over, I head to Fortnum’s on Piccadilly, Cleo is waiting.

She looks amazing, she is wearing a strappy, loose, red shift dress and sandals that just show the rather tasteful tattoo on the side of her foot.

We make our way through the deli and end up grabbing a bottle of champagne that’s helpfully in the chiller.

Popping our lunch into a tasteful ‘F&M’ basket, we head down Piccadilly to the park.

Lunch is amazing, poached salmon, some salad, champagne. We laugh, we giggle and we swap some ‘worst date you’ve ever had’ stories.

Lying in the sun with Cleo resting her head on my chest, I’m looking up at the blue sky thinking, I’m lucky enough to work in the best city in the world and I have this beautiful Sugarbabe who calls me Daddy.

How fucking lucky am I?