Taxi Drivers - It takes all sorts...

We had a couple of interesting taxi drivers on our trip around the eastern states.
One who refused to accept a $50 note for a $6 fare - wtf? - and so insisted he put it through on my credit card instead! Whatever...
Then there was the one who picked us up from Hobart Airport and told us the Federal Police had a file on him. Mm-hmm.
Then there was the one who commiserated with us after a massive night in Oxford St during which my friend had his $400 Prada sunglasses stolen (I know, he shouldn't have taken them out with him in the first place but he came straight from work). This driver - his name was Sam - spoke with disgust about the state of society when someone can have a pair of sunglasses stolen from their bag. It wasn't until we got back to the hotel room the next morning we discovered they were in his bag after all and hadn't been stolen. Ahem.

But my favourite was the one that dropped us back to Hobart Airport after our stay in Tassie.
We were catching a 6am flight so, needless to say, we weren't really gearing for a good chat with the cabbie when we got in.
At one point, the conversation went something like this:

Cabbie: See up there, that's where the bridge collapsed.
Me: The bridge collapsed?? Jesus, when did this happen?
C: Oh, about 24, 25 years ago.
M: Right...
C: And over there, can you see that blue light on the hill?
M: Yep...
C: Just behind that is where Princess Mary used to live.

*I'd forgotten about Tasmania's claim to fame - the island's Danish Princess. How cute. However it was 5am, and I don't give a fuck about Princess Mary normally, so with lashings of irony and sarcasm I responded with-*

M: Really? Wow. 'Our' Mary...

At this point I expected the taxi driver to turn around and smack me on the side of the head for being a cheeky bastard. But no, he just nodded in agreement, a look of near-reverence in his eyes.

It takes all sorts.