"You'll never guess who I had in my funeral car the other week"
If there's one thing I hate its talking to taxi drivers.
I try to avoid taking taxis, just to get around having to share disinterested chitchat with someone whom I don't know and whom I am overpaying good money to carry out a service and to just let me get on with enjoying my journey.
Its the same as with hairdressers - I enjoy the procedure (it can feel fairly luxurious being pampered), however its the social part that's the problem.
So I was horrified on the afternoon of my Grandma's funeral to find myself in the front passenger seat of the funeral car, sealed in with the driver and away from the safety of family by a soundproof barrier!
I sat there, quiet within the safety of funereal contemplation, feeling fairly safe that I would not be expected to engage in casual conversation with the driver about weather, holidays and immigration. Surely he wouldn't
My worst expectations were confounded, however, when he pulled the rug from under my feet with an attempt at conversation about fire plates. Fire plates! Fire plates? FIRE PLATES!