I was sorry to say goodbye to my old TX2 taxi last July, but I didn’t really have much choice.
The Covid pandemic meant London's streets were empty and despite the "eat out to help out" campaign, the capital remained a ghost town. In the outskirts we saw disturbing photos of what looked, at first glance, like car parks at a music festival but were in reality fields filled with unwanted cabs that garages couldn't rent out.
Meanwhile, my 14-year-old cab's annual inspection, insurance and road tax were due, and surrounded by uncertainty as we all were, I had little choice, so I cut my losses and sold.
This wasn't the gradual retirement I'd envisioned, but with so many sad and tragic stories all around – and this most certainly wasn’t one – it felt wrong to dwell. Yet feelings of melancholy persisted...