No fare

I got chucked out of a taxi last night.

I had been at Headingley watching Leeds Rhinos play Salford City Reds in the rugby Super League.

My mate Daniel (below centre) even managed to sort out corporate hospitality for us (I had to wear proper trousers and everything) where we met Victoria and Ben.

And after the game, we hooked up with my long-time friend Jonathan, a die-hard Rhinos fan who, despite living in London, never fails to make it back to his native Leeds when his heroes are in action. (Amongst Jonathan's many claims to fame is the curious fact that Big Daddy was his babysitter).

So a good night all round. So good, in fact, that I missed the last bus and had to get a taxi home. Or so I thought.

Unfortunately, my driver seemed not to know any streets in Leeds - a definite weakness if you're a Leeds taxi driver, in my view.

So he asked me how I thought he should get to my house. However, as anyone who knows me is very well aware, I have the worst sense of direction in the Western world and couldn't really help.

Mr Taxi Man was therefore reduced to driving around aimlessly, whilst the bill continued to climb.

I suggested to him that if I had wanted to go on a high-priced midnight mystery tour, I would have booked one.

He responded by stopping the car and inviting me to disembark.

I followed-up with what I thought was a constructive suggestion on where he might wish to park his steering wheel for the rest of the evening, before getting out and seeing him off with a cheery wave.

Three miles and three-quarters of an hour later I was home - goodness knows how I managed to do that.

But anyway, that was my Friday night. I hope yours was equally fun.