GG Hall

Jack Hall considers three years on a moped to entitle him to opinions on everything from bridges to governments, his grandfather drove a cab and so does his daughter, a fact he mentions within minutes. He plays from the green hut. Not the cab, not the sofa: the cabmen's shelter at his rank, over tea, in the slow hours, and he has driven across the city in the wrong direction to get to it when a fixture was due. His wife has asked why the kitchen table will not do. He has explained, at length, and she has stopped asking. The other drivers have stopped asking whether he wants the quiet corner, because he has never once taken it.