A few years ago I was driving a private hire car in Birmingham. My bastard one of three I owned at that time, having percentage drivers on the other two. So I am Night car at a firm on the edge of the city. One of those Inner city estates wrecks was on about. The base operator was a massive bastard and a really nice bloke, but because of his size and job he was known as the fat controller. He says to me, Manor two when you are clear in Vauxhall you want the Midlands Hotel in New Street for the door staff. Roger I reply and get back, "I'm off the air for a spell mate I'm having a 10/100 (shit) It's mid week 2.30 in the morning so no traffic. I flashes into the city and picks up my fare who is waiting outside. Hunters Moon he says, shard end. So off we goes so I can get me a cup of coffee before the known 3.15 booking. About 10 Min's later back comes the fat controller,...Yes manor two you want the midlands hotel its door staff and he is a SOS. Roger I shouts and switches off my radio. Whats he mean asks my punter, SOS? Fast job I said emergency. I ain't in no hurry he replied I never told him that. No I said he gets confused. Once clear of my punter at the Hunters Moon I switch my radio back on and calls Paul the Fat Controller. "Did you receive" he asks? "Yes I said he was in the fuckin car when you called". SHIT we both agreed. For those not in the know SOS in taxi terminology means SACK of SOOT, a black man. This one was, 6ft 6" and built like a brick shit house and was when I was called sitting in the front seat of a ford Granada mk2 with his head out and above the open sunroof.