This it what he actually means;(Some or all of the following apply)
He has not been out
of prison / mental institution long.
He has only been in the country for a very short time, since jumping
from the back of the truck that
smuggled him in.
The car you are in has no insurance / tax or roadworthiness certificate.
He has no driving license.
You are in big trouble if the police stop you!
Stress level astronomically high
12. You now try to navigate
to the pick up point whilst peering over your baggage.
The car is swerving all over the road as the driver keeps turning
round to confirm the directions that you are giving him,while
asking stupid questions like:
"So you are a musician then?"
"What instrument do you play?"
Like the drum kit you crammed into the car wasn't a clue.
"My mate does music, I have got a tape here somewhere. Would you like to listen to it?"
The car then veers even
more erratically than before as the fool starts searching for
the tape in the
glove compartment and amongst the food wrappers and cigarette
packets on the floor, thereby completely taking his eyes off the
road.
You shout at him to "Watch the road!" He is startled
by this.
In his haste to raise his head he bangs it on the steering wheel
and in a panic he applies the brakes to the max.
The awaited squeal of the tyres is non-existent and realisation
dawns on you, the brakes don't
work!
You have now resigned yourself to never getting to the pick-up
point as you are going to die!
You mumble your farewells to your loved ones and close your eyes.
There is the sound of breaking glass punctuated by metallic screeches.
Your silent prayers are being rattled off like bullets from a
machine gun as your eyes squeeze ever tighter shut.
"Jahovia protect me!"
Then there is a sharp jolt, followed by silence.
You open your eyes to realise that the car has stopped.
"That was lucky" you hear the driver say.
Lucky, is that the car
has ploughed into a row of parked cars on the passenger side and
the only saving grace is that due to the fact that the cab was
so full of rust it crumbled easily; thereby absorbing the majority
of the impact force.
The baggage that you were cocooned by prevented serious damage
to your person.
13. The air is now filled
with wailing sirens and you notice that people are streaming out
of their houses to see what all the noise is about.
There are screams as people realise that their vehicular transportation,
their pride and joy of the highways, have been heavily bodily
modified.
Customisation this is not. Candidates for recycling they definitely
are.
14. You get dragged
out of the wreck by these people, not to preserve your life, but
to shout and scream at you whilst pointing to their cars and demanding
that you "Sort it! Now!"
The 'Wicked' (local police:so
named because it's hard to find a righteous babylon) arrive and once he has jumped
off his motorcycle and removed his helmet, starts to interrogate
you with complete disregard as to your well being.
You realise something is not right when he start asking you for
your driving licence.
Why is he asking me for my documents you ask yourself ?
It's then you notice that the mini cab driver has legged it.(legged
it :English slang for 'run off')
The motorcycle cop informs
you that the car registration belongs to a Rover 2000 which was
registered to a little old lady in rural Oxfordshire and that
it was sold as part of her estate to pay death duties 8 years
ago.
So what is it doing on 'my' Ford Escort !