The driver exchanges polite greetings with the couple and asks where they had been.
“New York,” replies David. “There for a weekend of shopping with the wife.”
“My wife loves New York,” replies the cab driver, who, like most other London cabbies, loves a good chat at his customers. “Which hotel did you stay at?”
Beckham rolls his eyes. “Crikey,” he says. “I forget.”
“Was it the Marriot Marquis?” asks the driver. “The missus is always on about staying there.”
“Nah. Don’t think so,” Beckham replies. “Let me think. Give me the name of a few London tube stations.”
OK, thinks the cabbie, let’s humor him. “Alright, Sir. What about Leicester Square?” he suggests.
Beckham shakes his head.
“Well, then. Let’s think. What about Oxford Street?”
Beckham shakes his head.
“Right. So, what about Piccadilly Circus?”
Beckham shakes his head.
By now, the cabbie is getting a little exasperated and wondering why he started the conversation in the first place. He decides to give it one last go before giving up and taking the couple home without any further attempt at dialogue.
“What about Victoria then?”
Beckham’s eyes light up. “Thanks, mate!”
He turns and nudges his wife. “Ere, Victoria, what hotel did we stay at in New York?”
