Alfie, two WAGS and Fabio.....

In Alfie’s new exciting career as a mini cab driver, he has over the last 3 months met some weird, wonderful and sometimes very pissed people (especially on a Saturday night) from all walks of life.

But by far the most memorable meeting occurred last week whilst summonsed to pick up a lady from a gated idyll in the country.....

I knew it was a big gig because I recognised the name of the customer - so I got round to the area concerned double quick like.... Unfortunately, the grounds were so vast I couldn’t find the entrance to her gaff amongst the mile upon mile of neatly trimmed Beech hedging.

After cluelessly trolling up and down the lane past lots of other gated idylls stuffed to the gunwales with Mercs, Beamers and DeeBees I started to feel a bit out of place in my crappola bog-standard wheels with magnetic taxi signage - as well as just a bit panicky because I was beginning to run late.

But no sweat because there in front of me, tottering on her super elevated Jimmy Choos stood a beautiful real live England WAG.... And she was flagging me down.

She climbed into the back seat of my 3 year old black Ford Focus Sport mini cab (classy or what?) – and we were off - on our way to the bright city lights for a girls’ night out. Almost immediately, she got out her Apple iphone and started to ring round a few of the girls.

She spoke in that sort of girly lilting scouse accent that Premiership footy players appear to find so sexy..

“Hiya babe, how are ya?”
“Great, see you there, caiou”....
“I’m feeling great hun”....
“Yeah, it was just, ai-maizing”...

In between textings and phone calls she told me she was off to see her hubby at the England squad HQ in Rustenberg, South Africa at the weekend....

“That’s nice” I said... The ice now broken, and as she knew the England captain, I decided to ask her a question that had always bugged me... “So errr, why does Stevie Gerrard always look like he’s just lost the rent money and swallowed a wasp then?”......

True to the WAG code of waggy-omerta , she stayed waggy-shtum on that controversy, preferring to tell me about her recent waggy holiday in the Med’....... And as she alighted into the throbbing nightlife of the city, she asked if I could pick her up at around 2am and take her home.....

Bang on schedule, I picked her up at the appointed hour. But something was different. This time she had a mate with her and “Would I mind dropping her off?”..

No probs – it was on the way back – and who knows, I might get a bigger tip. I even decided to overlook the fact that the mate was shoving a monster sized BurgerKing flame grilled down her throat in the back of my car – scandalously ignoring the ‘no eating in my cab or I’ll smack you one’ rule...

Ear-wigging the conversation between the two of them, I realised that ‘the mate’ was yet another England squad WAG. Imagine that! Not one but two England squad WAGGERS in the back of my cruddy car!

They talked about how only hours earlier, England had put the mighty Slovenia to the sword. winning 1-0 and thus qualifying for the knockout stage of the World Cup. The mate told WAG 1 that she was not bothering to go out to see her hubby in South Africa unless they got to the Semis.

Some hope, Bob Hope... and no hope.

Eventually, we turned down a tree-lined Avenue and pulled up just in front of a private security van loaded with two 7-foot ex-rugby prop forwards and a couple of guard dogs.

The place, ‘Chez Premier Footballer’ was absolutely enormous. The surrounding walls were sort of castellated in a Colditz kind of way and the only way I could see to get in was through a really small access door cut into the brickwork. I wondered if it had some cunningly hidden murder holes and cauldrons of boiling oil in wait for unsuspecting Jonny Burglars?

WAGS 1 and 2 air-kissed their farewells and we continued our journey a WAG light.

Now alone again, we talked about England. And as she was on her way to the England camp, I asked her if she could relay a few points from this concerned Englishman to her hubby who could then hopefully pass them onto Fabio...

1)Why is England not playing Stevie Gee where he is best and most effective? Why in the whole of Gerrard’s England career, has he been played out of position – usually stuck out on the left in order to accommodate Frank Lampard and other less capable midfielders?
2)Why is Capello obsessed with the pathetic 'footballer' that is Emile Heskey when he cannot even get into the Aston Villa team?
3)Why does Capello persist in playing 4-4-2 when most of the top Premiership teams do not play that system – thus making it an alien playing experience for the England players?
4)Why can’t England have her own national anthem – as GStheQ is the British anthem and definitely not English?

After that bit of a rant it all went a bit quiet save for the gentle guitar riffing of Pink Floyd’s ‘Wish You Were Here’ on the CD.... Eventually, Dave Gilmour’s gruffy growl fell silent and the WAG mused that I appeared to be a real England fan.

“In every sense of the word.” I confirmed.

I told her the word ‘England’ was written across my heart - I told her how I loved this country more than anything, how I thought it the best in the world - bar none. And how it was being completely bolloxed up by a political ruling elite who couldn’t give a toss about us just as long as the union was left intact...

And the fact that England, a country of 50 million people was left bereft of an anthem and parliament of its own showed what a basket case of a nation we had become.

I said that an England World Cup victory was far bigger than just football – a victory would galvanise our nation – a nation systematically pillaged of all self esteem and idea of worth & identity in favour of a pseudo British model...

After that it all went silent. A full 15 minutes had elapsed without anyone talking about shoes, handbags, OK magazine or shopping.....

Eventually, we pulled up outside her pad, she thanked me, tipped me and bade me goodnight.

As I drove away, I hoped against hope that somehow my little list of requests would get through to the one they call Fabio... But after today’s God-awful performance against Germany it would appear not. Stevie Gee was still playing on the left – the team was still attempting to play 4-4-2 without having a clue.... and just when we need a proven goal scorer to get amongst the Germans, the man they call Fabio took off one (Defoe) and brought on the plank Heskey while leaving ‘goals for fun’ Crouchy still sat on his backside....

But still, as I said to the WAG as she got out of the cab, “I’m a taxi driver driving a crappy car in the early hours of a summer’s morning and he’s the England manager on £6 million a year, so what do I know?”...