I'm glad I became a cabby. Usually when I leave for work I'm full of optimism and the belief that today will be different.

I hope I won't have to listen to impatient, bad-mannered punters who speak to me as if addressing their butler. I kindly doff my cap and await instructions.

In this state of mind there are no drunks or drug addicts to transport around. The mentally ill are cared for. The world is kind, considerate and full of understanding.

There are no vulgar snobs who look down their noses and, while sucking a lemon, refer to you as "driver" or sad, grubby people who run off without paying their fare.

I sit on the rank dreaming, thinking how wonderful it would be if I could buy some kind of device to block out mobile phone conversations.

Then I wouldn't have to listen to the frivolous, insipid and tedious mutterings of the ignorant telling me their innermost confidences.

I can hear echoing around my cab the voices of previous punters saying: "I've just arrived. I'm in a cab now. I'll be there soon!" Sometimes I wonder if I'm in the cab.

My doors would never be slammed by people who say: "It's money, innit?" when you raise your eyebrows at their inability to walk 100 yards. This is after you have pointed out it's nothing to do with money, but is more a question of time.

I do try to understand. I try to be unwearied when for the 37th time in a month somebody asks me if I'm busy and when I try to be enthusiastic in my reply they start looking out of the window with a glazed expression in their eyes.

I asked somebody once why they mentioned the weather and had they ever stopped to consider how many times I got asked that question in the course of a day? I'm surprised I have any doors left.

So I'm not going to work today. I'm going to go for a walk on the Downs, breathe some fresh air and get as far away as I can from all those charming people - and I may not come back.

-M Hanson (Plate 72), Lewes