I’M a big fan of taxi drivers and their patter. I could honestly sit and listen to them all day.

Sometimes I feel a bit like the guys in Chewin’ The Fat where they get in a taxi, just get the driver to take them round the block then hand him a hundred quid note and say, “Keep the change, we’re just here for the banter!”

I’ve decided to run down my favourites for this week’s column.

Fitbaw fan

PROBABLY my favourite. “Wit team d’ye support, pal?” they’ll say when you get in.

Doesn’t matter what side of the divide you fall on, they’ll make your journey an enjoyable one and you’ll feel like you’re sitting in the Sportscene studios as you debate the games from the weekend. In-depth analysis, wild opinions, even conspiracy theories.

“Noo, don’t shoot the messenger,” they’ll say. “But I heard aboot this aff a boay that works in the canteen at Murray Park.

“Apparently, Alfredo Morelos has went vegan and that’s how he’s no been scoring as much.”

Friday/Saturday night disco taxi

I WAS in a taxi like this once and only once. This had led me to believe it was maybe some kind of fever dream, but it was class either way.

Me and pal got in and asked the guy to take us into the toon. “Want some tunes oan?” he asked. We agreed that’d be magic and he fired on some GBX and turned it right up while he hurtled along the M8.

As it was, this was already the best taxi journey I’d been on in a long time. The several cans we’d just had obviously helped. Then the strobe lights came on. It was like an out-of-body experience.

My girlfriend says she got into a similar taxi but with a driver with a very different vibe to mine.

Hers had colour-changing LED strip lighting in the back. “Was like something out of Tron,” she said. “Then he turned the radio aff and asked if I was into Bitcoin.” She was then given a run down of all the various different kinds of cryptocurrency available. A very surreal experience, she told me.

Motivational Speaker

YOU’LL get this kind of driver on the way to work. These drivers are angels. They can tell if you’re having bother at work or even if you just hate the place.

I had one on my way up to my old work a couple of years back. “Dae ye like workin there?” he asked.

“Och, It’s no really what I want tae be dain, naw,” I said.

“Well wit d’ye want tae dae?”

I told him about wanting to be a writer etc.

“Just dae it then. Sack the joab! Ye only get wan chance at life, wee man.”

I left that taxi and walked into work feeling 10ft tall with great intentions of handing my notice in there and then. I didn’t for another year or so, to be fair, but he gave me a wee kick up the backside to do it eventually.

Lets you have a can

ME and my girlfriend had a driver like this down in London one night. I asked if we could have a drink in the back. “Of course,” he said, turning the music up a wee bit. “If you want a fag as well just put the window down.” Think the guy would’ve let us eat plates of spaghetti in the back, he just didn’t care. Must’ve been his last shift. Fair play, big man.

The Deep Conversationalist

THESE drivers are wizards. You leave the taxi feeling like you’ve just shared a very special moment with them.

The conversation goes from, “Where ye gawn?” to discussing your deepest fears, biggest regrets, wildest dreams and even personal traumas quicker than a Skoda can go from 0-60.

I’ve noticed this is normally the black hack drivers. The ones that have their wean’s and grandwean’s names written on the back of the motor in fancy gold writing. If I had a taxi, I’d put my Twitter @ on the back instead.

Sage advice is given to you, pearls of wisdom are dispensed, you leave feeling enlightened and off they go, into the night, away to help some other poor soul.

The Quiet Man

I TAKE back saying that the Fitbaw Fan is my favourite, these drivers are the best.

It’s a Sunday morning. You’ve spent the night in some unknown flat, filled to the brim with strangers. Your hangover is kicking in already. Heid pounding, falling asleep, trying your best to not let the feeling that this hangover might be the one that kills you overwhelm you. He knows. He knows you need silence. His presence is calming. He asks where you’re off to and that’s the only interaction you’ll have until he says, “That’s £8.50,” and kicks you out. A saint.