Fondue + wine + spliffs + supersonic taxi = vomit
After a pleasant evening at a Swiss friend's house enjoying a fondue made to their old family recipe, along with far too much wine and a lot of spliffs, the mrs and I hailed a taxi to speed us to our home.

Speed was unfortunately the operative word here. I can only assume that the taxi driver decided that this was the perfect opportunity to get a new cross-town personal best. I'll give the guy credit, he drove a fine racing line, but when you've got two passengers stuffed full of molten cheese and stoned as hell it's not a good idea.

I could tell that the journey was not having a good effect on Mrs V, and thought it wise to ask the cabbie to take it a bit easier. This he did, but lamentably it was too late. Vomit was already erupting from my mrs as if from a lactose-intolerant volcano. She managed to catch it all, as far as we could tell, in the sleeve of a woollen cardigan and when we arrived at our flat she made a mad dash for it.

I translated the cab driver's "Is she alright?" as "Is there any vomit in my taxi?" and reassured him that was not the case. A brief battle of conscience ensued. My mrs had just vomited in his taxi, but he could be held responsible. Do I tell him to keep the change as gesture of good will, or do I withhold a tip as he was driving like a fucking loon...

What would you have done?
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 12:07, Reply)