"I call you honey, because I do not know your name, and because I love honey."
Oh dear. This is going to be a long taxi ride.
I sneeze. The taxi driver asks, "Are you cold, honey?" and he tries to wind my window up. I tell him no no no, no need. Really. I want to know the outside world can hear my screams if necessary.
Then he tells me that I am beautiful, and that I have been a very nice passenger with my wonderful personality. "And," he adds, "That is why I love you."
["Who is teaching this guy English?" asks New Girl when I call her to tell her of my adventure.]
I have been doing a lot of uncomfortable laughing and saying, "Er, thank you?" in a half-hearted way during the journey. Inside I am praying for the end.
When we get to the service centre, after what seems about five years, he tells me that he hopes he sees me again soon. Then he insists on kissing my hand. I sprint until I'm inside the building.
This morning as I left the house I realise that I've left my umbrella in his taxi. I only hope he doesn't try to track me down to return it. I need another shower.