When not in my London city office overseeing the day-to-day business of my successful accountancy firm, I can be found leaning inside taxi cabs, spitting wild obscenities and challenging the drivers to fisticuffs. M, 47. We take the direct route home, we don’t stop at Belisha beacons and we never - and I mean never - leave the impudence of a box junction unquestioned. Don’t expect a tip from box no. 9091.