Me: The city’s changed a fair bit in the last thirty years.

Driver: It surely has. (Indicates the junction of Ormeau Road and Donegall Pass.) See them traffic lights? In 1973 I rammed through them lights and slammed on the brakes, because there was two men pointing a gun at my head. They called me up from the depot at [St] George’s Market, cause they knew they’d get a Catholic taxi driver that way, and then they pointed a gun at my head and told me to take them to Sandy Row for my ‘last drink’. But I slammed on the brakes – lucky I had a seat belt, not every car had one back then – and the lad with the gun went through the windscreen, and his mate in the back got out the car and they both legged it, leaving the gun just lying there in the middle of the road. I never heard nothing back from the police, I don’t believe they ever investigated it.

Me (somewhat gobsmacked): And you kept up driving taxis ever since?

Driver: No, after that I couldn’t do it any more; my nerves couldn’t take it. I only started on the taxis again five years ago, I was driving lorries for years. But it’s a lonely life, and I was smoking too many cigarettes cos there’s nothing else to do in the cab of the lorry all day. That’ll be £5.20, sir, enjoy the weather, looks like it’s a smashing day.