The Rocky Road to Hotspur Gardens

We had gathered for an evening in the Gunsmith's Arms, Dogtooth, Porter, Silver Dollar Jim, The London Prodigal and myself: the whole grim crew. Beer was drunk and perennial fag stump in Silver Dollar Jim's mouth wrapped us all, along with the other inhabitants of the garden, in a smoke fug so thick that I could hardly make out my hand in front of my face. Inevitably I missed the last train home.
It was long after midnight and I was well south of the river, both literally and metaphorically. Judge of my delight therefore, when I saw a taxi cab making its way down the street toward me, with its light on. I stuck out my hand and flagged down what was almost certainly the last operating cab between Brixton and Hammersmith. I stepped inside, but as I pulled the door shut after me I felt a fleeting presence, and a slight coolness, as though a shadow had run briefly over me on a hot day. Ignoring it, I turned to the taxi driver and said "Hotspur Gardens please. Number 17" - this being my address. The cabbie nodded in assent, and we moved off. I looked out of the window idly, but i was pulled from reverie by a smug, disagreeable voice. "My suggested stategy for this cab is that it should go to Westminster." I looked up and was shocked to see prepubescent machiavellian David Miliband sitting opposite me.
"Piss off, you ankle-biter" I cried out in the ringing tones of the righteously angry "this is my cab." Miliband smiled blandly, and slung his jacket over his shoulder (a difficult maneuver for one seated in a cab). "If this cab were to go toward Westminster it would collect a larger fare for the journey, as well as leaving itself in a more advantageous position to pick up a new fare from there onwards, not to mention being liable to receive a large tip from a certain politcian seated in its passenger area."
"Yes, but it's my cab" I cried in frustration. The smile did not falter on Miliband's lips, though I noticed that he was not quite making eye contact with me, and did not appear to have registered my words. "I'm merely stating a possible direction for this cab to go in" he remarked, directing his words toward the driver rather than me. At this point I lost all patience, and threw him bodily out of the cab.