Driven to distraction

Motion sickness has two phases: when you think you are going to die and when you wish you would.

This maxim is pushed to the limit by those Hong Kong cabbies who drive like discordant drummers, tapping their feet to improvised jazz. Some say jazz sounds like four musicians playing different tunes at the same time. Imagine four drivers operating one taxi, because that's what it feels like. Why do they drive like this? There is no rhyme, reason nor rhythm.

Some say the lead-footed driver is worse. As he careers around corners, you fear this'll be the last taxi ride of your life. 'Pedal to the metal' drivers remind me that I'd like to die in my sleep peacefully, like my grandfather. Not kicking and screaming in the back of a cab.

Kangaroo-footed cabbies may offer a less hair-raising journey, but fasten your seatbelt or you'll be thrown around like a sock in spin-cycle. Whenever I'm in the throws (literally) of this sort of ride, Rolf Harris' Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport comes to mind. It feels like his wobbleboard is going through its up-down, up-down paces somewhere in my abdomen.

If you get lucky (not), your driver will have several phones on his dashboard and be using them simultaneously to call ... stockbrokers? Screaming ngoh m' syu fook ('I don't feel well') might help lighten the kangaroo foot, leaving your stomach doing fewer somersaults than the financial markets. (The way the Hang Seng Index is flip-flopping, maybe your taxi driver is feeling equally queasy.)

After you get out of his cab, the driver may well be discussing a different kind of peg than that to the US dollar: one for his nose.